‘Well, something came out about us in the press. About how we got together after the New York gig.’

‘If you’re in a real relationship with him, it shouldn’t matter that the press know, should it?’

‘It’s more complicated than that. We have to be discreet until the divorce comes through.’

‘No,’ says Dee. ‘You need to be discreet because you’re seeing a married man, and that married man doesn’t want his wife to know about you.’

‘No. That’s not why.’

‘Lorna, do you think it’s normal that we haven’t seen each other in over a year?’

‘I wrote.’

‘Wrote? When? I didn’t get any letters.’

I chewed at my thumb. I had written. But I’d given those letters to Michael …

‘And now you won’t let me into where you’re living?’ Dee continued. ‘This is craziness. I think you need some psychiatric help. He’s done something to you. Taken away your brain.’

‘No, he hasn’t. I’m exactly the same as always.’

‘You’re not. You’re different. This isn’t healthy.’ Dee glances at the house. ‘He’s not healthy. Lorna, a girl went missing after being seen with him. A German girl. Look at this.’ She pulled a folded newspaper clipping from a patchwork bag and began to read. ‘Karla Muller was last seen with Ray in the VIP area at Glastonbury. Muller appeared to be intoxicated as she danced with the singer.’

Dee turned the clipping to show me the photograph: a pretty, brown-haired teenager with a nose piercing and sharp cheekbones, hanging on to Michael with her eyes half closed. She wore a Michael Reyji Ray T-shirt over a skinny frame. The thing I hated most about the picture was Michael’s eyes. They watched the girl like a wolf watches a sheep.

‘Girls throw themselves at Michael all the time. He has to be nice.’

‘And listen to this,’ Dee continued. ‘A member of Michael Reyji Ray’s staff told police that Muller left the festival with Ray.’

I leaned closer to read the article, jabbing at the text. ‘This is all bullshit. Press bullshit. Michael is tired of it. People always trying to take him down in the newspapers. It’s not Michael’s fault that these girls are fantasists. Imagining they’re madly in love with him.’

‘Were you at this festival?’ Dee asks.