Michael laughed again. ‘So says the naive little idiot who’s never had the press come after her. You’ll care when they tear you apart. I’m telling you. Trust me on this, Lorna. Come on, now. I love you. You’re my soul mate. My little punk princess soul mate. None of this stuff with Diane matters.’

‘You mean it? That you love me?’

‘Of course.’ Michael pulled me into a tight hug. ‘Now stop being an idiot. Okay? And do as you’re told.’ He kissed my head and laughed. ‘Or I’ll send you back to that sister of yours who never wanted you around.’

I let the hurt be hugged out of me. ‘Dee did want me around. She took me in when—’

‘She resents you. You told me yourself. Lucky you found me. The one who loves you like no one else ever will. When you’re not being a hysterical female.’

‘I’m not a hysterical female.’

‘Then stop acting like one. You’re going to be my merchandising girl for this part of the tour, okay? You’ll put on a crew T-shirt and pull the suitcases.’

‘You want me to pretend to be your staff member?’

Michael hugged me tighter. ‘Oh, yeah. And if you’re lucky I’ll give you a big bonus tonight when you finish your shift.’

The tour bus pulled up on a wide Parisian street. It was afternoon. Bright and sunny. The buildings were dull in colour but still an artist’s dream. The Louvre and the Pompidou Centre … I felt crazy excitement at the thought of all the creative pilgrimages Michael and I could do here.

Two artists in love and in Paris.

But first, I needed to wheel the suitcases.

Just as Michael said, press snapped away as we stepped off the tour bus. Michael pushed on sunglasses and marched into the elegant, thick-carpeted hotel lobby, while I trotted behind like an obedient little puppy. My own rucksack was stuffed into one of the black suitcases, hidden away like my identity. I was getting more lost by the second.

When we reached our penthouse suite, Michael said, ‘Put the luggage in the bedroom.’ Like I was a bellboy.

‘Where’s my tip?’ I asked.

Michael turned then, hair sweaty from the hot bus, black eyes furious. ‘What?’

‘My tip. If you’re talking to me like the hired help, you should be tipping me.’

‘Just put the bloody bags in the bedroom, Lorna, would you?’ Michael opened a polished, antique-looking drinks cabinet and poured himself a huge measure of whiskey in a crystal-cut glass. ‘Christ, maybe I should take Diane back. If you’re going to be giving me all the backchat after we’ve been travelling for hours.’ He knocked it back in three large gulps then vanished into the shower.

For a moment I just stood, gripping the suitcases. Then I pushed them both over.