‘This is ridiculous,’ I said, abandoning my still-full glass on a passing tray. ‘Even if half your theories were anywhere near true, she’d be dead in a ditch. Why would anyone book a bald junkie to play the Crystal Ball if they can’t even sing?’

Andrew raised the vape pen to his lips and sucked so hard I thought-slash-hoped he would choke on it.

‘Francesca Anderson,’ he said, looking me over from head to toe. ‘I really don’t recall your name from the guest list.’

‘Well, I’m going to leave you to enjoy your evening,’ I said, changing my tone and smiling broadly at their suspicious faces. ‘It’s been lovely to chat, have a great ball.’

But it hadn’t been lovely, it had been stressful and confusing and unpleasant. Why were people so happy to believe such terrible things about each other? How was their evening improved by talking such incredible shit about someone else? They were already at the most exclusive event, wearing the most extravagant clothes, drinking the most expensive champagne, but they still felt the need to stick the boot in someone who wasn’t even here.

I marched across the ballroom, following a steady stream of people towards an open door with the sole intention of getting as far away from Andrew and Genevieve as possible. On the other side of the door was a terrace, almost as long as the ballroom itself, dotted with sofas and armchairs and other assorted items of furniture that didn’t really look as though they belonged outside. But as I’d learned on The Songbird, ‘outside’ wasn’t really a concept rich people had to worry about.

Blowing a stray bit of hair away from my face, I wandered over to the edge of the terrace and rested against the marble balustrades. Through the darkness, I could see all the yachts moored offshore, their little lights blinking to remind me the real world still existed. Or at least something real-world adjacent.

Everyone was right, the Crystal Ball was an experience, but I had experienced enough. If even half the people in attendance were like Andrew and Genevieve, I didn’t need to stay one minute longer. I would take a quick turn around the room, secure some snacks, then leg it back to my room for a swim around the six-person Jacuzzi. Jess would be deeply disappointed in me but that was on Jess. I was beginning to think there was a slim chance I didn’t need to live every moment of my life to satisfy other people.

I turned my back on the bay, looking back towards the hotel and the crowds of people swarming out of the ballroom for a quiet moment or, more likely, a cheeky cig. None of their happy, shining faces were familiar except for one. But it wasn’t an actor or a singer or the daughter of a disgraced former president of the United States.