‘It’s yes, of course!’ I say joyfully. ‘It’s yes! It’s a great big yes!’

FIFTEEN

I’ve never been anywhere like CAA in my life. The building is like some sort of spaceship in which all the men are from Men in Black and all the girls are from Vogue and all the sofas are from Architectural Digest. Just sitting in the lobby for five minutes was a better Hollywood experience than the entire Sedgewood Studios tour. I saw three girls from Gossip Girl, and a cool rapper guy feeding his tiny puppy with a milk dropper, and two famous TV comedians having a huge, sotto voce row about something called ‘back end’, while continuing to smile at a very pretty girl on reception. (I’m not sure of their names. I think maybe they’re both called Steve Something.)

And now I’m sitting in this very smart boardroom-type place, at a smooth, pale wooden table, and listening to two women talk to me. One’s called Jodie and the other’s called Marsha and they’re both ‘talent’ agents. Apparently I’m the ‘talent’. Me! ‘Talent’! Wait till I tell Luke that.

They’re very smart and very intense. They’re both dressed immaculately in a sleek-navy-Prada-ish-high-maintenance sort of style. One has got a vast diamond on one finger and I’m so mesmerized by it, I can barely concentrate on what she’s saying. Except I keep being jerked back to attention by words like ‘fanbase’ and ‘global appeal’.

‘Reality,’ says the dark-haired woman, who is either Jodie or Marsha. ‘What’s your opinion on that?’

‘Er …’

I want to reply, ‘I’ve totally lost my grip on it,’ but I sense that’s not the right answer. I sip my iced water, which is so freezing it gives me an instant headache. Why do Americans like their drinks so cold? Are they descended from Eskimos or something? Ooh, maybe they are. Maybe they migrated down from Alaska, millions of years ago. It makes total sense. Have I hit on a whole new theory of human evolution?

‘Becky?’

‘Yes!’ I come back to the room. ‘Definitely! Um, what exactly do you mean by “reality”?’

‘A reality show,’ says Jodie-or-Marsha, patiently. ‘We think we could package a great show as a vehicle for you, your family, your quirky British friends …’

‘You mean, cameras would be following us around the whole time?’

‘It would be semi-scripted. It’s less intrusive than you might think.’

‘Right.’

I try to imagine sitting in the kitchen with Luke, acting out a semi-scripted scene for the cameras. Hmm.

‘I’m not totally sure my husband would like that,’ I say at last. ‘But I can ask him.’

‘Another format we have available is “BFFs in Hollywood”,’ says Marsha-or-Jodie. ‘You would be working with a young actress named Willa Tilton. The concept is, two best friends making it in Hollywood, confiding in each other, shopping for clothes, appearing on the red carpet, getting into scrapes. You would be the married one and Willa would be the single one. I think it would have a lot of appeal.’