And now we can hear the shouts from the photographers and journalists outside the gate.

‘Are you a thief, Lois?’

‘Did you take Sage’s bag?’

‘Have you been charged?’

‘Do you have a message for the American people?’

Lois’s eyes are dark and despairing and she’s biting her lip so hard I can see specks of blood appearing. She looks totally on the edge – just like she did when I first caught hold of her in the street. She goes back inside, the front door slams and the picture flashes back to a studio, where a woman in a tailored red jacket is watching a screen seriously.

‘And there we can see the first shots of Lois Kellerton since this scandal,’ she says. ‘Dr Nora Vitale, you’re an expert on mental health. Would you say Lois Kellerton is experiencing a breakdown?’

‘Well, now.’ Dr Nora Vitale is a thin woman in a surprisingly frivolous pink dress, with a serious expression. ‘We don’t use the word “breakdown” these days …’

‘Jeez.’ Sage switches off the TV. ‘That’ll be all over Hollywood in twenty seconds. You know what they’re saying?’

‘What?’

‘They’re saying this goes back years. She’s been stealing all her life.’

‘What?’ I say in horror. ‘No! I’m sure it was just a one-off. She was under great strain, she made a mistake … anyone can make a mistake!’

‘Well.’ Sage shrugs comfortably. ‘Whatever you think, people are coming forward. People she’s worked with. Makeup artists, assistants, saying she stole from them, too. She’s going to drown in lawsuits.’

‘Oh God.’

Guilt is squeezing me inside. I’m going hot and cold with remorse. This is all my fault.

‘So, when am I going to see you again?’ To my surprise, Sage throws her arms around me when we stop outside my house. ‘I want you to style me for my next appearance. Head to foot.’

‘Wow,’ I say, taken aback. ‘I’d love to!’

‘And we have to have lunch. Spago, maybe. Sound good?’

‘Yes! Fab.’

‘We’re in this together, Becky.’ She squeezes me again, as the back doors magically slide open.

There’s a cluster of photographers outside my gates. I’m almost getting used to them. I check my reflection in my compact, then carefully slide out of the SUV. I zap open the gates with my remote control, and wave goodbye to Sage. The next minute, Minnie is running down the drive towards me. She’s wearing her gorgeous little yellow dress and clutching a painting she must have just done. I’ve kept her off pre-school today, because she was complaining of earache this morning. (Although it could just have been that her Alice band was too tight.)

‘Mummy!’ She’s brandishing the painting triumphantly at me as I sweep her into a hug. ‘Schlowers!’

Minnie is obsessed with flowers at the moment, which she calls ‘schlowers’. She weeps if Luke won’t wear his one-and-only ‘schlowers’ tie, so he puts it on every morning and then takes it off again in the car. Her painting doesn’t look very much like flowers to be honest, just big red splodges, but I gasp admiringly, and say, ‘What beautiful red flowers!’