‘But how will that work? How will I prepare?’

‘Becky, you’ll be great,’ says Aran. ‘You can comment on the clothes, engage in some general chat, get your personality across.’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Well, OK. Thanks.’

I ring off, still puzzled. This is all very weird. But maybe they do things differently in the States. In fact, maybe I should do some research. I zap on the TV to see if there are any fashion items I can watch, and flick through the channels, until an image suddenly stops me. For a moment I can’t even make sense of what I’m seeing.

It’s a fuzzy picture of Lois’s house in the dark. There’s an ambulance flashing in her driveway and paramedics wheeling a hospital gurney and the headline is BREAKING NEWS: Lois in suicide bid?

Suicide?

Suicide bid?

Oh God, oh God, oh God …

My heart thumping, I turn the volume up and lean forward anxiously to hear the voice-over.

‘There are unconfirmed reports that Lois Kellerton was rushed to the hospital last night, in what one commentator described as “the desperate act of a desperate star”. Over to our reporter Faye Ireland.’

The picture switches to a reporter standing outside what I recognize as Lois’s house, talking gravely into a microphone.

‘Neighbours confirm that at around midnight last night, an ambulance was summoned to the house, and one witness saw Lois Kellerton being placed in the ambulance, on a gurney. Some time in the early hours of the morning, Lois Kellerton appeared to return to the house and has not been seen since.’ The screen shows a fuzzy, long-lens picture of a girl covered in a sheet being bundled into the house. ‘Friends have been worried about the state of mind of the award-winning actress, since her apparent exposure as a thief.’ The picture flashes to the familiar sight of Lois at the ASAs, crumpling in shock on the stage. ‘Ms Kellerton’s spokesman refused to comment on these latest troubling events. Back to the studio.’

‘And now to sports …’ says a woman in a purple dress, and I switch off. I’m quivering all over. I never thought in a million years anything like this would happen. I never imagined – I never expected—

I mean, it isn’t my fault.

It isn’t. It really isn’t.

Is it?

On impulse, I dial Sage’s number. Of all people, she must know how I feel. In fact, she must feel even worse.

‘Sage,’ I say, as soon as she answers. ‘Did you see the news about Lois?’

‘Oh.’ She sounds unconcerned. ‘That.’

‘Sage, we did that to her!’ My voice is trembling. ‘I can’t believe it’s gone so far. Have you been to see her or called her or anything?’

‘See that maniac?’ Sage retorts. ‘You have to be kidding!’

‘But shouldn’t we do something? Like … I don’t know. Go and apologize?’

‘No,’ says Sage flatly. ‘Not happening.’

‘Just “no”?’

‘This is her problem, Becky. She’ll sort it out. I gotta go.’ And she rings off.