I underline the last two words several times, and am sitting back on my heels to take stock, when something attracts my attention. It’s a pair of sunglasses, lying on a chair. A pair of Missoni sunglasses. They’re pink and green and swirly and they look exactly like the ones I gave Sage yesterday morning.

They can’t be the same ones. Obviously they can’t be. But—

I stare at the sunglasses, totally baffled. One part of my brain is saying, ‘It’s a coincidence,’ and the other part is saying, ‘It can’t be a coincidence.’ At last I can’t bear it any longer. I have to see. I edge forward and grab the sunglasses off the chair – and there’s no doubt about it. They’re the ones I bought. They have the same rubbed-away bit on the gilt ‘M’ and a tiny chip on one arm.

What are they doing here? Did Sage send them to Lois? But why? And wouldn’t she have mentioned it on the phone earlier? And why would she send sunglasses to Lois, anyway?

My head spinning, I creep forward to put them back – and then freeze. Through the glass of the French windows I can see straight into Lois’s living room. There’s Lois, sitting on a sofa, laughing. And there’s Sage, sitting next to her, passing her a bowl of nachos.

My whole body feels paralysed with shock. Sage? In Lois’s house? But— but— but—

I mean—

That’s just—

I’ve leaned so far forward, trying to see, I suddenly lose my balance, and the sunglasses go clattering on to a glass table. Shit. Shit.

‘Who’s there?’ says Sage sharply, and comes to the French windows. ‘Oh my God, Becky?’

I stare helplessly up at her, unable to reply. I feel as though the world has turned upside down. A few minutes ago, Sage was telling me she didn’t want to see Lois. But she must have been in Lois’s house even while she was talking to me. What is going on? What?

‘Get in here,’ says Sage, glancing around. ‘There aren’t any press following you, are there? What did you do, break in?’

‘Yes,’ I say, getting to my feet, still dazed. ‘I made a bit of a mess of the fence. Maybe someone should see to that. Sorry,’ I add to Lois, who has followed Sage to the French windows. Lois doesn’t look the dishevelled mess I was expecting. She’s wearing long, pale-green wide-legged trousers and a black halter top and her hair is smoothed into a side ponytail. She’s also smoking, which is a bit of a shock. Lois Kellerton doesn’t smoke. I’ve read it in magazines a million times.

‘You look so freaked!’ Sage bursts into laughter as she closes the French windows behind me.

Finally I find my voice. ‘I am freaked! What do you expect?’

‘Poor Becky,’ Sage says kindly.

‘What … I mean …’ I don’t even know where to begin. ‘Don’t you …’

‘You thought we hated each other, right?’ says Sage.