‘It’s not for Sage, it’s for me. I’m wearing it tonight. Danny sent it over specially. It’s from his Trees and Wires collection …’ I trail off, registering the sharp silence in the kitchen. Suze is staring at me with a look I can’t quite work out.

‘You’re still going to the premiere,’ she says at last.

‘Yes.’

‘I see.’

There’s another long silence. The atmosphere is getting edgier and edgier, until I want to scream.

‘What?’ I say at last. ‘What? Don’t you think I should go?’

‘Jesus, Bex! Do you really have to ask?’ Suze’s sudden vehemence takes me by surprise. ‘Your dad is missing and Tarkie too, and you’re going to a bloody premiere? How can you be so selfish? I mean, what kind of priorities do you have?’

Resentment is rising inside me. I’m tired of Suze making me feel bad. I’m tired of everyone making me feel bad.

‘Your dad’s disappeared without a trace and taken Tarkie with him!’ Suze repeats, still on her tirade. ‘There’s obviously some mystery; they could be in big trouble—’

‘Well, what am I supposed to do about it?’ I explode. ‘It’s not my fault if they just took off! I’ve got one chance in Hollywood, Suze, one chance, and this is it! If I don’t grab it, I’ll always regret it.’

‘The red carpets will always be there,’ says Suze scathingly.

‘The TV interviews won’t always be there! Nenita Dietz won’t always be there! I don’t see why I should just sit around, doing nothing, waiting for news. You can do that if you like. Maybe Alicia could keep you company,’ I can’t help adding bitterly. And I grab the Danny Kovitz box and march out of the kitchen before Suze can say anything more.

As I get ready, there are two voices arguing in my head. One is mine and one is Suze’s. Or maybe one is Luke’s. Or maybe they’re both mine. Oh God, I don’t know whose they are, but by quarter to six I’m sick of both of them. I don’t want to have to think about whether I’m doing the right thing. I just want to do it.

I stare at myself boldly in the mirror and adopt a red-carpet pose. I look good. I think. I’ve put on a bit too much make-up, but I don’t want to look washed out next to all the celebrities, do I? And Danny’s dress is genius. It’s short and slinky in a flattering black fabric, and the single shoulder strap is made of a mass of unpolished copper hoops. (They’re digging into my skin a bit, and they’ll probably leave marks, but I don’t care.) I’m wearing the spikiest ever black stilettos and my bag is a little copper-framed clutch (it was in the box with the dress). I definitely look like a top celebrity stylist.

Adrenalin is pumping through my body. I feel like I’m about to go into a boxing ring. This is it. This is it. As I’m carefully painting my lips, my phone rings, and I put it on speaker.