I can’t tell anyone I’m Sage’s stylist now. It hits me with a fresh blow. They’ll laugh at me. My whole plan is ruined.

Charlotte has been listening to her earpiece and now looks up.

‘Rebecca, you’re done,’ she says with a professional smile. ‘You can go in now. Enjoy the movie.’

‘Oh,’ I say, taken aback. ‘Is that all?’

‘That’s all,’ she says politely.

‘But I thought I was doing loads of interviews.’

‘The plan changed. If you make your way into the movie theatre, someone will show you to your seat. Have a good evening!’

I feel a pang of dismay. I don’t want to go into the movie theatre. Once I go in, it’s over.

‘Can I stay out here a bit longer?’ I say. ‘I want to … you know. Soak it all up.’

Charlotte looks at me as though I’m crazy. ‘Sure.’ She shrugs, and turns away, leaving me alone. I feel a tiny bit awkward, with nothing to do, but I determinedly swivel round and survey the rows of surging people and TV cameras and celebrities talking to interviewers. Come on, Becky. Here I am on the red carpet. Maybe Sage has derailed my plan a little, but I can still enjoy myself. I can still be positive.

The entire line-up of Heaven Sent 7 has just appeared on the red carpet, and a bunch of teenage girls is screaming hysterically. I can’t help feeling a thrill. They’re huge! I so want to share this with someone. I automatically pull out my phone, and start to text – and then stop, mid-word. I can’t share it with Luke. Or Suze. Or Mum.

Or Dad, obviously.

Or … anyone.

Without meaning to, I heave a miserable sigh, then immediately plaster a wide smile on, to compensate. I can’t be sighing on the red carpet. That’s a ridiculous idea! It’s all good. It’s all fab. It’s—

Oh, there’s Aran, looking immaculate in a black tuxedo and open-collared blue shirt. Feeling a surge of relief, I hurry over to him. His hands are in his pockets and he’s watching Sage, with that wry, detached expression he has. Sage has found a little mini trench coat from somewhere, and has put it on over her dress and is talking eagerly to a queue of interviewers.

‘Hey, Becky.’ Aran kisses me lightly on each cheek. ‘Having a good time?’

‘Yes!’ I say automatically. ‘It’s wonderful!’

‘Good.’ He smiles. ‘I’m glad.’

‘Although, did you see Sage’s dress? It totally collapsed.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Believe me, I saw that.’

‘She was lent that dress by a friend of mine. He’s a really famous designer. And she ruined it on purpose.’ I’m trying not to sound accusing, but I can’t help it.

‘Ah.’ Aran winces. ‘Well, I’m sure we can figure out compensation—’

‘It’s not the money! It’s just so inconsiderate. And now I can’t let anyone know I’m her stylist. I mean, that was the point of tonight; to launch myself as a stylist! I sourced her that dress and she would have looked amazing, but then she goes and deliberately sabotages it …’ My voice is trembling. I think I’m more upset than I quite realized.