I’m here! I’m one of the in-crowd! I’m in a top seat at a premiere! I have Nenita Dietz’s card and an invitation to call her!

So … why do I feel so hollow? What’s wrong?

My leather seat seems chilly and the air conditioning is making me shiver. As music starts blasting through the speakers, I jump. This should be the biggest treat ever, I keep telling myself. Suze’s voice is ringing in my ears: I hope you have the time of your life – and my own defiant reply, I will.

But the truth is: I’m not. I’m sitting in a cold, dark room full of strangers, about to watch a movie I don’t want to see, without any friends or family to share it with. I’m not famous. Everyone was calling me Betty. I’m not Betty, I’m Becky.

I finger Nenita’s card to reassure myself. But even that feels toxic in my fingers. Do I want to work with that scary witch? Do I want to be her? I feel as though I’ve reached the oasis mirage in the desert. I’m scooping up sand and I’m telling myself it’s fresh and pure water … but it’s not.

I’m breathing harder and harder; my thoughts are whirling around my head; I’m gripping the armrests of my seat until my fingers hurt. And suddenly I’ve had enough. I can’t stay here. I don’t want to be here. I have other, far more important things in my life than a red carpet and celebrities. I have my family and my friends, and a problem to sort out, and a husband to win back, and a best friend to help. That’s what I have. And I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to see that.

I have to leave. Right now.

Muttering apologies to the people around me, I get up and make my way to the side of the auditorium. The seats are full by now and a man in a dinner jacket has just started making a speech at the front, and all the attendants are giving me odd looks … but I don’t care. I need to get out. I need to talk to Suze as soon as I can. She probably hates me. I don’t blame her. I hate me, too.

Nenita is still standing in the lobby with Aran and a few others, and as I look at her anew, I feel a sudden revulsion. No, worse: outrage. How dare she try to curse me? How dare she diss Danny? As she’s turning away to enter the auditorium, I tap her on the shoulder.

‘Excuse me, Nenita,’ I say, my voice shaking slightly, ‘I’d just like to rebut a couple of things you said. Maybe I shouldn’t have betrayed Lois – but you should know, she isn’t exactly the girl you think she is. Second, I reckon people who try to give other people bad karma get bad karma themselves. Third, my dress is not dated. Danny Kovitz is a very talented designer and all the young fashion bloggers are going wild over it, so maybe if you don’t like it, you’re the one who’s dated.’