‘Hi!’ I answer the phone in delight. ‘Guess what I’m doing.’

‘You’re on a red carpet!’ exclaims Mum excitedly.

Every time Mum phones, she asks if I’m on a red carpet. The truth is, not only have I not been on one, I haven’t even seen one. Even worse: Luke had an invitation to a premiere last time we were here, and not only did he not go, he didn’t even tell me about it until it was too late. A premiere!

This is why I can’t rely on Luke to get me into anything cool. He has completely the opposite view of LA from me. All he’s interested in is attending meetings and being on permanent BlackBerry call – i.e., business as usual. He says the work ethic in LA is something he really relates to. The work ethic. Who comes to LA for the work ethic?

‘No, I’m running in a charity race. With Sage!’

Mum gasps. ‘You’re with Sage Seymour? Oh, Becky!’

‘I’m not exactly with her right this second,’ I admit. ‘But I’m going to catch up with her while we’re running. I’ve got a TEAM SAGE baseball cap,’ I add proudly.

‘Oh, love!’

‘I know! I’ll take a picture of it. Show Minnie. Is she OK? Fast asleep?’

‘She’s fine, fine!’ says Mum breezily. ‘All snuggled up in bed. So, who else have you met? Anyone famous?’

Lois Kellerton flashes through my mind.

No. Don’t even think about it. I love my mum, but if you tell her anything, it’s all over Oxshott in a nano-second.

‘There are loads of celebs in the race,’ I say vaguely. ‘I think I just saw a guy from Desperate Housewives.’ It could have been him, or it could have been a different guy, but Mum won’t know.

A klaxon is sounding. Oh God. Is that the race starting?

‘Mum, I have to go,’ I say hastily. ‘I’ll call later. Bye!’

That was the start of the race. We’re off. We’re running. I’m running too! Feet and arms are blurring around me as the runners jostle for position and I breathlessly try to stay with them.

God, they’re fast.

I mean, it’s fine. I’m fast too. I’m totally keeping up with the others. My chest is already burning, but that’s OK, because the endorphins will kick in, any minute.

The most important thing is: where’s Sage?

As the crowd thins out, I’m able to get a better view of my fellow runners. I’m scanning the heads desperately for a turquoise baseball cap … She must be somewhere … I can’t have missed her, surely …

There! I feel a burst of joyous adrenalin. She’s right up at the front, of course. OK, time to make my move. I’ll sprint up to her casually, gesture at my hat and say, ‘I think we’re on the same team.’ And our close friendship will begin.

I’ve never really considered myself an athlete before, but as I charge forward, it’s like some invisible force is powering me. I’m overtaking the wiry black girl! I’m on fire! I’m exhilarated! But still the turquoise cap is bobbing along ahead of me, tantalizingly out of reach, so I put on an extra spurt of energy. Somehow I succeed in drawing level with her. My face is boiling and my heart is hammering in my chest, but I manage to point at my hat and gasp, ‘I think we’re on the same team.’