I suddenly notice that the guy behind the water stand is staring at me as though I’m insane.

‘What are you doing?’ he says. ‘Shouldn’t you be running?’

I feel a bit indignant at his tone. I’m helping him. He could be more grateful.

‘I’m on a stretch break,’ I explain, and look up to see that Luke is surveying me quizzically.

‘You must be pretty well stretched out,’ he says. ‘Are you going to start running again now?’

Honestly. All this pressure to run the whole time.

‘I just need to …’ I interlace my fingers and stretch them out. ‘Mmm. I have a lot of tension there.’

‘Lady, you’re gonna miss the whole thing,’ says the waterstand guy. He gestures at the road. ‘That’s the last bunch.’

It’s true: the race is thinning out by now. Only the last few stragglers are left. The spectators are drifting away, too. The whole atmosphere is kind of melting away. I can’t put it off any more.

‘Right.’ I try to sound positive. ‘Well, I’ll just quickly run those last four miles, then. Shouldn’t take long. Great.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I’ll just get going, then.’

‘Or …’ says Luke, and my head jerks up.

‘Or what?’

‘I was wondering, Becky. If you didn’t mind slowing your pace to mine, maybe we could walk it? Together?’

‘Walk it?’

He puts his hand over the barrier and clasps mine. By now, we’re practically the only people around. Behind us, workmen are beginning to dismantle the barricades and pick up litter with special sticks.

‘Not often we get a chance to walk in LA,’ he adds. ‘And we’ve got the street to ourselves.’

I want to expire with relief.

‘Well, OK,’ I say after a pause. ‘I don’t mind walking. Although obviously I would very much have preferred to run.’

‘Obviously.’ He shoots me an amused little grin, which I ignore. ‘Shall we?’

We start to walk along, picking our way through the paper cups and energy-bar wrappers left everywhere. I tighten my fingers around his and he squeezes my hand back.

‘Come this way.’ Luke leads me to the right, off the street and on to the pavement, or sidewalk, as I must start calling it. ‘You know where we are?’

‘Hollywood? Los Angeles?’ I look at him suspiciously. ‘Is this a trick question?’

Luke makes no answer, just nods down at the ‘sidewalk’. And suddenly I get it.

‘Oh!’ I look down with a beam. ‘Oh my God!’

‘I know.’

We’re standing on the stars. The Hollywood Walk of Fame, which I’ve seen a million times on TV, but never for real. I feel as though Luke has put it there especially as a present for me, all shiny and pink.

‘Edward Arnold!’ I exclaim, reading a name and trying to sound reverent. ‘Wow! Um …’

‘No idea,’ says Luke. ‘Someone famous. Clearly.’

‘Clearly.’ I giggle. ‘And who’s Red Foley?’

‘Bette Davis,’ says Luke, pointing at another star. ‘Will that do you?’