‘OK. So this is for the older Mrs Bridges. I need a hem in the bottom, half an inch. You should use slipstitch for these garments,’ she adds. ‘I’m sure Deirdre told you that. Did she show you the attachment?’

‘Absolutely.’ I try to sound professional. ‘Slipstitch. Actually, I’m just on my way to get a coffee, so I’ll do that later.’ I put the shirt down next to a sewing machine. ‘Lovely to meet you—’

‘Jesus Christ!’ The girl erupts and I jump in fright. ‘You won’t do it later, you’ll do it now! We’re shooting! This is your first day and you come in with that attitude?’

She’s so scary I take a step back.

‘Sorry,’ I gulp.

‘Well, do you want to start?’ The girl nods towards the sewing machines, then folds her arms. I have no way out of this. None.

‘Right,’ I say after a pause, and take a seat in front of one of the sewing machines. ‘So.’

I’ve seen Mum using a sewing machine. And Danny. You just put the material under the needle and push the pedal. I can do this.

My face hot, I cautiously insert the shirt into the sewing machine.

‘Aren’t you going to pin it?’ says the girl critically.

‘Er … I pin as I go,’ I say. ‘It’s just the way I do it.’ Experimentally I press the pedal, and thankfully the sewing machine whirrs along vigorously as though I’m an expert. I reach for a pin, shove it into the fabric, then sew a bit more. I think I look pretty convincing, as long as the girl doesn’t come anywhere near me.

‘Do you want to pick this up in a minute?’ I say. ‘I could bring it to you, maybe?’

To my relief, there’s a crackling sound from her headset. She shakes her head impatiently, trying to listen, then steps outside the room. At once I stop sewing. Thank God. Time to make a run for it. I’m halfway out of the chair when the door swings back open and, to my horror, it’s the girl again.

‘They want some pin-tucks down the front as well. Did you finish the hem?’

‘Um.’ I swallow. ‘Nearly.’

‘So, finish it and put in the pin-tucks.’ She claps her hands. ‘Come on! They’re waiting! Now!’

‘Right.’ I nod, and hastily start up the sewing machine again. ‘Pin-tucks. Coming up.’

‘And two extra sleeve tucks at the shoulder. You can do that?’

‘Sleeve tucks. No problem.’

I briskly sew a seam, then turn the blouse and sew another seam. She’s still watching me. Why is she still watching me? Doesn’t she have anywhere else to go?

‘So,’ I say. ‘I’ll just … put those tucks in.’

I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m pushing the shirt back and forth, criss-crossing seams all over it. I don’t dare stop; I don’t dare look up. I’m just willing the girl to leave. Go, please go … please, please go …