“I’m not paying for it. You eat me out of house and home as it is.”

“I’ve got some money saved up,” Sophie pleaded. “From my job. Can I go?”

Her father turned and looked at his daughter, all nervous, skinny, and timid. She reminded him of his wife in her most aggravating moods. Why couldn’t they have had a boy?

“Do whatever you want,” he said, shrugging. “You’re off to college soon, anyway.”

Sophie glowed with pleasure. “Thanks, Dad.” She looked over at her mother, but Ann was busy with the leg of lamb she was roasting for lunch; as ever, she showed no interest in her daughter’s plans.

Sophie crept upstairs to her tiny bedroom and started to pack her small suitcase. Thank God, she thought. Dad hadn’t cared enough to stop her. She was going away from here. That was exciting enough by itself, but France!

France was abroad. And it was for the famous film festival. Joanna promised her there’d be loads of stars and suchlike. Princes from Monaco and rich men. Jo said she was going to find her destiny, and would Sophie like to come?

Well, of course. Jo, after all, was so blonde and golden with her hair she got done at Vidal Sassoon. A little suburban town like Tunbridge Wells was right for Sophie, but it couldn’t hold a butterfly like Jo—she was destined for higher things, Sophie reflected.

If Jo was a butterfly, Sophie was a moth, usually with her nose in a book, lost in some trashy romance, concentrating on her studies. She always wore her school uniform, so she never shone out. Even on weekends, Sophie favoured plain, don’t-notice-me clothing. And the boys never did, even though (as Jo patronizingly conceded) Sophie “could be pretty.”

“You should go for it,” Jo suggested. “Get really groovy.”

“Like what?”

“Dye your hair platinum blonde. I could do it for you. Wear short skirts, heels. Get a push-up bra!” Jo tossed her own brass-bottle mane. “Some blue eyeshadow! Nobody can see how you look under that fringe.”

“Oh, no thanks,” Sophie said meekly. “My dad would kill me.”

Some girls at school wondered why Jo hung around with Sophie Roberts. Mr. Roberts was so boring, just a newspaper man with a middling-sized house. She didn’t even have any good-looking brothers.

Well, Sophie knew why; Jo didn’t like competition, and Sophie didn’t offer her any. Her confidence so dented by her loveless, selfish parents, Sophie was just pathetically glad to have a friend. The motivation didn’t matter—not really.