‘How did you know I was still in bed?’ I asked suspiciously. ‘Are you watching me?’

‘I’m not anywhere near you. I’m staying somewhere else. I just know you, that’s all.’

I shook out a pair of jeans and wiggled into them at high speed. ‘Well,’ I tutted, ‘for your information, I’m wide-awake and raring to go. And I even made contact with an extra-special witness last night. I bet you didn’t manage that. His name is Gareth and…’

‘You can tell me later. Ivy, if you’re not on that bus in the next sixty seconds, then you’ll need to run.’ He hung up. Always with the running. I had the sinking sensation that I was going to very tired of that word very, very quickly.

I stood up, pulling the jeans up over my hips just as there was a loud toot from outside. The bus. Grimacing, I ran my hands through my hair, decided there was nothing else I could do about it and dashed out of the door.

The bus’s engine was already running and the seats were jam-packed with people. I received more than a few strange looks. When one of the more helpful passengers pointed down at my crotch, I realised it was because I’d not done up the zip. Grinning like an idiot, I pulled it up then squeezed into an empty seat.

Breathless, I smiled a quick hello at the woman next to me and checked the rest of my attire. My sweater was on inside out. Oops. Shrugging, I pulled it off, doing what I could not to elbow the woman in the process, turned it right the way around and pulled it back over my head. Nobody blinked an eye – but then this was the world of reality television. They were probably used to displays of nudity.

‘I slept in,’ I told my companion unnecessarily, once I’d righted myself.

‘So I see,’ she murmured. She glanced down at my ID, which I’d just managed to grab in time. Apparently clocking that I was no one of consequence, she turned away and looked out of the window instead. I’d have thought she was being rude if it weren’t for the fact that that no one on the bus was talking. It was almost as if we were monks on a vow of silence. Either that, or nobody here was a morning person. Suited me.

The bus trundled its way out of the town and down a single-track road. I shook out my hair and craned my neck round to look at the other passengers, wondering whether there was anyone I could recognise on board. It appeared that Belinda Battenapple, the host of Enchantment, and the other on-screen regulars, including the enigmatic Trevor Bellows, enjoyed other transportation. I hadn’t missed a single episode of Enchantment in my life and I would have blithely walked past any of these people on the bus without recognising them. That was probably a good thing.

Warning myself that acting star-struck probably wouldn’t be a good idea even if I did meet Belinda, I settled back into my seat and closed my eyes. I was just drifting back to sleep again when the bus came to a juddering halt.