‘Shame,’ said Davinia, ‘I mean he was only making himself laugh after all, doesn’t seem terribly criminal.’

‘But the morose man, the one without the laughing gas, used to hit me for flirting with the customers on the jewellery counter. All these front teeth are capped.’

‘Oh God,’ said Davinia and one of the make-up girls simultaneously. There was silence for a moment in the warm room, and the make-up girl quite instinctively smoothed Frances’ hair.

Slowly they changed the subject, talked about Davinia’s trips to Australia, about their days in the Yorkshire TV studios, about Terence Blue. And soon they were laughing again. The older make-up artist said she’d always fancied Terence Blue and he could rape her any time. Davinia Fook said her aunt in Wales who hadn’t emigrated to Australia with the rest of the family had gone to the local Sunday school with Terence Blue’s Aunt Hyacinth Blue, protesting the truth of this story when the others hooted with laughter in disbelief. Frances contributed a résumé of the reunion. Capital Gold played Roy Orbison singing ‘Only The Lonely’.

Part of the studio was set up as a café. A trayful of large raspberry ice-cream sundaes was placed by the props man in a hired refrigerator; the wardrobe mistress fiddled with the collar on the paisley dress Davinia was wearing; Frances’ red Carmen-rollered curls were tweaked. The first assistant ran importantly about, wearing headphones.

‘Have you seen the director this morning?’ Davinia asked Frances.

‘No, is he still wearing poncy purple shirts?’

‘Look!’ said Davinia, ‘at where he keeps his mobile phone.’ Frances looked. Somehow the director had fitted his mobile phone into the front pocket of his jeans so that the jeans bulged but not quite in the right place and the two actresses collapsed into giggles. The director – whose shirt was again purple – stared at them with distaste: menopausal women. He came up to Frances and said crisply not good morning or welcome but, ‘please actually eat some ice cream during rehearsals, it’s important for camera angles that we see the spoon going in.’

‘Fine,’ said Frances.

He wanted Frances to have finished swallowing a very large spoonful of ice cream, cream, raspberry jam and chocolate twinklies by the time Davinia said, ‘How do you protect yours?’ (so that the camera could linger on Frances’ bosom without her throat going up and down in a swallowing motion just above it). They rehearsed five or six times. Suddenly they heard a voice screaming, ‘IT’S THE FROCK, IT’S THE FAULT OF THE FUCKING FROCK.’ Frances was hurried away, redressed, re-groomed, the first assistant chivvying the wardrobe mistress along just outside the door, are you ready darling... how near are you darling... we’re waiting darling... and finally COME ON FOR FUCK’S SAKE!!!