There was a black and white photograph of her from that time: her brown, shining hair pulled back into a jaunty, bouncing ponytail; full skirts and flat ballerina shoes and lipstick. And a face that looked so hopefully out at the world, so eager and so interested, that Banjo sometimes, looking at her old photographs as he loved doing, used to kiss it. Look at you in those funny clothes, he would say. I can see energy coming out of your ears. Of course you were going to be an actress. She knew Banjo loved the old photographs because it was the only way he could share her past.

He had turned away from her now in the bed. Even though it was so hot, she leant into his strong, long back for a moment and he moved slightly in his sleep to fit into her embrace. His body was so comfortable, she wanted to stay here; she didn’t want to go and meet a lot of other actors. Maybe they’d all have jobs. She moved closer against Banjo, she didn’t want to think about this.

I made a mistake.

I was quite mad to ask to be written out of a crap telly soap where I was playing a well-paid glamorous part, thinking I’d get more serious work. What is ‘serious’ work? In my profession all work is serious. There is almost no work for women of my age. Men in their fifties are in their prime, women are old: end of story.

I made a mistake.

Banjo stirred. ‘What time is it Moll?’

‘After ten. I should get up, I’ve got this drama school reunion, what a bloody bore, I can’t think why I agreed to go, it makes me feel quite nervous. I think I’ll have a large vodka before I go.’ She knew Banjo’s body so well she could feel it smiling, it moved slightly as if a smile moved through it slowly.

‘Be brave,’ he said, ‘you’re probably the most well-known of them all – you’ve been a soap star, they’ll all call out: Louise, Louise.’

‘Thanks,’ said Molly, ‘an out-of-work soap star who no one knows is a real person, I’ll make it a treble vodka.’

‘Meet me back here this afternoon and we’ll go to Leicester for that concert, okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Is the sun shining again?’

‘Yeah.’

He yawned, stretched and settled himself more comfortably. ‘Will this summer ever end?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘never never never.’ And for a moment she lay her arm across his body. Across his warm, twenty-year-younger body, stroking his skin. ‘And will I never work again?’ she added wistfully after a moment.

But Banjo was asleep.