“They’re kids’ books,” Lizzie said. “I thought you said I should aim for a more mature audience.”

“Writing adds gravitas,” Bill said. “Loads of celebs write books for children.”

“But it’s Oxford,” Lizzie objected. “They’ll hate me. Everyone despises celebrity authors, especially the ones who don’t even write their own books. We’re the lowest of the low, taking huge advances we don’t need and cheating ordinary writers out of a living.”

“You’ve been reading The Bookseller magazine again,” Bill said irritably. “I told you not to do that.”

“You gave it to me so I could see how well my latest book was doing,” Lizzie said. “Number one in the e-book charts for three weeks so far and in the top ten paperbacks—”

“Exactly.” Bill cut her off with a snap of his fingers. “So get over to Oxford and keep it at number one.”

“What do you think, Kat?” Lizzie said. She’d brought Kat Ashley with her even though Bill hadn’t invited her, even though he barely tolerated her as a fixture in Lizzie’s life. Nominally Kat was Lizzie’s PA but she wasn’t exactly efficient. Lizzie really needed a secretary to organise Kat but she was fiercely loyal to her because their relationship had nothing to do with work, not really. Kat was her godmother and had looked after Lizzie when her mother had died. She’d been in her life ever since, the only constant other than Dudley, and someone Lizzie clung to tenaciously because deep down she saw Kat as the last real connection to her mother.

“Don’t ask Kat!” Bill exploded. “She’ll only tell you what you want to hear.”

Kat glared at him.

“She’s my friend,” Lizzie said. “Of course she’s on my side.”

“I’m on your side,” Bill said bitterly, “if only you could see it.”

“You should do it, honey,” Kat said, surprising them both. “Bill’s right. You want the books to do well; your fans love them...” She shrugged. “It’s business, babes.”

So here Lizzie was in Oxford on a wet September evening, about to be interviewed by some local journalist who probably couldn’t believe his luck in getting to meet Lizzie Kingdom, one-time girl band member turned kids’ TV presenter and now non-author of the Celia Jones and Friends books for pre-teen girls.

Her phone buzzed. She waved a hand at Kat, who was sitting on a hard wooden chair painting her nails turquoise, engrossed. Her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth with the effort of concentration.

“Get that for me, would you, Kat?”

Kat looked pained but she stretched out her unvarnished hand for the phone without reproach. Lizzie felt a flash of guilt. She was behaving like a brat and had been doing so all day. It was the nerves. Nothing should make her nervous after all these years; she had been a child star at five and an adult one at twelve. Her father, a theatre impresario, had seen her potential as a performer when she was in nappies and had promptly signed her up to do baby commercials. After her mother had died, he had forever been taking her out of school for parts in various shows. It had all progressed from there. Tonight, though, was about literature, a subject on which she knew next to nothing. She didn’t feel comfortable and she hated that sense of vulnerability.