‘I think about you, too,’ I say. ‘I wonder what happened in your family to make you the way you are. I wonder why you chose to have a child. I think about why you picked me for your little game. I think about what it’s like to go into a studio every day and expose yourself to the scrutiny of ten million people.’

‘Not quite ten million, but thank you. I appreciate the compliment.’

‘You’re welcome. I took the scissors out of your bedside table, by the way,’ I add. ‘Just in case you were tempted.’

Her hand stops inching across the duvet. ‘What are you going to do, Millie?’

‘Ah. Well, that is the question, isn’t it?’

‘You could just walk away.’

‘I think we both know that’s not going to happen,’ I say. ‘You took that option off the table when you told the police Felix had never had a nosebleed.’

‘Did you really expect me to take your side against my husband’s?’

‘I expected a little loyalty,’ I say, ‘after all I’ve done for you.’

‘Are you going to kill me, too?’

‘Nice try,’ I say.

‘I thought we weren’t playing games,’ Stacey says, standing up.

‘Oh, Stacey. We’ve only just started.’

The air between us hums. This is what has been missing from our relationship: the dangerous, deadly rivalry that adds fire and blood to the charm of conquest. Our friendship was a fraud, but this, this is real: the merciless struggle for survival, red in tooth and claw, honest and authentic. Strip away the lunches and the yoga and the confessional intimacy of any female friendship and this is what you’ll find: savage, brutal, ruthless competition. It’s the dark truth hidden away like a portrait in the attic, withered, wrinkled and loathsome of visage.

We circle each other like gladiators.

‘You broke into my house,’ Stacey says. ‘You must know I’ll call the police the minute you leave.’

‘You have no proof,’ I say. ‘Your security system is disabled, including the CCTV. I checked.’

‘This time,’ Stacey says.

It takes me a moment to realise what she means: she’s talking about the time I broke into the Glass House to steal the house deeds for her. I didn’t worry about the CCTV then because Stacey herself had disabled the security system for me. It never occurred to me she’d leave the cameras running.

‘Ah,’ I say. ‘Well, that was rude.’

‘You’ve repeatedly broken into my house. I’ve got witnesses to confirm you’ve harassed me at work. People have seen you hammering on my door.’

‘I can see how it might look,’ I say dryly.