Carla is waiting in the driver’s seat of her Pajero as Bonnie walks out from quite possibly the longest day of her life. Carla’s face is bright and expectant. ‘How’d you go?’

Bonnie slumps into the passenger seat next to her, noticing the back seat is filled with shopping bags. ‘It was awful.’

‘Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad?’ If Carla had just auditioned, it would probably rank as one of the best days of her life.

‘It was worse than I imagined. Three hours of hideous games with about thirty cameras recording our every move.’ She reaches for Carla’s water bottle and takes a swig, still trying to shake her hangover that has only gotten worse as the day has worn on.

‘What did they make you do?’ Carla doesn’t try to hide that she’s a diehard fan.

Bonnie groans. Where does she start? ‘The highlight was probably having to put ourselves in order from youngest to oldest, based on how we looked. Without talking.’

‘Really?’ Carla’s wide eyes reveal she’s enjoying this too much.

Bonnie grimaces as she remembers walking straight to the back of the line. It hadn’t even been comforting to learn that she wasn’t the oldest. Two other women were older than she was. Two out of one hundred.

‘Did you try to get lots of screen time, like I said?’

Bonnie makes a face. ‘Do you even know me?’

‘What were the other girls like?’ Carla’s whole body is twisted in the seat, facing Bonnie, eager for every word.

Bonnie considers. ‘Skinny. Young. Blonde.’

Carla, a skinny, young, (dyed) blonde herself, screws her face up at this. ‘Oh, come on, it’s not that bad anymore. Diversity is the new blonde.’

Bonnie smiles at this, impressed her younger sister even knows the word diversity, let alone how to use it in a sentence. ‘There was a slight mix of girls, I guess, but they were all attractive and mostly very loud.’

‘Any D-grade celebrities?’

‘Maybe?’ Bonnie shrugs; she wouldn’t know any if she fell over them.

‘What about your interview? How did that go?’

Bonnie remembers the way the producer had smiled politely at her as she scribbled on her pad of paper, even the smile of sympathy the cameraman had offered. ‘I was dull,’ she says, grimacing. ‘I think they even felt sorry for me.’ She wonders if the crew are now off having a great big laugh at how pathetic she was. Mimicking her answers, mocking her desperation to find love. She feels sick.

A text message chimes on Carla’s phone. She retrieves it from her handbag, glancing down at the screen.

Bonnie stares out the window, watching as some of the other girls emerge from the studio. ‘Let’s get going.’ She wants to be as far away from here as possible.

‘You were out with Oliver James last night?’