She reached for the remote and switched on the TV, her small studio apartment flooding with the voice of the presenter of one of the self-improvement programmes she liked to watch. Thanks to one, she’d had her teeth straightened and whitened, had spent a ridiculous amount of money on a plastic surgeon and had finally given up trying to grow her hair and bought a wig. She ran a hand over it. It had been expensive but worth it; nobody would guess it wasn’t her natural hair. It had taken every penny she had, and a few she didn’t. It had been hard work to make up the difference. Sordid, mind-numbing, soul-destroying work. Picking up men in city bars, offering whatever they wanted, charging extra for the more degrading acts they’d asked her to perform. But she’d done it. Made the money she needed, become the woman she’d wanted to be.

The first stop to getting the life she deserved, the one she should have had… would have had if it hadn’t been for Allison.

Jo looked around the miniscule studio apartment. The inadequate kitchen with its two-ring hob and tiny oven. The uncomfortable sofa that opened out into an even more uncomfortable bed. And the ludicrous wet room where the shower head sat immediately over the toilet seat. It was that small, but she was still struggling to afford the rent.

When she’d taken it, she’d been working in an insurance company earning a fairly decent salary. She’d still be there if her obsession hadn’t taken over.

‘You need help,’ the human resources manager had said, trying to sound sympathetic, the attempt ruined as she glanced rather obviously at her watch as if measuring the time she was wasting by talking to Jo. When she spoke again there was more than a hint of impatience in her voice. ‘We were able to ignore your fixation with social media while you were on your official breaks as it’s not our policy to dictate how people pass their free time, but you’ve been caught numerous times using your mobile to check your accounts while you were supposed to be working and that is not acceptable. You were warned on multiple occasions by your direct line manager before she reported you to us. We’ve followed procedure with verbal and written warnings as per company policy, to no avail. I’m sorry, we’re going to have to let you go.’

Jo had wanted to shout at her. To explain about Allison and the need to keep a close eye on her; to tell her the job was drudgery and only frequent glimpses into richer, better, more glamorous lives helped her get through each day. Instead, she shrugged, collected her belongings and left without a word.