Vic opens the door in a shirt open to the waist; a medallion sits mid-chest, nestling among curling hair. He’s tall. His smile is white as bones. ‘The famous Veronica Moon,’ he says, and reaches out a hand to shake hers, ‘a delight to meet you. I see you even made my friend Squires look presentable, and he’s got a face like a baboon’s rear end.’

Vee has listened to Whistler’s show twice this week, to get a sense of what to expect. He’s the next big thing, hence the profile in Smash Hits and the cover shot she’s been sent to take. She can’t see it, personally – his sense of humour seems quite puerile to her, and the music too much of a mix to make comfortable background listening, but maybe that’s the point. (Surely, at thirty, she isn’t old enough to be unable to understand the young?)

‘Could I have a look around?’ she asks.

‘Be my guest.’ He follows her down the hall of his Pimlico flat. There’s a balcony, overlooking the river. If she positions him right, London will swell and fade behind him; nothing too dominant, but a sense of the city he has, apparently, won over. She’s pulled her hair back in a bandanna, seeing as Thatcher has her scarf. It could be that a crew-cut is the way to go. Or something a bit less extreme. Chrissie Hynde, who she photographed for Melody Maker not so long ago, had something good going on – gamine and unfussy.

He’s still right behind her. ‘You’ve a great view here,’ she says. ‘Shall we make the most of it?’

‘Is that what your boyfriends say?’ Vee turns away, pretending not to hear – Leonie is good at confrontation, at flicking over pints and giving fingers, but Vee can never quite dare and anyway, she’s at work and she has a job to do. She gets out her camera, removes the lens cap, palms it into the back pocket of her jeans.

‘Could you stand with your back to the river, and square on to the door?’

‘Sure,’ he says, and moves onto the balcony, sliding his arms along the top rail behind him, shoulders back, pelvis out. Vee retreats into the doorway, drops to one knee – she’s expecting a blow-job joke, is already braced to not react, but he surprises her by keeping his mouth shut. When she looks through the viewfinder she sees why. He’s nailed a smile to his face, a toothy and meant-to-be-seductive leer which he’s clearly going to hold until he hears the shutter click. She takes the shot. The difficulty here is going to be getting him not to pose.