Perv.

‘I’m sorry to hear about your divorce,’ he said, attempting a sympathetic smile.

‘Are you?’

‘Yes. Of course. I’ve been through it myself, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.’

‘Right,’ she replied, suspicious of where he was going.

‘But to go through it twice like you have, Lana, I mean that’s horrendous. Your first marriage lasted … what was it … nine months?’

‘Eight. I was very young.’

‘And your second …?’

She stared at him, determined not to answer.

‘Just five years, I was told …?’

Mind your own fucking business, you creep.

‘Yes, Ryan, I obviously have terrible character judgement when it comes to men.’ And then she laughed. ‘I mean, I always used to think that you were a decent bloke, for example!’

He didn’t know how to take this and so he moved on again.

They talked some more about the fun she’d had filming, what Katya Molenski was really like, and was it true she could be a bit of a diva? Lana told him she was a peach and he asked her for some amusing anecdotes.

‘Well, there was this one time when I had to eat a bowl of spaghetti and I put too much on my fork and it was just falling out of my mouth when I spoke, and Katya got the giggles, which started me off, and suddenly there was spaghetti actually coming out of my nose. It was gross but absolutely hilarious.’

The whole story was entirely made up, but by now Lana was bored and just wanted to get away from the creepy journo.

Before he started packing up, he asked her for a photo. ‘My wife’s a big fan,’ he said. So Lana obediently stood next to him, his arm around her shoulders a tad too tight, whilst the stylist took a quick snap on his mobile phone.

‘OK, we done?’ she said brightly.

‘For sure, that was brilliant. It’ll be out in time for the first episode.’

‘Great. Thanks, Ryan. The pleasure was all mine.’ And she turned to go and get changed.

As she headed over to the dressing area, the stylist asked her if she needed a hand.

‘No, you’re all right,’ she called back cheerily, ducking behind the curtain.

‘That’s a wrap, everyone!’ called the assistant, and they all went about their business of packing up for the day.

Lana began undressing, eager to be out of her alien clothes at last. She was down to her knickers and bra when her mobile rang.

Catrin.

‘I’m just getting changed,’ she said, putting the phone on to speaker.

‘How did it go?’

‘Oh you know, same old same old.’ Lana leant into the handset and whispered, ‘The journalist was a dickhead and so was the photographer, but it’s done now.’

‘Your life is ridiculous.’

‘I know.’

‘So what time you arriving Sunday?’

‘Well, I’ll probably get there just before the service starts. It’s two o’clock, right? Sorry I can’t get down sooner, but I’ve got this charity thing the night before.’