Lana’s marriage to William lasted eight months. It ended when she had an affair with a fellow actor on a national tour of Hello, Dolly! The divorce was swift and Lana vowed never to marry again. ‘I’m allergic to long-term commitment!’ she would often joke and embarked on a series of affairs, usually with older, married men such as Paul Durrant, the executive producer of Still Waters.

It wasn’t until 1999, when she met and fell in love with a TV writer called Archie Osbourne, that Lana finally succumbed to a second wedding. The event was huge. And Lana, by now a minor celebrity, managed to secure a deal with The Goss magazine, who photographed the life out of the whole day in exchange for footing the catering bill. This time Lana had felt no inclination to invite Judith, secretly hoping she would read about it in The Goss and regret the fact that she was no longer friends with her now famous friend. She wasn’t proud of herself for feeling like that, but feel like that she did.

In many respects Archie and Lana’s marriage was quite strong, and even when it came to an end in 2004, when Archie admitted to himself and the world that he was gay, they still remained friends.

‘I genuinely think,’ Lana had said to Catrin, ‘that some people, like you and Sol, are made for marriage, whereas others, like me, are simply useless at it! A bit like dancing.’ She’d said it with a laugh, her default position when feeling vulnerable. But Catrin and Sol’s marriage really was an important foundation in Lana’s life and something upon which she was hugely dependent. ‘You know that you two can never split up, don’t you?’ she’d continued. ‘Not for your sakes, but for mine.’ And although she’d been smiling, she’d meant every word.

Pulling up outside Patricia Harris’s little terraced house in Victoria Road, Lana was hijacked by nostalgia. It was almost two decades since she’d last been there and the first thing she noticed was that it hadn’t changed. The front door, though weather-beaten, was exactly the same, and when she knocked on the brass knocker (remembering that the doorbell had never worked) it was like she was a teenager once again, calling for her friend to go to school.

There was no answer so she knocked again, wondering what to do if Patricia wasn’t at home. When the third knock still prompted no response, she turned and headed back to the car. Maybe she could write a card to explain and pop it through the letterbox.

‘What d’you want?’

She was stopped in her tracks by the husky voice of Patricia, groggily calling out to her from the doorstep, wearing a dressing gown, cigarette in hand.

‘Hello, Mrs Harris,’ said Lana, walking back towards the house and once more feeling like she was sixteen. ‘It’s me, Lana Lloyd.’

‘Who?’

Lana was practically back on the doorstep now.

‘Lana. Judith’s friend from school.’ It felt so strange describing herself as Judith’s friend when she hadn’t been Judith’s friend for nearly twenty years. But how else could she explain who she was?