‘That’s OK. Sorry for being oversensitive. Just had a really bad day, and I don’t want to be Sammi-Jo any more.’

‘Why? What’s happened?’ asked Mikey disingenuously, brushing his golden-blond fringe out of his eyes.

Sam looked at Sienna.

‘So you didn’t tell them?’ She knew her friend could never keep her mouth shut.

‘Yeah, she told us,’ said Dan, still not looking up from his letters. ‘Sorry to hear about that shit-head photographer. He needs his face kicked in. Plenty of beers in the fridge, Sambo. Help yourself.’

‘Thanks Dan. Just need to go to the toilet.’ The stockings and suspenders were starting to feel extremely uncomfortable underneath her damp sweatpants and Sam found her teeth were chattering slightly. Dan looked up.

‘You’re soaking.’ Sam instinctively put her arms around her braless chest in the wet hoody, and he pretended not to notice. ‘D’you want to borrow something dry? You can have a look in my room, if you want, but everything I’ve got will be huge on you.’

‘Borrow something of mine, Sam,’ said Olly, the drummer, who was shorter and less handsome than the rest of the band, but with a sweet, open face that reflected an endearingly sunny nature. ‘First floor, second on the right. Just help yourself to anything you like.’

When Sam returned downstairs, she was wearing a rolled-up pair of baggy Diesel jeans and a fine-knit black V-necked sweater. She’d wrung as much water as she could out of her long red hair and tied it up into a ponytail.

She helped herself to a beer out of the huge fridge and sat down next to Sienna.

‘Thanks for the clothes, Olly.’ She smiled at him. ‘This is much more comfy.’

‘Suits you.’ Olly smiled back. ‘You should wear my clothes more often.’

Sam saw Dan’s back stiffen.

‘So who’s winning?’ she asked quickly.

‘Dan,’ they all said in unison.

‘He always does,’ added Mikey. ‘Don’t know why we bother playing him really. Clever bastard.’

‘Well, someone’s got to write the lyrics,’ said Dan, glancing up from his letters. ‘You lot were well crap with your “yeah yeah yeahs” before I came along.’

‘Worked for the Beatles,’ said Sam, taking a swig of her Stella, and accepting the joint Sienna was handing her way. ‘Thanks, Sienna.’

‘Exactly. It worked for the Beatles, the best band in the world. But we are not a copycat band, or a fucking cover band. We write our own stuff. Original stuff.’

As he finished his sentence, Dan put his letters down. There was a Y free at the bottom of the board, and he used up all seven of his to make RHAPSODY, on a triple-word score.

‘Oh, come on, mate … !’

‘For fuck’s sake, Dan … !’

‘Told you he were a clever bastard!’ Mikey grinned. ‘No way any of us can catch up now.’

‘It’s not about the winning, it’s about playing the game,’ said Sienna, looking and sounding ridiculously posh, despite the band T-shirt and leather hot pants. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, her posture was perfect.