‘Anyway, you still haven’t told me why you’ve stopped being such a cunt. Is it just that fame suits your e-NOR-mous ego so fantastically? Or is there a wonderful woman behind the scenes?’

She was being flippant – surely, Ben could never love anybody more than he loved himself? – but as she saw the look in his eyes, she realized she had hit the nail on the head.

‘Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, there is!’ she shouted gleefully, gesturing to the waiter for another couple of blackcurrant Martinis. ‘Who is it? Please don’t say it’s Amy Lascelles. Such a cliché to fall in love with your co-star, and she’s always struck me as a horrible little bitch …’

‘Don’t worry, it’s not Amy. She is a horrible little bitch. No, it’s …’

At that moment, Jack Meadows wandered into the VIP area. His eyes lit up at the sight of Poppy.

‘Hey.’

‘Hey.’ Poppy smiled, and got up to give him a hug.

‘I was there first, asshole,’ Jack said to Ben.

‘Actually, I was there first,’ said Ben. ‘But Pops is married to my erstwhile friend, Damian.’

‘Erstwhile? Jeez, you Brits like to milk the old country, dontcha? But hey – small world …’

‘Indeed,’ said Ben in an approximation of 1940s received pronunciation.

Jack laughed. ‘I guess somebody has to teach us ghastly colonials how to speak the Queen’s English?’

‘I think Ben had plenty of help being taught how to speak the Queen’s English himself,’ said Poppy. ‘Didn’t you, boyo?’

Jack looked momentarily shocked, and Poppy wondered if she’d gone too far, but Ben laughed easily.

‘Yup, if it weren’t for RADA, I’d still be talking like a boy from the Valleys.’

Poppy looked at him with amazement.

‘OK, then, lover boy, tell us who she is, this extraordinary woman who’s made you almost human? I don’t know her, do I?’

‘Actually, you do, it’s—’

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, can you please make your way to the auditorium? The awards are about to begin!’

The three of them looked at one another in excitement, and Poppy forgot all about Ben’s new squeeze as her ego took centre stage once more.

‘Man,’ said Filthy Meadows, looking at Poppy with undisguised appreciation. ‘Are you sure you’re not available?’

‘Oh, don’t be a stupid old dork,’ said Heather Meadows (née Maria Gonzalez). ‘If she’s not interested in Jack and Ben,’ – she fluttered thick black eyelashes at Ben – ‘you really think this little sex kitten is gonna be interested in an old freak like you? Congratulations on your win, Poppy, hon. We love your show.’

Jack rolled his eyes at Ben. He was used to his mother’s irrational likes and dislikes when it came to good-looking women. Poppy, it appeared, had rocked his momma’s world. Soon, it became apparent why.

‘You really showed that Sandra bitch up for the whore she is,’ said Heather, taking Poppy by the arm and leading her into the villa. ‘It only goes on the wall if I screwed one of the band! That was just classic, honey. But some of us have more class than that, as I’m sure you can see. Now, let me get you a drink – I make the meanest margaritas!’