‘Thanks, but that’s bollocks really, innit?’ she said. ‘Can I show you the cow he was shagging on the boat?’ And before Dan had time to answer, she had taken her phone out of her handbag and started scrolling through the pictures of Karolina Kristova.

Dan glanced at them briefly, then looked back to her. ‘Looks a right old slag, if you ask me.’ His tone was dismissive.

‘But so am I, Dan. I take my clothes off for the cameras, just like she does.’

‘Stop being such a fucking idiot, Sambo. You’re a great kid, and you’re not a slag. You’re beautiful, and clever, and I really, really like you.’

He was still looking into her eyes, and she hastily wiped them, cursing the tears that had smudged her mascara. His charisma, up close, was hypnotic.

They gazed at one another for a few seconds, hearts beating fast as they stood together on the smoky urban roof terrace. Then Dan bent his head to kiss her and Sam was lost, winding her arms around his neck and responding with delicious abandonment.

‘I bet some of these people think we should get a room,’ Dan whispered against her hair after a bit, always aware of having to maintain his cool image. ‘Fancy coming back to mine?’

They snogged all the way to Dalston in the back of the cab, all Sam’s pent-up emotion and longing causing her to kiss Dan back with an urgency that surprised and delighted him. When he put his hand inside her knickers and found her wet already, he groaned, ‘Oh, fuck.’

Still snogging, they stumbled into the house he shared with the rest of the band. It was pretty grotty, with no curtains and the bare minimum of furniture. Empty beer cans and overflowing ashtrays littered the floor. But it managed to retain an air of cool. The floorboards were bare, the fridge in the open-plan living area enormous, and musical equipment was strewn casually throughout: a guitar propped up against a wall here, a vast set of headphones chucked onto a shabby old armchair there, a drum kit in the corner over there. The walls were lined with posters advertising Flaming Geysers gigs throughout the country.

‘Right then, Sambo. How much do you want to fuck me?’ Dan had the hideous ego of any would-be rock star, but Sam didn’t care. All she wanted was warm, human contact – anything to make the pain go away. But she wasn’t going to beg.

‘How much do you want to fuck me?’ she countered.

In response, Dan grabbed her by the hand and dragged her into what she assumed was his bedroom. It was pretty much empty save for a large mattress on the floor and a poster of himself on one wall.

They started snogging again, breathlessly tearing at each other’s clothes. When Sam pulled her top over her head, revealing her amazing breasts, Dan caught his breath.

‘Oh, my God.’ He bent his head to suck her nipples, one after the other, until Sam was moaning loudly, head thrown back, long red hair streaming down her back.