‘Where did you get the cameras?’ I murmur, as we both sit still, ignoring the demented chatter and fussing around us.

‘Flora,’ he says. ‘She was happy to help. And Imogen switched the links so our film played instead. He’s been sending her creepy emails.’

‘Stars, all of you. Thank you.’ My throat feels thick.

‘You owe us doughnuts. Me, mainly, for working my filthy fingers to the bone in the world’s fastest edit.’

It’s true I owe him, big time. ‘I was thinking,’ I say, ‘about your church. Why don’t you film it? Make a taster on the perils of religious restoration, pitch it to Channel Four, then you can get some experts in to help you sort it all out.’

‘Hmm.’ Petroc strokes his chin. ‘That’s not a bad thought.’

I tap my temple. ‘You see, I did have a show idea after all. So it was worth taking the day off.’

He smiles. ‘Oh, I’d say it was worth it.’

And we sit together, hand in hand, as Vince stands up looking like he’s been hit by a truck, and announces that, following a technical hitch, we will now be watching an episode of Blind Dinner Date.

Tick, tick, tick. He was a suspect package but, rather than run away, I blew him up.

See? I said I had a plan.

43

Afterwards, Vince collars me as I’m collecting Bigwig from the attendant.

‘What the fuck was that?’ he says, as I ladle the rabbit into his pouch.

I stare at him appraisingly, stroking Bigwig’s twitching nose with one finger. ‘It was me, getting my own back,’ I say, eventually. ‘I’ve been waiting twenty years.’

The attendant staggers out of the cloakroom, lugging Vince’s Segway, but he ignores her. ‘Well, you could have at least warned me you were going full-on revenge porn. I would have directed it a hell of a lot better. That second camera angle was too wide, and the final jump cut was a fucking travesty. A cross-fade would have been classier.’

I laugh in disbelief. ‘Blame Petroc, it was his work.’

‘He always was an overhasty editor. Slapdash.’ Vince shakes his head sorrowfully.

‘Effective though.’

‘Sure, sure. Maybe I should give him your raise.’

‘I still want that.’

‘You’re going to have to earn it. Particularly now I’ve lost a buyer.’

‘I’m sorry he’s not going to take your format.’

Vince shrugs. ‘Plenty more fish in the sea. Less slippery ones. By the way, Avon House called again. They’ve reinstated your membership. You live to pitch on a sunlounger another day.’

I grimace. ‘What changed their minds?’

He holds up his phone. ‘Apparently you’re a superstar Instagrammer now – they don’t want you to badmouth them. The manager called me personally to assure me you’ll be given special privileges. I don’t know what that means but it sounded filthy.’

Permission to be one of Avon House’s water baubles. The thought makes me smile. Maybe I’ll take them up on it, go and stare at my pearly toes again one day.

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I could do with some good news.’

To my surprise, Vince puts his hand on my arm, very briefly. ‘You did well,’ he says. ‘It was a good show.’

Before I can react, he’s distracted by a woman collecting her bag. The bag is Hermès, and its owner is the chief executive of ITV.

‘So good to see you!’ he exclaims. ‘If I could just steal one moment of your time before you go . . .’ And he bears her off back to the bar, winking at me over his shoulder.

When I emerge from the club, it’s finally dark, though the warmth of the day lingers. Many of the Red Eye staff are going on elsewhere to carry on partying, but I can’t wait to get a cab home, fall into bed and maybe have that moment of peace I’ve been chasing, before sleep consumes me. The effects of the booze have long worn off, and I’m left feeling strangely empty and bereft, though buoyed by the comments and hugs from my colleagues as they exit. Caroline embraces me again, clutching my neck and shouting ‘You did it, girlfriend!’ until I have to gently disengage, track down her fellow crew members and palm her off on them. Flora gives me a shy thumbs up as she departs, and I think what a nice girl she is, how I’d really rather help her become a good producer, show her the ropes and set her on her way. Now I’ve seen off my

(de)mentor, it’s time I became one myself.

Taking a deep breath of the night air, I wander towards the nearest taxi rank, but am interrupted by the buzz of my phone. Assuming it’s Robbie, and wanting news of Hazel, I pluck it out of my pocket, but it’s not my husband; it’s my sister.

‘It’s Rose,’ she says, her voice unusually sharp and high. ‘She says she’s going to throw herself off the bridge.’

‘What?’

Maz sounds tearful. ‘The suspension bridge. I’ve been on the phone to her, trying to talk her down. Not down. She’s completely hysterical.’

‘Why did she call you? Aren’t you back in Crediton? Why didn’t she call me?’

‘She did, apparently. You didn’t answer.’

All the missed calls from her today just blended in to another thing I didn’t have time for. And I’m not sure I have time for it now. Not for one minute do I think my mother is about to jump off a bridge to her almost-certain death, no crinoline to slow down her fall. She’s far too self-satisfied. But it’s certainly a deviation from her usual modus operandi. An unexpected narrative twist from Baby Jane. I thought it wasn’t the last I’d seen of her tonight, but I didn’t expect this.

‘Is it even possible to jump off the bridge? I mean, aren’t there barriers or something?’

‘I don’t know, but I’m not sure we should leave her there on the off-chance that jumping off is difficult?’

‘No, no, of course. I’m on my way. Don’t worry, she just wants attention. And Maz?’

‘Yes?’ I can hear a dog barking in the background. It must be Gawain.

‘What you told us today, at dinner. I just wanted to say, I’m really pleased for you. And . . . and proud of you.’

‘Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. Wasn’t sure how.’

‘No, I get it. It’s just . . . I’d really like to meet Calum, get to know him. But before that, I’d like to meet you. Get to know you, Mrs Fraser.’

She laughs, shakily. ‘You know me.’

I grip my mobile. ‘Not properly. Let’s meet and talk, properly.’

There’s a pause, and then she says ‘The IKEA café is a good place to talk. I could meet you there.’