I feel a tap on my shoulder and wheel round sharply, hoping it’s Sage. But it’s Lois.

‘Becky, I was looking for you,’ she says in that soft voice. ‘We were interrupted.’

I can’t reply. I’m staring in shock. She’s holding the Art Deco clutch. How did that happen?

‘Where did you get that?’ I blurt out.

‘It was lying on a table. You know, there was a champagne glass balanced on top of it.’ She smiles in mock reproof. ‘You should take better care of such a lovely thing. I have to go present an award, but I’ll see you later, OK?’ She twinkles at me, then hurries off.

In a slight daze, I return to our table and sink into my seat.

‘What happened?’ demands Suze. ‘You’ve been ages!’

‘It’s OK. Luke’s fine with everything and Lois’s got the clutch.’

‘Nicely done,’ applauds Luke.

‘Thanks.’ I beam at him, finally relaxing. ‘So, what are these awards all about?’ I reach for the programme and flip through it. ‘Best Debut. Suze, you could win that!’

‘They should have Best Background Artist,’ says Suze, looking up from her programme in dissatisfaction. ‘We’re the backbone of the film industry. Why don’t we have our own Oscar? Tarkie!’ she exclaims as he sits down. ‘I want you to sponsor a new awards ceremony. For background actors.’

‘Ahm …’ Tarquin looks wary. ‘Maybe.’

‘The big corporations don’t care about us. But where would they be without the talent and commitment of the background artist?’ Suze sounds like she’s about to organize a rally. ‘Where would their blockbusters be then? We need recognition. We need respect!’

‘And you want to win a prize,’ I put in.

‘It’s not about that,’ she says severely. ‘I’m simply speaking out on behalf of my community.’

‘But you would win a prize.’

‘I might do.’ She preens herself. ‘We could have statues like the Oscars, but silver.’

‘And call them “Suzes”.’

‘Shut up!’ She pokes me. ‘Although, actually … why not?’

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ The deep boomy voice is back, and spotlights start circling the whole room. ‘Welcome to this year’s Actors’ Society Awards. Please welcome your host, Billy Griffiss!’

Applause breaks out as music erupts from the loudspeakers, and Billy Griffiss comes running down a set of lit-up steps, on to the stage. (I’m not exactly sure who he is. Maybe a comedian.) He starts his speech, but I’m only half listening.

‘Sage!’ says Aran, as she approaches the table, all glittery under the circling spotlights. ‘We lost you there. You need a drink, honey?’

‘I’ve been looking for my purse,’ says Sage, looking cross. ‘I just had it. I put it down, and it was gone.’

‘Never mind,’ says Suze quickly. ‘I don’t think it went with your dress, actually.’

‘And now, to present our first award, may I introduce a young lady who has done more for the share price of Kleenex than any other actor. We’ve seen her on the scaffold, we’ve seen her marooned in space, and now we’re going to see her right here. The queen of the weepie … Miss Lois Kellerton!’

The theme tune to Tess blasts through the loudspeakers, and Lois appears at the top of the lit-up steps. She looks slim and ethereal and beautiful … and she’s holding the Art Deco bag.

Shit.

OK. Think. Quickly. The important thing is that Sage doesn’t look at the stage and see the clutch.

‘Sage!’ I say wildly. ‘I need to speak to you. Now.’

I can see Suze clocking the silver bag in Lois’s hand, and her eyes widen in comprehension.

‘Ow!’ She rubs at her chest vigorously. ‘I don’t feel great. Sage, have I got a rash? Could you look at my skin?’

Puzzled, Sage peers at Suze’s chest.

‘You’re good,’ she says, and turns back to the stage.

‘Sage!’ I hurry over to her chair and kneel down, forcing her to look away from the stage. ‘I’ve had a brilliant idea for a dress! With a fishtail and a kind of … bodice …’

‘Sounds great.’ Sage turns away. ‘We’ll talk about it later. I want to watch Lois mess this up.’

‘And the nominations are …’ Lois is saying. She’s standing at the lectern by now, and the clutch is resting on top of it in plain view.

‘She’s so skinny,’ Sage is saying pityingly, plumping up her own cleavage. ‘She has such a sad little body. She’s—’ Her eyes suddenly narrow. ‘Wait. Is that my purse?’ She gasps so loudly, heads turn at the next table. ‘Is that my purse? Did that witch steal my purse?

‘No!’ I say hastily. ‘It was just a mix-up, I’m sure …’

‘Mix-up? She stole it!’ To my horror, Sage leaps to her feet. ‘Give me back my purse, Lois!’ she yells.

‘Oh Jesus,’ says Aran, and meets Luke’s eyes.

‘What is she doing?’ Luke looks absolutely appalled.

Lois pauses in the reading, and peers uncertainly out into the audience. Sage is striding to the stage, her eyes flashing. To my disbelief she mounts the podium, her dress sparkling under the spotlights.

‘That’s my purse,’ she says, grabbing it off the lectern. ‘You’re a thief, Lois. A common little thief.’

No.’ Aran bangs his head down on the table, as all the photographers rush forward and start snapping.

‘I didn’t steal anything.’ Lois looks flabbergasted. ‘This was given to me by my stylist, Rebecca.’

‘She gave it to me,’ Sage retorts, opening it up. ‘Oh, look. My phone. My lipstick. My lucky charm. Now are you going to tell me this is your purse?’

Lois stares in bewilderment at Sage’s stuff. Then she glances up, her eyes huge and anxious.

‘I was given it,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand.’

My legs trembling, I rise to my feet and call out, ‘It’s my fault! I promised it to both of you! I’m really sorry …’

But no one takes any notice, even though I’m waving my arms, trying to get their attention.

‘Now, ladies, I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding,’ Billy Griffiss is saying. ‘It reminds me of the calendar thief. Did you hear about him? He got twelve months and they say his days are numbered.’ He laughs loudly at his own joke, but if he’s hoping for anyone to join in, he’s out of luck. Everyone is watching Sage, riveted. Two guys in headsets have approached her, but she keeps batting them off.

‘Excuse me?’ I try waving my arms again. ‘Sage?’

‘People should know the truth about you, Lois,’ she spits. ‘You act so high and mighty, but you’re nothing but a criminal. You’re a thief! You’re a shoplifter!’

There’s a shocked murmuring from the audience at this. Someone shouts, ‘Boo!’ and someone else, ‘Get her off!’

‘Now, now.’ Billy Griffiss sounds pretty shocked, too. ‘I think that’s enough—’

‘It’s true! She’s a shoplifter! From … Pump!, wasn’t it, Lois?’

Lois looks like she wants to throw up.

‘There’s CCTV footage,’ says Sage in satisfaction. ‘Take a look.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ says Lois in a trembling voice.

‘Yes I do. Becky saw her. Becky, you saw Lois shoplifting, didn’t you? Tell them! This is the witness!’ She gestures theatrically at me.

I’m still on my feet, so I’m totally identifiable. In one instant, everyone in the room seems to have turned to look at me. Photographers are pointing their cameras this way. A few flashes are already going off, and I blink.

‘You saw Lois shoplifting, didn’t you?’ says Sage, her voice rising clearly through the room, her smile curving cruelly. ‘Tell them, Becky. Tell the truth.’

Blood is rushing in my ears like a freight train. I can’t think properly. The whole world is looking at me and I need to decide what to do and I’m too confused and the seconds are ticking by …

I’ve lied plenty of times in my life. I’ve said my leg was broken when it wasn’t. I’ve said I had glandular fever when I didn’t. I’ve said my boots cost £100 when it was actually £250. But those were lies about me. I’ve never lied about someone else.

I can’t tell the world Lois is a shoplifter.

But I can’t tell the world she isn’t a shoplifter.

‘I …’ I glance desperately at Lois. ‘I … no comment.’

I sink down in my chair, feeling ill.

‘That proves it!’ Sage crows. ‘Look at the CCTV footage! Becky saw it all. She’s your witness. Get her on the stand!’ She curtseys to the audience and sweeps off the stage.

Aran and Luke are just staring at each other, aghast.

‘Becky.’ Luke reaches over and squeezes my hand hard. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes. No.’ I swallow. ‘What was I supposed to do?’

‘It was an impossible situation.’ Luke’s mouth is tight with anger. ‘A situation you shouldn’t have been put in.’

‘They’re coming.’ Aran glances up at the photographers heading our way. He gives me a sympathetic look. ‘Watch out, girl. Your life just changed for ever.’

‘Becky!’ A journalist is holding out a voice recorder at me. ‘Becky! Did you see Lois stealing?’

‘Did you catch her in the act?’ chimes in another.

‘Becky, look this way please!’

‘This way, please, Becky!’

‘Leave her alone!’ commands Luke furiously, but the crowd of press is getting even bigger.

‘Becky! To your right, please!’

I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be in the glare of the paparazzi. Now I know. It’s like being in a thunderstorm. It’s all white light and noise and whooshing in my ears. Voices are calling at me from all directions. I don’t know which way to look or what to do. All I’m aware of is my name, being shouted out, over and over.

‘Becky!’

‘Becky!’

‘Beckeeeeeee!’


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