The only not-so-A-list thing is, all the photographers have disappeared from our gates, which is a bit disloyal of them. At least, not all. There’s one geeky Asian guy who is still hanging around. He has bleached-blond hair and today he was wearing a pink bomber jacket with tight black jeans and rubber ankle boots. I started to pose and he took a few snaps, then he beckoned me over and said excitedly, ‘You’re a friend of Danny Kovitz, right? The designer? Could you get me his autograph?’ It turns out his name is Lon and he’s a fashion-design student and he worships Danny. And now he worships me too because I’m a friend of Danny.

And OK, maybe I did play up to it a bit. Maybe I did promise to come out tomorrow morning wearing a vintage Danny Kovitz outfit (i.e. two years old) which never even hit the catwalks, and let him take a picture of it. The thing is, I like having photographers outside the house. It’s boring not to have any around.

I’m in the kitchen preparing an A-lister-type supper when Luke comes in. Dad must have come back at some point and he and Tarquin have gone out sightseeing – they left a note – and Suze is nowhere to be seen, so I guess she’s with them too. All the children are in bed and I’ve sent Jeff and Mitchell out for supper, so it’s just me and Luke, which is nice.

Now that I’m a rising Hollywood celebrity, I have to cook appropriately. We’ll probably need to get a chef or private juice-maker or something, but for now I’m making a very of-the-moment dish. Grain soup. It’s the latest thing. All the A-listers have it, plus I need to look thin for all my forthcoming appearances, and apparently it’s got some magic combination that boosts the metabolism.

‘Hi!’ I greet Luke with a kiss and a wheatgrass smoothie, which is also very healthy and A-list.

‘What’s that?’ He sniffs it and recoils. ‘I’m having a glass of wine. Want one?’

‘No thanks,’ I say, self-righteously. ‘I’m trying to follow a clean diet.’ I ladle grain soup into two bowls and put it on the table. ‘This is totally organic and macrobiotic. It has chia,’ I add.

Luke looks dubiously at it and pokes it with his spoon.

‘OK,’ he says slowly. ‘What are we having with it?’

‘This is it! It has protein and sprouty things and everything. It’s a meal in a bowl.’ I’m about to take a spoonful, when I remember something. I push my chair back and start doing squats.

Luke stares at me in alarm. ‘Becky, are you all right?

‘I’m fine!’ I say breathlessly. ‘You should do squats before you eat. It boosts the metabolism. All the stars do it. Nine … ten.’ I take my seat again, panting slightly. Luke surveys me silently for a moment, then takes a spoonful. He munches it, but doesn’t say anything.

‘Isn’t it great?’ I say cheerily, and take a massive spoonful myself.

Argh. Blurgh. Akk.

Seriously? This is what the film stars eat?

It’s really watery, and what little taste it has is like a mix of mushrooms and sawdust and earth. I force myself to swallow it down, and take another spoonful. I don’t dare look at Luke. A bowl of this won’t fill him up. Nor me. It wouldn’t even fill up Minnie.

How do the A-listers stay so cheery when they have to eat grain soup the whole time? It must be mind over matter. They must sit there grimly, telling themselves, ‘I’m ravenous … but I’m in a movie! My stomach is rumbling and I feel faint … but I’m friends with Leonardo DiCaprio!’

I take another mouthful and try to chew it a hundred times, as recommended in the blog I read. But honestly. How can this be good for you? My jaws are aching and all I can taste is sprouty things. I would kill for a KitKat—

No, stop it. A-listers don’t eat KitKats. If I’m going to be in their crowd I need to learn to love grain soup.

‘Luke, maybe we should buy a yacht,’ I say, to take my mind off the grain soup.

‘What?’ He looks flabbergasted.

‘Just a little one. And then we could hang out with other people on yachts. Like Ben and Jennifer,’ I add casually. ‘Those kinds of people.’

Sage was talking about Ben today as though they’re best friends. Well, if she can be friends with him, why not me, too?

‘Ben?’

‘Ben Affleck.’

‘Ben Affleck?’ Luke puts his spoon down. ‘Why on earth would we hang out with Ben Affleck?’

‘We might!’ I say defensively. ‘Why shouldn’t we? We live in LA now, we’re in the movies … you’re bound to meet Ben Affleck at a party or something …’

‘I doubt it,’ says Luke, dryly.

‘Well, I will, then! Maybe Sage will introduce us. Or maybe I’ll style him or one of his friends.’

And I’ll become best friends with Jennifer Garner, I think secretly. I’ve always thought I would hit it off with her.

‘Becky, this conversation makes no sense.’ Luke is shaking his head and I look at him impatiently. He’s so slow sometimes.

‘Don’t you realize everything’s changed? I’m in the public eye now. I’m in a whole new zone.’

‘You’re hardly an A-lister,’ he snorts, and I feel a dart of indignation.

‘Well, I will be! I have paparazzi outside the house … Sage Seymour calls me all the time …’

‘The paparazzi have gone,’ says Luke, unmoved. ‘And Sage calls me all the time, too. That doesn’t make me an A-lister.’

‘Aran believes in me,’ I say pointedly. ‘He says I’m going to be huge. He says I could have my own network show by next year.’

Luke sighs. ‘Darling, I don’t want to rain on your parade – but don’t believe every word Aran says. He’s a great guy, but he just says whatever the conversation of the moment seems to require. Maybe he believes it, maybe he doesn’t. It’s the Hollywood way.’ He sips his wine. ‘And another thing: we need to get rid of those goons. We can’t live with them lurking around the place all day.’

‘Mitchell and Jeff?’ I put down my spoon in dismay. ‘I couldn’t live without Mitchell and Jeff.’

Luke peers at me incredulously for a moment, then throws back his head in laughter. ‘Darling, you’ve only had bodyguards for a day. You can’t be dependent on them already. And if you are, I’m afraid you need a reality check.’ He gets up from the table. ‘I’m making myself a sandwich. Sorry.’ He starts slathering mayonnaise on to bread, and I watch in secret envy. ‘Since you’re talking to your best friend Sage non-stop,’ he adds, ‘you can tell me something. I’m convinced she’s up to some lunatic plan or other. What has she said to you?’

I feel a tweak of alarm. I wasn’t expecting him to ask me straight out.

‘What do you mean?’ I say, playing for time.

‘She’s hiding something.’ He sits down with his monster sandwich and takes a bite. ‘Truthfully, Becky, I’m nearly at the end of the line with Sage. I thought we could work together, but …’ He wipes a blob of mayonnaise off his chin and takes another huge bite.

‘But what?’

‘If she can’t play straight with me, then it’s not going to work.’

‘You mean …’ I feel a sudden foreboding. ‘Luke, what do you mean?’

‘I don’t know yet.’ He opens a bag of crisps, which he must have bought himself. I certainly didn’t buy them. ‘Here’s the thing, Becky. A lot of issues are up in the air.’

‘What kind of issues?’

‘I spoke with the London office today and there’s some intriguing stuff going on back there. We’ve just had a call from the Treasury. I’m going to have to fly back to take a meeting. And if we progress with that association, then I’ll need to be on board.’

‘In London?’ I can’t hide my dismay.

‘Well, it makes sense. This LA jaunt was always temporary. It’s been fun and interesting, but frankly, I’d take ten bolshie Treasury officials over one obstreperous movie star any day.’ Luke laughs but I don’t join in. I’m feeling a rising rage. He’s talking about moving back to London? Without even consulting me?

‘We can’t move back to London!’ I blurt out. ‘What about me? What about my new career?’

Luke looks taken aback. ‘Well, you can be a stylist in London, surely? It’s the home of style.’

‘I can’t be a Hollywood stylist in London.’

‘Darling, there’s a film industry in Britain. I’m sure you can get some contacts together, talk to the right people …’

How can he be so dense?

‘But it isn’t Hollywood!’ I cry out. ‘I want to live in Hollywood and be famous!’

As soon as the words are out, I feel a bit stupid. But even so, I don’t want to take them back. I mean them. I’ve only had the teeniest taste of being famous. How can I give it up?

Luke is looking at me, an odd expression on his face.

‘Are you sure about that?’ he says at last.

This is the final straw. How can he even ask that?

‘I want it more than anything!’ I cry out. ‘You know what my dream is? To be standing on the red carpet in my own right! Not shuffled along like a second-class citizen, just filling up the space … but there as me. Becky.’

‘I didn’t realize it was so important to you,’ says Luke, in a toneless way which infuriates me.

‘Well, it is. It’s always been my dream.’

‘No it hasn’t!’ Luke gives a short laugh. ‘Are you trying to pretend this is the fulfilment of a childhood ambition?’

‘Well …’ I flounder briefly. ‘OK … maybe it’s a new dream. Does it matter? The point is, if you respected me, Luke, you wouldn’t drag us all out to LA, then drag us back to London without any warning. I know you’re the big-shot Luke Brandon, but I have a career too! I’m my own person! I’m not only “Mrs Brandon”! Or would you like me to turn into some corporate wifey-wifey? Maybe that’s what you secretly wanted, all along! I’ll go and learn how to make profiteroles, shall I?’

I break off, slightly shocked at myself. I didn’t mean to say all that: it just came out. I can tell I’ve hurt Luke by the way his eyes are flickering. I want to say, ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it,’ and give him a hug – but that wouldn’t feel quite right, either.