They weren’t interested in any of my notes. They didn’t even have any clothes in the studio. We didn’t talk about fashion at all. I’m sitting in the limo, numb with shock, driving away from the studios with Aran. How did that happen?

At first it all seemed perfect. The limo arrived at 6 a.m., and Jeff ‘secured’ it, while I posed for pictures taken by Lon and all his friends, who were yelling ‘Becky! Beckeeee!’ I was wearing my exclusive Danny Kovitz dress with a little shrug over it, and I felt just like a top-notch celebrity. Then we whizzed off to the studios, and I had my make-up done next to Ebony-Jane Graham, who is totally famous if you watch weight-loss programmes.

The host was called Marie and she was very smiley with enormous pearls. (And also a fairly enormous bottom, only you don’t see that as she sits on the sofa the whole time.) I was all set to start filming at 7.20, and I was dying of excitement, except my one niggle was: where were the clothes? When I asked the assistant producer, she just looked at me blankly and said, ‘You’re on to talk about Lois, right?’ There wasn’t time to protest because she bustled me on to the set, where I found not just Marie, but a kleptomania expert called Dr Dee.

Even then, I didn’t realize. I kept thinking, ‘They’ll ask me about styling soon. Maybe the clothes are on-screen. Maybe some models will appear, wearing the latest outfits.’

I was so stupid. The segment started, and Marie read out an introduction all about Lois and Sage, and then she turned to me and said, ‘So, Becky. Let’s go back to basics.’

‘Absolutely!’

I beamed at her, and was about to explain that this season’s trends are all about clean lines and playful accessories, when she continued, ‘You were actually in the shop when Lois – for whatever reason, and we’ll go into that later with Dr Dee – shoplifted some items. Could you relive that moment for us?’

I stumbled through some awkward account of seeing Lois take the socks, and then she asked me about the awards, and then she turned to Dr Dee and said, ‘So, Dr Dee. Why does an A-list movie star like Lois Kellerton turn to crime?’

And that was it. My part was over. Dr Dee talked endlessly about self-esteem and childhood issues, blah blah (I tuned out), and then the segment was finished. Not one fashion reference. Not one mention of me being a stylist. They didn’t even ask me who the diamanté clutch bag was by.

‘So.’ Aran looks up from his phone and smiles his Hollywood smile. ‘That went well.’

‘Went well?’ I echo in disbelief. ‘It was awful! I thought I was going to be styling clothes! I made all these notes, and I was all prepared, and it was supposed to launch me as a stylist …’

‘OK.’ Aran looks at me blankly, then shrugs. ‘But it was great exposure. We’ll build up to the styling thing.’

Build up to it?

‘You said it would be a styling segment,’ I say as politely as I can. ‘That’s what you told me.’

I don’t want to be a diva. I know Aran’s really helping me and everything. But he did promise styling. He did promise clothes.

‘Sure.’ He’s got that blank look again, as though he’s already tuned out what I just said. ‘So, we’ll work on that. Now, I have a couple of new offers, one of which is huge. Huge.’

‘Really?’ I can’t help feeling hopeful.

‘You see? I told you you’d be the queen of the moment. The first thing is a nice invitation to the Big Top premiere tomorrow. They want you to do the red carpet.’

‘Do the red carpet?’ I feel a sudden glittery excitement. ‘Like … do interviews?’

‘Sure. I think you should do it.’

‘Of course I’ll do it!’ I say in elation. ‘I can’t wait!’

I’m going to do the red carpet at a premiere! Me! Becky! In my own right! ‘What’s the other thing?’

‘This is shit-hot, totally confidential.’ He nods at his phone. ‘I should not even be sharing this with you.’

‘Really?’ I feel fresh sparks of excitement. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s reality. But it’s a whole new breed of reality.’

‘Right.’ I feel a bit hesitant at the word ‘reality’, but I’m not going to give that away. ‘Cool!’ I say determinedly. ‘That sounds fab!’

‘What it is—’ He interrupts himself. ‘OK, it’s not for the squeamish. But you’re not squeamish, are you, Becky?’

‘No! Definitely not!’

Oh God. Please don’t say he wants me to go on a show where you have to eat bugs. I can’t eat a worm. I can’t.

‘I didn’t think you were.’ He flashes that smile at me again. ‘What this show is about is aesthetic improvement. The working title is Even More Beautiful. Each celebrity will have a mentor in the form of another celebrity, and that mentor will carefully guide a process of aesthetic alteration. The American public will follow each process and vote on the result. Obviously medical professionals are on hand to consult at all times,’ he adds blithely.

I blink at him, not sure if I heard right.

‘Aesthetic alteration?’ I say at last. ‘You mean, plastic surgery?’

‘It’s a pioneering show.’ Aran nods. ‘Super-exciting, huh?’

‘Yes!’ I say automatically, although I can’t quite get my head around this. ‘So … I’d decide what kind of plastic surgery some celebrity has and then it gets voted on? But what if I get it wrong?’

Aran is shaking his head.

‘We see you as one of the celebrity participants who would undergo the journey. You would be assigned a celebrity mentor who would aim to make you the most beautiful swan. Not that you’re not already a swan,’ he adds charmingly. ‘But everyone can do with a little improvement, right?’ He twinkles. ‘The surgery alone would be worth thousands, together with the fee and the prime-time exposure … like I said, it’s a great opportunity.’

My head is spinning. He can’t be serious.

‘You want me to have plastic surgery?’ I falter.

‘Believe me, this is going to be the biggest TV show ever to hit our planet,’ says Aran confidently. ‘When I tell you who’s already signed up …’ He winks. ‘Let’s just say, you will be in stellar company.’

‘I’ll … I’ll think about it.’

I stare out of the window, feeling dazed. Plastic surgery? Luke would be absolutely— Oh God. I can’t even tell Luke about this. There’s no way I’m doing it.

‘Aran.’ I turn back. ‘Listen. I don’t think … I mean, I know it’s a great opportunity and everything—’

‘Sure. You think it’s grotesque. You’re shocked I even asked.’ Aran twinkles again. He opens a box of gum and offers me some and I shake my head. ‘Becky, you want a shortcut to fame? This is your quickest route.’

‘But—’

‘I’m not telling you what to do, I’m just giving you the information. Think of me as your GPS. There are slow routes and there are quick routes to fame. Appearing on this show would be a super-fast route.’ He tips three pellets of gum into his mouth. ‘Now, if you don’t like the look of the super-fast route, that’s another story.’

He’s so matter-of-fact. He’s so detached. As I survey his smooth, immaculate face, I feel more confused than ever.

‘You said I was hot already. You said my profile had gone through the roof. So why do I need to do a reality show?’

‘Becky, you don’t do anything,’ Aran says bluntly. ‘You’re not on a TV show. You’re not dating a celebrity. If Lois pleads guilty there won’t even be a court case. If you want to stay out there, you need to be out there.’

‘I want to be out there, styling.’

‘Well then, style.’ He shrugs. ‘But that is not the super-fast route, I can tell you.’

The car pulls up in my drive and he leans over to kiss me lightly on each cheek. ‘Ciao, ciao.’

I get out, followed by Jeff, and the car drives off, but I don’t approach the house. I go and sit on a low wall, thinking hard and chewing my lip. I let my thoughts simmer down into a decision, then determinedly pull out my phone and jab in a number.

‘Becky?’ comes Sage’s sleepy voice down the phone. ‘Is that you?’

‘Listen, Sage, are you going to the Big Top premiere tomorrow? Only I’d love to put an outfit together for you. Remember, you said you wanted me to style you? Remember we were talking about it?’

‘Oh.’ Sage yawns. ‘Sure.’

‘So … are you going to the premiere? Can I dress you?’

I’m crossing my fingers tightly. Please say yes, please say yes …

‘I guess so.’

‘Great!’ I exhale in relief. ‘Fantastic! Well, I’ll put some looks together. I’ll call you later.’

As I head into the house, my spirits are higher. So what if the interview today wasn’t brilliant? I’ve taken charge. I’m styling Sage Seymour. I’m doing the red carpet. Everything’s coming together!

I can hear Luke in the kitchen, and my stomach gives a twinge of apprehension. I haven’t spoken properly to Luke since yesterday. He came to bed after I’d fallen asleep, and I left him dozing when I got up for the TV show. So we haven’t seen each other since our row.

No, not row. Discussion.

‘Why don’t you sit there for now,’ I say to Jeff, and point to one of the big chairs in the hall. ‘I guess Mitchell’s patrolling the garden.’

‘You got it,’ says Jeff, in that expressionless way he has, and settles his huge frame down on the chair. I take a deep breath, then saunter into the kitchen, humming, like someone who’s totally OK with everything, and didn’t have a tense moment with their husband last night.

‘Hi!’ My voice is a little too high-pitched.

‘Hi.’ Luke looks up from some document in a plastic binder. ‘How was the interview?’

‘It was … good. How’s things with you?’

‘How’s things?’ Luke gives a short, humourless laugh. ‘To be honest, things have been better.’