At last everyone has taken their photos and I’ve done two little interviews about Danny for fashion blogs, and I’m in the car, on the way to the premiere. I feel a bit giddy. It’s going to be brilliant. It already is brilliant.

The premiere is being held at El Capitan, and I know we’re getting near from the noise. The thumping music is practically rocking the SUV, and there are shouts from the crowd, and as we slow down, someone bangs on the car, which makes me jump, startled.

‘You OK?’ says Jeff at once.

‘Fine!’ I say, exhilarated. ‘It’s pretty big, isn’t it?’

The film is an action movie about two circus performers who foil a terrorist attack. Apparently they use all the animals and their circus skills to help them, and it was nearly derailed when an elephant went a bit crazy during the filming.

Jeff has to show all kinds of passes to officials, and as he does so, I peer out of the window. I can see faces pressing up against the glass, trying to see through the tinted windows. They probably think I’m Tom Cruise or something.

‘Jeez!’ Jeff says, trying to negotiate a path through the hubbub. ‘Place is chaos. You wanna go through with this?’

Honestly. Not him too.

‘Yes,’ I say firmly. I reach in my bag for my dad’s autograph book. I’ve brought it with me and I’m determined to get him as many autographs as I can. Then Suze won’t be able to call me selfish.

We’re in a queue of cars, and I can see how the process works. The car pulls up to the dropping-off point, and the door opens and the celebrity gets out and the crowd goes wild. There are two limos ahead of us. Soon it’ll be me!

‘So, you text as soon as you need to get out of here,’ says Jeff. ‘Or call. Any kind of trouble, you just call.’

‘I will,’ I promise, and check my reflection one last time. My heart is starting to beat fast. This is really it. I need to get out of the car elegantly, I need to stay calm, I need to remember who made my dress …

‘OK, you’re on.’ Jeff pulls up and a guy in a headset yanks open the door and I’m out. I’m standing on the red carpet. On the proper red carpet. I’m one of them!

I’m so transfixed by the atmosphere I don’t move for a moment. The music is even louder, now I’m outside. It’s all so big and bright and spectacular. The entrance to El Capitan is done up like a circus big top, and there are circus performers wandering about everywhere. There are fire-eaters and jugglers and a contortionist girl in a jewelled bikini, and a ringmaster cracking his whip. And there’s an elephant! An actual elephant, walking back and forth with its trainer. The crowd is going wild over some young guy in jeans, who I think is in a band, and I can see Hilary Duff about ten yards away … and is that Orlando Bloom signing autographs?

‘Rebecca?’ A girl in a black trouser suit approaches me with a businesslike smile. ‘I’m Charlotte. I’ll be escorting you on the red carpet. Let’s keep moving.’

‘Hi, Charlotte!’ I beam at her as we shake hands. ‘Isn’t this amazing? Look at the jugglers! Look at the elephant!’

Charlotte seems puzzled.

‘Right,’ she says. ‘Whatever. Let’s go.’

Cameras are flashing everywhere as we proceed along. I’ve been practising the proper film-star pose for days, only now I have to walk, too. I never practised film-star walking. Damn. How do they do it?

I think they kind of glide seamlessly along. I’ll glide too. Perhaps with my legs slightly bent?

‘Are you OK?’ Charlotte gives me a strange look and I hastily straighten my legs. Maybe that’s not such a good look. ‘So, we have your photocall and then your interviews …’ She glances at her watch and consults her clipboard. She seems totally unimpressed by the elephant, or the fire-eaters, or the celebrities. In fact, she seems unimpressed by the whole event. ‘So, you’re on.’

With no warning, she pushes me into an empty patch of red carpet, in front of a bank of photographers, who all start shouting, ‘Becky! Becky, over here!’

Hastily I get into position. Legs crossed, chin tucked, radiant, celebrity-type smile …

I’m waiting to feel the glee I did before … but it’s weird. I feel a bit nothingy. And then, almost before they’ve started, it’s over, and Charlotte is tugging me along again, towards the rows of TV cameras.

It was more fun when it was me and Suze, giggling at the whole thing, flashes through my mind.

No. Don’t be stupid. This is fantastic. I’m a proper celeb! I’m part of it! I’ve loads to say about Sage’s outfits, and my own dress, and fashion … I can’t wait.

‘So, the first interview is with Fox News,’ says Charlotte in my ear, and pushes me towards a TV camera. I quickly straighten my hair, and hope my lipstick hasn’t come off on my teeth, and put on my brightest, most intelligent expression.

‘Hello, Betty!’ says a very coiffed woman in a trouser suit. ‘We’re delighted you could join us!’

‘Thanks!’ I smile. ‘Although actually, it’s Becky.’

‘Betty,’ she continues as though she didn’t hear, ‘you are, of course, the witness to Lois Kellerton’s shoplifting incident. Have you seen Lois since then?’

I’m flummoxed for a moment. What do I say? I can’t reply, ‘Yes, I broke into her house and found her plotting how to fool the American public.’

‘Um … no,’ I say, feebly.

‘If you see her tonight, what will you be saying to her?’

‘I’ll be wishing her well.’

‘Lovely! Well, thank you, Betty! Enjoy the movie!’

To my astonishment, Charlotte grabs my arm and shunts me onward. That was it? That was the interview? Don’t they want to know what I do for a living? Don’t they want to know who my dress is by?

‘And the next one is TXCN,’ says Charlotte in my ear.

Another TV camera is pointing at my face, and a guy with red hair grins at me.

‘Hi there, Betty!’ he says in a Southern accent. ‘How’re you doin’?’

‘It’s Becky,’ I say politely.

‘So, shoplifting. Is it a crime or is it a disease?’

What? How on earth would I know? I stammer some answer, feeling like a total moron, and before I know it, I’m moving on to the next interview. That guy wants to know if Lois put up a fight when I confronted her, and the next woman asks me if I think Lois might have shoplifted because she was pregnant. I haven’t had a chance to mention my dress, or the fact I’ve styled Sage. And they all call me Betty.

‘I’m called Becky!’ I exclaim to Charlotte as we’re moving on. ‘Not Betty!’

‘Oh,’ she says, unmoved. ‘I guess it might have been written wrong in the press pack.’

‘But—’ I stop, mid-sentence.

‘But what?’

I was going to say, ‘But don’t they all know my name?’ Looking at Charlotte’s expression, though, I change my mind.

Maybe I’m not quite as famous as I thought I was. I feel a bit crushed, even though I think I manage to hide it quite well. Charlotte leads me on to another reporter, who shoves a radio mic in my face, and I’ve just babbled a few lines about how I’m really glad that Lois and Sage have reconciled and yes, I did see the interview … when there’s the most almighty roar and I can’t help looking round.

It’s Sage.

She’s standing in front of the photographers and they are going wild. I mean, nuts. The level of shouting is going up and up and up, and the flashes are like some kind of lightning storm, and the crowd is surging in her direction, pressing against the metal barriers and holding out phones and autograph books.

Sage looks absolutely delighted. She’s posing in Danny’s white dress, which looks sensational, and she’s flicking her hair around, and blowing kisses to the crowd. And then it happens. She blows a particularly energetic kiss … and somehow the side seam of her dress comes apart. I watch in shock as the whole thing unravels, exposing the entire side of her body.

Sage gives a huge gasp, and clutches at the dress, and the photographers nearly have fits, trying to get a shot of her.

I’m slack-jawed in horror as white beads start rolling all over the red carpet. That dress was fine this afternoon. It was fine. She must have doctored it. That was her secret plan which she didn’t want to tell me. A deliberate wardrobe malfunction. A girl in a black trouser suit is trying to offer Sage a coat, but she’s ignoring the offer, and beaming at the cameras.

Danny’s going to kill me. He’s got a particular sore spot about his clothes falling apart, ever since an unfortunate incident in Barneys when he hadn’t sewn up his seams properly. He’ll ask me why I didn’t make sure she was dressed properly, and I’ll have to say she wouldn’t let me near her, and he’ll say I should have insisted …

I can’t tell anyone I’m Sage’s stylist now. It hits me with a fresh blow. They’ll laugh at me. My whole plan is ruined.

Charlotte has been listening to her earpiece and now looks up.

‘Rebecca, you’re done,’ she says with a professional smile. ‘You can go in now. Enjoy the movie.’

‘Oh,’ I say, taken aback. ‘Is that all?’

‘That’s all,’ she says politely.

‘But I thought I was doing loads of interviews.’

‘The plan changed. If you make your way into the movie theatre, someone will show you to your seat. Have a good evening!’

I feel a pang of dismay. I don’t want to go into the movie theatre. Once I go in, it’s over.

‘Can I stay out here a bit longer?’ I say. ‘I want to … you know. Soak it all up.’

Charlotte looks at me as though I’m crazy. ‘Sure.’ She shrugs, and turns away, leaving me alone. I feel a tiny bit awkward, with nothing to do, but I determinedly swivel round and survey the rows of surging people and TV cameras and celebrities talking to interviewers. Come on, Becky. Here I am on the red carpet. Maybe Sage has derailed my plan a little, but I can still enjoy myself. I can still be positive.