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Sweet but gullible! Is that how everyone sees me?

What am I meant to believe in this new world?

Old Angelica, I like to think, would definitely have slung Damon to the kerb if I’d seen him out on the town, with all these girls.

I wouldn’t believe any of his excuses. Let’s face it, I’ve always lost my mind a little when it comes to boys, but I wasn’t raised to take any nonsense.

But now, I know what Ben’s game is. I know what the fame game is.

And it means I don’t know who or what to trust – even when it’s a photo in front of my eyes.

I was ready to be famous for being me – but am I up for all these stunts and tricks?

Anyone who watched me on North Stars can clearly see how obvious it is when I like someone (sweet but gullible!) I’m not sure I could fake that.

As much as I may have wanted to be an actress when I was younger, I just don’t have the skills for it.

Seriously, you should see me when I’m lying.

Oh and you should definitely hear when I try to do accents, Jamaican comes out Irish, Irish comes out Australian, I even once tried to do an impersonation of myself and it came out South African.

But Damon is a good actor, I know that much.

So, it would suit him to be out every night, pretending to be with a different girl, when really he goes home, tucks himself up in bed at the hotels, and dreams of me.

Mam says I’m being delusional. That this whole ‘PR stunt’ excuse is very convenient for someone like Damon, it’s just another way to twist reality, and with it, my heart.

But I’m not sure. This has all happened so fast. We thought we were prepared for being celebs, because of everything that happened during filming.

When we went out, because of the cameras, the other people clubbing with us knew what was going on.

It led us to believe we understood fame.

I remember, before the show even aired, Layla and I were walking around her local shopping centre, convinced that everyone who looked our way did so because they knew we were famous.

But now I know they probably were looking because we were tottering about in barely any clothes, laughing loudly and trying to get people to look over our way (and also, because we really are hilarious).

Now that people actually recognise me, and fame, of even a small degree, has landed on my doorstep I can see I didn’t know anything.

I was not prepared. How could I prepare?

All these headfucks are so out of this world, and far away from my life here.

Everything’s changed around me, but I haven’t changed.

All of these mad things are happening but they’re still happening to me, Angelica, the girl who thought, when she was asked to sing a solo during the school carol concert, that it would be a good idea to casually swap’ Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ for a bit of Britney and hope that the audience didn’t notice (they did).

Mam tells me I have to trust my instincts, and tune into them.

“They’re the smartest friends you’ve got,” she says.

I try to tune into them all the time, but they’ll be telling me one thing while another part of me tries to shut them up.

One part of me really believes in proper fairytale love, really believes in Damon.

The other part? Well that’s the same part of me that was howling and sobbing when Robbie dumped me.

The part that tells me to protect myself and not let anyone into my heart again.

But when I sit down and really think about what I feel, I suppose it’s not one way or the other.

I do believe that people can change, that life is confusing and we’re all easily swayed, and when he makes mistakes I should give him the space to learn and change.

That’s what I’d want Damon, or anyone, to feel about me.

After all, I’m going to mess up. I already have messed up so many times and the people that love me gave me a right telling off, but then they forgave me.

I want to do that for other people, just live full of love and fun and hope.

But how can I do that without other people taking me for a mug?

I don’t want them to see my optimism as weakness, or stupidity. Is that possible?

I’m zooming in on one of Damon’s pictures, trying to figure out whether that’s lipstick or just a nasty rash on his neck, when my phone rings. It’s Madison, which sets off an alarm bell because she never calls. I pick up straight away.

“Angelica, babe, have you seen?”

“Yeah, I have,” I say. “But it’s OK—”

“How, how can it be OK?” Madison, I realise, is wailing. I’m beginning to think this isn’t about what I think it is.

“It’s a rash, not lipstick, so it’s fine.”

That manages to break Madison out of her tears and into laughter.

“Not that, you eejit! And it’s definitely lipstick. It’s MAC. Lady Danger.”

Madison’s knowledge of make-up is unrivalled. Still, she could be wrong about this one.

“Anyway,” she carries on. “There’s no time to be analysing Damon and his sexploits. The house has burned down!”

I don’t know what she means at first. I even begin to look around the house I’m sitting in, searching for smoke. Then it slowly dawns on me.

“Our house?”

“Our house! The North Stars house!” she’s wailing again.

“It’s going to be all over the news – the production company have been trying to keep the story out of the press overnight hoping it could be controlled, but it went up in flames last night about 3a.m. and once everyone saw the grey cloud, well you know what they say about no smoke without a fire… ”

“Oh my god, imagine if we’d been inside,” I say. “We could be toast!”

“Nah,” says Madison. “We would have just got in the hot tub and the water would have protected us.”

I’m not sure if that’s true. But I like to think that perhaps that hot tub could have at last been responsible for saving someone…

after all the trouble it caused. Thinking about the house and it all going up in smoke has brought tears to my eyes, I realise, as I try to blink them away.

First I lose my childhood home, now the North Stars house. “What happened?”

“They don’t know yet, but it’s definitely dodgy. The only line I’ve seen so far says the fire didn’t come from a natural source.”

“So someone torched it? Who would do that?”

“Who knows? Could be kids messing around, or it could be an insurance job. It’s owned by the same wanker who owns your place, the dodgy one, what’s his name?”

“Callum. Yuck.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. But the worse thing is, I had a call from the exec producer and…”

“And…?” Even when it’s just us Madison is the queen of dramatic pauses, as if she’s in a soap opera or announcing results on the X Factor .

“They’ve canned season two!”

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