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“I’m just going to the loo,” I say, and scamper through, turning the tap on to mask the noise.

I kneel in front of the bowl, hoping that just the smell of Toilet Duck will remind my stomach that it doesn’t want to keep this kebab inside, that it wants it out.

I take a deep sniff of the bowl but…nothing.

Am I really going to do this? I hesitate.

I recall what Anika said about getting fit not famished, about me being strong not invisible.

But this isn’t something I’m going to make a habit of, I tell myself.

It’s just a hangover cure. I think of Damon seeing the pictures, how he’ll be reminded of the old Angelica and there will be no more desperate messaging, no more compliments whispered in my ear.

I’ll just go back to being his backstop, the one he only kinda wants if there’s no one else.

I need to be desired fully, I need to be wanted 100%.

If I keep looking like this, keep fitting into the smaller sizes the stylists pick out for me, that’s what’s going to happen, I’ll be his first choice instead of his reserve.

I’ll be the one chased, instead of the one chasing.

I look around for a toothbrush, something, anything to use other than my long, acrylic nails which I know will scratch my throat.

But Mam cleaned everything out of here so it would feel more like a guest bathroom for Sebastian.

Honestly, I don’t know why she was trying to impress him so much.

So, fingers it is then. God, considering I’ve just got myself off with them and now they’re going down my throat, it’s already been quite the day.

I don’t get them down far enough the first time and just slightly gag, but the second and third times I manage, the splatter and shame of last night coming out and hitting the toilet bowl.

I peer in. What’s happened to me, I think. I can’t do this again.

I pad downstairs, looking for some mouthwash or to find where Mam has hidden all our toothbrushes, eager to scrub the smell of garlicky sick off my tongue.

“Here she is,” Dad says, flicking the kettle on. “Let’s get a cup of tea down our fuzzy-headed girl.”

“Have you seen where Mam put the toothbrushes?”

“Ah yes, she’s kidnapped them all. Worried his nibs upstairs would see the presence of the toothbrush and think we’re actual normal people.”

“As if the ‘live, laugh, love’ signs don’t do that already.”

“Or the ssssh there’s wine fridge magnets.”

“It’s wine-o-clock somewhere!”

“A meal without wine is called breakfast!”

That’s when Mam walks in and starts laughing. That’s one of the nicest things about Mam, she laughs at the same jokes time and again.

“Where have you hidden the toothbrushes?” I ask and she opens the cupboard under the kitchen sink, where all three of our brushes sit in a mug. “They’re here, put them back when you finish.”

“Sebastian is leaving soon!”

“That’s not the point,” Dad says. “The point is why were you hiding the toothbrushes from the lad in the first place? Surely it’s worse for him to think we don’t brush our teeth?”

“I just think it’s unsightly, to see something you put in your mouth, in private,” she’s saying, as I begin to brush my teeth over the kitchen sink.

“But,” I say, my mouth full of foaming paste. “I don’t put anything that dodgy in my mouth, in private or not,” I add, just as Sebastian walks in.

“Cheeky girl, your daughter,” he says as he taps Dad on the shoulder. “Right, you,” he points at me. “We need to start getting ready, we’ve got that shoot in a couple of hours.”

“A shoot!” Mam yells. “But Angelica, you were out last night. You’re all puffy.”

I am, I’m red and puffy, most likely aggravated by the vomiting. I’m never doing this again. I know I’m on dangerous ground.

“Verity will work her magic, don’t worry.”

The whole crew are heading up on the train, one of the glossy mags thought it would be fun to shoot Sebastian and me in one of the nightclubs, accompanied by an interview.

That way they have ‘official’ shots of us, alongside an interview discussing these last few nights together, just as the public’s interest has been piqued by the pap ones.

However, this has obviously sent Mam into a spin as she’s wrapping a bag of frozen peas in one of her tea towels and lunging at me, pressing them hard against my cheeks.

“What on earth are you doing?” I ask, dodging the peas.

“I read that ice helps with puffiness, only someone…” she glares at Dad. “Didn’t refill the tray last night.”

“Someone,” he glares back. “Was necking so many gin and lemonades that I didn’t get the chance.”

“Fine,” I say. “If there’s a scientific reason for it.” I hold my hands out for the Birdseye.

“No science that I’m aware of, but Kylie Minogue does it.”

“I’m sure Kylie’s dabbing Captain Birdseye all over her face,” Dad says, while Sebastian looks on, laughing in a baffled way.

“Welcome to the family,” I say, holding the tea-towel to my closed eyes.

* * *