Emily had spent the past year and a half writing several new scripts, and every time she tried to get an agent, she got knocked back.

‘But you’ve a name.’

‘I’ve a bad name,’ she corrected. ‘Everyone remembers that the studio passed on Hostage. I’m in a worse position than a total newcomer. It’s an unforgiving town.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Dunno. Too ashamed. Me, the big success story. And I kept hoping things would improve. You know?’

I did, as it happened.

Only ten days ago, Emily had managed to place her most recent script with a new agent. But he was with a much smaller agency which didn’t carry the same clout with the studios.

‘His name is David Crowe. He’s gone out with my script. He’s trying to get a buzz going and see if he can kickstart a bidding war. And I’ve heard nothing.’

‘But he’s only just gone out with it.’

‘Things happen very fast in this town, or they don’t happen at all. It’s working my last nerve,’ she said. ‘If this doesn’t take off, it’s over for me.’

‘Don’t be mad. You’ll just pick yourself up and try again.’

‘I fucking won’t, you know,’ she said grimly. ‘I’m burnt out. This city has me in shreds. The casualties are everywhere. You’ll see… And I’m skint,’ she added.

‘How?’ I was shocked. She’d got a huge fee for Hostage, which she didn’t have to return when the studio passed on making the film.

‘I got paid nearly three years ago and two hundred grand, after taxes and agents’ commission, doesn’t last so long. And don’t think I was too high and mighty to look for commissions writing B-movie, straight-to-video crap. I even pitched for a porn film!’

‘To be in it?’ Were things really that bad?

‘No, to write it. But now that you mention it, I’d probably have had more luck if I’d auditioned to star in it. Even they turned me and my studio pedigree down. I couldn’t get arrested.’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘It’s been a horrible eighteen months,’ she admitted. ‘The day that Beam Me Up Productions –’

‘Who?’

‘Exactly. Some C-list, outer-space merchants operating out of a Portakabin in Pasadena. The day they passed on my pitch to do the fourth sequel to Squelch Beings from Gamma 9 was my blackest day so far.’

I was crippled by the magnitude of her problems. It was too hot, I was too tired, and I wanted to go home. But home no longer existed.

‘Oh Christ, Christ, Christ.’ She looked suddenly stricken. ‘I’m sorry, Maggie. I’m terribly sorry… What a thing to be doing to you! Let me make you something to eat.’

She flung together a salad and opened a bottle of white wine. Mercifully, she seemed to cheer up.

‘Things aren’t so bad. I can always go back to Ireland and get some film work there, now that I have a lot of contacts,’ she chattered.

She paused. ‘Do you know who I see the odd time in the course of work?’

Something in her tone alerted me.

‘Who?’

A beat. ‘Shay Delaney.’ It was clear that she’d been waiting for the right time to tell me.

‘How?’

‘He’s a producer with Dark Star Productions. An –’

‘– independent film company,’ I finished for her. I’d suddenly remembered what the name had meant to me when he’d told me who he worked for.

‘He has to spend a lot of time over here.’ She sounded almost defensive.

‘I suppose he does. People who work in movie-production companies tend to.’ She looked puzzled and I said, ‘I met him. Last week.’

‘No way!’ As Emily marvelled at what a coincidence that was, I hunched over my salad. Was that why I’d been so keen to come to Los Angeles?

7

I awoke in darkness to the rattle of machine-gun fire. My blood was pounding. I listened for more sounds – shouts, moans, police sirens – but nothing.

Were not in Kansas any more, Toto.

Lying in the blackness, I admitted the bitter truth. I was sorry I’d come. I’d expected to feel magically better, but how could I when I’d brought myself and my failed life with me? And living in someone else’s house – even a good friend’s – was tougher than I’d expected. Despite the eight-hour time difference, I hadn’t got to sleep for ages because Emily had the telly on so loud. I’d seethed in my bedroom (which was actually her office), wishing she’d turn it down. But there was nothing I could do –it wasn’t my house. When a raucous blast of canned laughter had exploded through the thin walls, I’d experienced a violent longing for my life with Garv. I couldn’t live like this. All at once, I was ready to admit that splitting up had been a terrible mistake and that business as usual could resume with immediate effect. I was used to harmony and being able to turn off the telly whenever it suited me.

But was that a good enough reason to try again? Probably not, I decided reluctantly.

I did eventually go to sleep, but now I was awake.

Another crackle of machine-gun fire caused my heart to burst against my ribs. What was going on out there?

If only I could go home, I yearned. But I suspected I had to stick it out. Everyone would think I’d cracked up if it came out that I went to Los Angeles and only stayed a day. And this wasn’t just about me – it was clear that Emily needed someone around. Christ, maybe we’d be going home together, a duo of failures. We’d have to sit in a special cordoned-off area on the plane in case we infected the other passengers.

A noise at the window made me jerk about three feet off the bed. What was it? The branch of a tree banging against the glass? Or a roaming madman on the lookout for a girl to torture and murder? My money was on the roaming madman. After all, this was Los Angeles, full, by all accounts, of pathological killers. I’d read one or two Jackie Collins novels in my time and I knew all about psychos who think in italics.

Not long now. Not long before revenge would be his. And then they’d be sorry they’d laughed at him and refused to return his calls. He was strong now. He’d never been stronger. And he had his knife. The knife that would do his deft bidding. First he’d cut off her hair, then he’d cut off her jewellery then he’d start opening her skin. She’d beg, she’d plead for mercy, for the agony to stop. But it wouldn’t stop, because this time it was her turn for the pain, this time it was her turn…