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when my wig fell off and I cried but she made me go backon and then Tracy-Ann fell over and that’s when Mom said she knew we’d won!’
    On cue Ramona White emerged from the mansion, consummate mother and manager, stepping into the sunlight in her sharply tailored suit and enormous Prada shades. Her silhouette was twig-thin and her hair was pulled back in a savagely tight chignon.
    ‘Congratulations,’ said Kristin flatly.
    ‘Shouldn’t you be writing?’
    ‘Day off.’
    ‘Is Scotty here?’
    Bunny suffered a chronic blush and Kristin stifled a laugh. She found her sister’s infatuation funny. Scotty had been part of the family for years. Ever since The Happy Hippo Club days he’d come round for dinner when Ramona was out, making the sisters laugh over pasta with his goofy impressions, or ride his bike over on a Sunday to watch TV and eat popcorn, or bake cookies with Bunny at Thanksgiving, or pumpkin pie at Halloween. When he’d become Kristin’s boyfriend her sister had nearly fainted.
    ‘He left.’
    ‘Why?’ Ramona enquired. ‘Did you fight?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘You’ve got to keep a man happy, Kristin. Otherwise they’ll walk.’
    Like Dad did?
    ‘Bunny, get upstairs,’ their mother directed, ‘and start scrubbing that make-up off.’
    ‘Can’t I wear it a bit longer?’
    Ramona slid her daughter a look. Bunny retreated without another word.
    ‘She gets to take a break now, right?’ Kristin asked.
    Her mother lit a cigarette, scissoring her way to a lounger, where she elegantly collapsed, drawing sharply on it. ‘Do you think I get a break?’ she retorted. Ramona’s cat Betsy, a white fluffball with one of those squidged-up expressions that looks like it’s been hit in the face by a sledgehammer, leapt on to her mistress’s lap and licked its lips.
    ‘HAIRS!’ Ramona cried, outraged. Immediately the cat was tossed to the ground. ‘Betsy needs a trip to the beautician; this moulting’s going to be the death of me!’
    ‘Bunny’s a kid,’ Kristin persisted, as the white fluffball shot through the patio doors.
    ‘And so were you when you started on your journey.’
    Kristin disliked how Ramona made out as if it were her journey, as if Kristin hadn’t had it shoved on her as the only way of life available. Some days she grudgingly admired her mother’s resolve: yes, they’d come from little, and now, thanks to her child star exploding, had more wealth than they knew what to do with. Most, she hated how she had never been allowed to grow into her own person before being told who she was expected to be. Their mother’s ambition was ruthless. She would stop at nothing to see her two girls succeed.
    ‘This is good for Bunny,’ pronounced Ramona in her don’t-you-dare-argue-with-me tone. ‘It’s character building. She’s got to get used to the pace.’
    ‘What if she doesn’t want to?’
    The shades came down a fraction. A pair of glinting grey eyes narrowed over the top.
    ‘Why wouldn’t she?’
    ‘I don’t know. She might want to try something else? Being a teacher, say, or a vet?’
    Ramona snorted, as though those professions were so far beneath her that she could scarcely deign to look; professions that actually mattered , because while Kristin’s music was enjoyed by many it didn’t contribute to the world, not in any practical way.
    ‘What my daughter wants is to be famous.’ Ramona slipped the shades back into place. ‘You heard her. She wants to be exactly like you.’
    ‘Wrong. That’s what you want.’
    ‘You’re giving me a migraine, Kristin. Haven’t you got an album to write?’
    She didn’t need to be told twice. Storming indoors, Kristin struggled to control her temper. No one made her angry like her mom did.
    She flipped open her cell. She longed to call Scotty; he’d make her feel better. But something told her no. After today, if Scotty needed space then that was what she would give him. She would give him anything, because without him she was