hatever Wilbur has done to protect me, it works.

The shoot goes perfectly. I sit quietly in the cold water for ten minutes, then bend into it, then lean forwards on my elbows. Finally I lie down completely so that Haru is shooting directly over me and my wet hair and glowing skirts are swirling around my head like I’m a water nymph trapped in some kind of magical, ghostly seaweed. I even manage not to inhale water into my lungs or drown.

Everyone is utterly delighted.

“Shashin kara kannjyou ga afurete kuruyo, Harriet. Kimino kokoroga mieruyouda.”

“There’s so much emotion in these pictures, Harriet,” Naho translates happily. “Haru says it’s like he can see right into the middle of you.”

Sugar cookies.

I quickly blink and try very hard to be a little less transparent.

Finally, Haru gives a satisfied nod, Naho wraps a towel around my freezing shoulders and we all splash and slip back out of the lake again, where Yuka is waiting for us.

I’m not even vaguely surprised. I’m going to guess she got less than three metres down the road before spying with her night-vision binoculars.

“Umaku ittakashira?” she asks Haru stiffly.

“Sugoiyo,” Haru says with a nod, and I beam. That means ‘excellent’. “Honntouni sugoi noga toretayo.”

And then it happens again – Yuka’s smiling. No, Yuka Ito is grinning.

Even Nick looks startled.

“Excellent,” Yuka says, smoothing down her dress and carefully composing her face. She looks me up and down and then clicks her fingers. “What are we standing around for? I’m not paying anyone to catch pneumonia. Get my model dry.”

Wilbur is going bonkers on the beach behind us. He’s shouting and spinning in little circles with his pink jacket pulled over his head. “BOOM! I told you, Peaches! I told you my little Frankie-chops would knock it right out of the park!” He bends down and starts attempting Russian dancing on the pebbles.

Yuka frowns. “If you’re going to be working directly for me, William, I strongly suggest you stop that immediately.”

Wilbur pauses in his crouch-jumping. “For the bajillionth time,” he says indignantly: “It is Wilbur, with a bur and not an iam, and I would thank you to—” Then he stops and stands up straight. “Working for you?”

Yuka gives an almost imperceptible nod as she climbs back into her waiting car.

Wilbur’s face goes all red and shaky, and then he physically explodes. “OH, MY MINI-HUMMINGBIRDS, THIS IS THE BEST DAY THAT HAS EVER BEEN BORN IF DAYS WERE BORN WHICH THEY’RE PROBABLY NOT BUT WHO CARES I MADE IT! I’M IN! I’M FINALLY IN PROPER FASSSHHHIIIOOON.”

And he grabs my arm and starts swinging me round in manic giant circles. The way Nat and I used to spin years ago before I slipped and smashed into a park bench and had to be taken to hospital to get eight stitches in the back of my head.

I blush and spin, giddy and pink-cheeked.

I can’t believe it: everything’s going to be OK. The campaign’s a success and nobody’s angry with me. Wilbur’s got his big job, and I’ve kept mine.

And Nick?

Nick kissed me.

Which I can’t even think about until I’ve stopped being spun in nauseating circles. There’s only so much discombobulation a brain can handle.

Wilbur finally lets go of me and I dizzily stagger a few metres into the nearly empty car park.

Nick is on the phone, facing the other way. He’s talking quietly but I can still hear him.

And I really wish I couldn’t.

“Poppy?” His voice sounds tight. “What are you talking about?”

There’s a silence while my inner ear rebalances and the world slowly stops dipping and diving and gyrating around me. I think I’m going to be sick.

He’s on the phone to her already?

“Of course I care,” Nick continues impatiently. “You know I do. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Suddenly, all at once I’m aware of the water dripping from my hair down my nose and on to my top lip, and the icy droplets running down my arms and legs on to the floor, and the sogginess and dampness of my towel.

Apparently 300 million cells in our body die every single minute, and for the first time in my life I can actually feel them: shrinking and shrivelling all over me.

“I’m coming back now,” Nick says. “Stay there.”

And without even looking over his shoulder, Nick puts his phone back in his pocket, climbs on to a scooter and drives away.

Leaving me, unseen and speechless, behind him.