’m too late.

That’s the only thing I know for certain when I open Nat’s bedroom door. She’s sitting on her bed in her pyjamas with the newspaper next to her. And on her face is the most hurt expression I’ve ever seen on anyone. Ever.

“Nat—” I start and then grind to a halt. “Nat, it’s not what it looks like.” Then I pause because actually, it’s exactly what it looks like.

“What’s this?” she asks in a bewildered voice. She holds the newspaper up. “Harriet? What’s going on?”

I’m not sure I’ve ever heard her sound so young. It’s like we’re five years old again. “It’s… It’s…” I say and then I swallow and look at the floor. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”

“You haven’t been sick?”

“No.”

“You were in Russia?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a model?”

“Yes.”

“I defended you…”

“I know.”

“And you left me to Alexa and didn’t even tell me why?”

Oh God. “Yes.”

“You’ve been lying about…” Nat pauses for a few seconds. “About everything?”

“I was going to tell you, but I was looking for the right way to do it.”

“Via national newspaper?”

I stare at her in confusion and then the penny drops. I look at the envelope. On the front is printed in familiar red capital letters: NAT, IT WAS THE EASIEST WAY TO TELL YOU.

Alexa really is a piece of work.

“No,” I gasp. “You weren’t supposed to know for months.” Then I flinch. I’m not sure that’s the best thing I could have said.

Nat’s eyes widen. “You were going to keep lying for months?”

“Well, no… you know… just… a few more days,” but I’m not even sure what the truth is any more. Was I ever going to be honest, unless I was caught? Have I been lying to myself as well as everyone else?

Nat’s cheeks are getting pinker and pinker. “Why?”

“Because… Because…” It all made so much sense at the time, but it suddenly doesn’t any more. “You were so angry at The Clothes Show…”

“Because you lied, not because you were spotted. I told you that.”

“It would have hurt you.”

“More than this?”

I lick my lips. “I thought you would ruin it for me.”

“You thought I would ruin it for you?” she repeats, amazed. “I’m your best friend, Harriet. Why would I ruin anything for you?”

“You wouldn’t understand and… and… you wouldn’t want to be my friend any more.”

The excuses are coming thick and fast. But the truth that I can’t even admit to my best friend is that I lied because it was easier.

Because I’m a coward.

Because I clearly don’t think very much of the people I love.

Because all I was thinking about was me.

Nat stands up and the hurt five-year-old suddenly disappears. “No,” she says abruptly. “Now I don’t want to be your friend any more. Get out of my bedroom.”

“But…” I start. I open my mouth and promptly shut it again. All I’ve done is think about myself and lie compulsively. I don’t have a leg to stand on.

“Now,” she yells, totally furious, and she starts rummaging in a plastic bag at the foot of her bed.

“Nat, I’m sorry.”

“Out,” she screams and I’ve never seen her so angry. “What are you waiting for, Manners? Soup? You still want soup?” And she pulls something out of her bag and throws it. A carton of green Thai soup hits the wall behind me and explodes. “There’s your bloody soup.” She rummages in her bag again, and before I know it for the second time this afternoon food is hitting my head. “And there’s the bread. I hope you feel better soon. NOW GET THE HELL OUT!”

And – just as I think things can’t get any worse – Nat puts her hand in the air and looks at it. My chin starts to wobble: of all the hands in the air this week, I think this might finally be the hand I actually deserve.

Then, because I’m frozen to the spot, Nat pushes me across the room and into the hallway.

And slams the door behind me.