He was a boy, just a boy ... What was the next bit? Jesus, Cat, chill. It’ll come once you’re in there.

In there. Oh, my God.

She was next. The boy before her had looked as if he was going to wet hisself. They called him, and he went in like it was a trip to an abattoir.

He was a boy, just a boy ... What the bugger did Blanche say after that?

Mum used to say, ‘What the hell are you going to do with your life, Catherine?’ giving her serious jip. But, yeah, she hadn’t a clue, not for ages. Then, suddenly last summer, Vivien was on the telly saying Fiddle-dee-dee and Tomorrow is another day and all that, and it was sorted. Mum still sceptical, mind, but it was what Cat wanted - to do that, be like that. Coz Vivien Leigh was cool. Mint. Banging. And going down such a total storm in the school play made the Drama teacher say, ‘You must try for the National Youth Theatre, Catherine.’

So, here she was.

He was a boy, just a boy. When I was a very young girl, when I was ... When I was bloody well what? Oh, bollocks.

‘Catherine Drake?’ The bloke was by the door, holding it open, smiling. She got to her feet, and followed him in.

Jesus, like a bloody barn in here. And she’d got to fill it. The bloke went to his table, and sat down, pencil poised. Calm now, Cat. Relax them shoulders. Show him you’re up for it, serious.

‘You’re sixteen, Catherine, yes?’

‘Yeah.’ She smiled. ‘Yeah ... That’s exactly right. I’m sixteen.’

‘Jolly good. So, when you’re ready. Streetcar, isn’t it?’

‘Mm.’

Head down a bit, Cat. Then up, but slow. The eyes, give him the eyes now. ‘He was a boy, just a boy, when I was a very young girl. When I was … sixteen, I made the discovery – love …’

The bloke was leaning forward, not taking notes. Just watching her. Really watching. Like people did. Watching Cat Drake.

Bingo.