It was easy to convince myself the day couldn't get any worse. But unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

After we shook off the paparazzi car, we didn't talk for the rest of the way there. It was only a few more miles in the car, but it seemed to take forever. Ray put me on edge in a way I'd never experienced before. It felt the way it does when you walk past a gang of teenagers, when they're laughing and you're paranoid it's at you. It makes you feel scared for reasons unknown, but also slightly wary that you might have done something embarrassing like tuck your skirt in your knickers. Being with Ray that day was like that, except she wasn't laughing. And it was ten times more intimidating. She seemed angry, distracted as she smoked her cigarette with aggressive puffs. I kept thinking about what she'd said. That she'd never signed up for this. Did she mean the magazine or everything that came with her fame, I wondered.

But I didn't understand why she had to take it out on me. On Emma and Ed. We'd been perfectly civil to her. It made me angry the way she was treating us. And I hated the way she consumed all other thoughts. When I was thinking about Ray that day, it was like there was no room for anything else. I wasn't thinking of the interview, or writing, or of Jamie like I normally did during the day. It was like she was pushing everything in my mind aside. There is no room for other people with girls like Ray. They demand your undivided attention. And, to my annoyance, I wanted to know so much about her. I had so many questions. I wanted to know how someone can reinvent themselves so completely, to the point where they barely recognise themselves in the mirror. I wanted to know why she was so angry. I wanted to know why she seemed to hate me so much.

Fortunately, it's my job to ask questions.

"Come on then," she said tiredly, as she parked in the driveway of her house. It wasn't as big as I'd expected, but it was still almost triple the size of my own. My feet crunched on the stone driveway as I headed up to the big brick house. The windows were quite small at the front, with white window frames and flower boxes at the bottom of each bottom floor window. Pink and red pansies bloomed in the boxes, making the house pretty. It made me smile. It made me think of the Ray I'd met on the street.

I waited for Ray on the doorstep, but she wasn't planning on using the front door. Silently, she led me through the gate at the side of the house. I could see as we walked through to the garden that it was guarded by lots of lofty trees and a tall wooden fence. There was a rectangular pool in the centre of the garden, and a Jacuzzi next to it, which spoilt the beautiful landscape. Why would anyone need a swimming pool in England? It rains all the bloody time I thought. But I didn't dare mention it.

Ray was already clip clopping up to a veranda that adjoined to the house, shaded by the balcony above it. There were two recliners with floral patterned cushions and an elegant black garden table with chairs. Ray sat down with a sigh at the table and lit another cigarette. She hadn't bothered to hand my lighter back.

"So, have you got some questions or something?" she said, putting her feet up on the table. I sat opposite her, frowning in annoyance and opened up my laptop.

"I assume you know how this works. Gordon went over it all yesterday, right?"

Ray didn't reply, dragging on her cigarette.

"I asked you a question," I said, trying to keep calm.

"I heard," Ray said. I took a deep breath, trying not to say something I'd regret.

"I'll interview you, and then we'll do a tour of the house, OK?" I said. Ray didn't reply. So I said nothing either. I snapped open my laptop, pushing the on button crossly. Ray barely blinked an eye. I decided to get it over and done with as soon as possible. Then I could go home, have a glass of wine with Jamie, perhaps watch a movie. It must be bad I thought it's not even midday and you're already pining for home.

I had a list of questions prepared which I got up on Word. Gordon had sent me some notes on Ray too. I glanced at Ray. She wasn't looking at me. She was staring out at the pool.

"Can we start?" I asked. She shrugged, looking like a grumpy child. I think I preferred it when she was being a gobby bitch. At least then I got something worth writing I thought.

"OK," I said, turning on my recorder "So this year your...band, Prophecy, was nominated for the British Breakthrough Act and Best British Single Brit Awards..." No wonder I haven't heard much of her. She's in a band, not a solo artist. It hit me just how little I knew about the woman sat in front of me "...with your single, Scorpion. It's your first album. No EPs. How did that feel? To move forwards so fast?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Ray said. I blinked in surprise.

"Excuse me?" I said. And that's when Ray laughed. And I wanted it to be a good laugh, but it wasn't. It was cold. Cold as ice. I felt like she'd punched me in the stomach. I never knew a laugh could make you feel like that.

"This is such a joke," Ray said "You're a joke. This magazine was different, they told me. They told me I might actually have some fun. They told me I wouldn't have to sit through dumb interviews answering the same questions over and over. Fuck, I need a drink."

Ray's legs swung off the table and she went to an ice bucket near the front door, pulling out a champagne bottle with a flourish. She pulled the cork out with her teeth and spat it out, stomping back to her chair and drinking straight from the bottle. I stared at her in horror. I'd never had to deal with anyone like her before. She raised an eyebrow at me, looking at me like I was the one making a scene.

"So, you want to know?" she said, swigging from the bottle "Here's how it is; I don't give a shit. OK? You go ahead and write that in your dumb magazine and back the hell out of my life."

I stood up then "Look at yourself," I said, shaking with anger "How can you sit there and create such a scene and then blame it on me? This is my job and this is yours. To sit here, to do the interviews, show your face every once in a while. And in return your fans gush about you and fall in love with you ten times over. And you become rich, you become famous, a role model, and then there's a hundred dumb kids trawling the streets being as much of a prize bitch as you because they think it's cool. Acting like they own the world because you clearly think you do. You know what, honey? Just because you're famous, just cause your rich, doesn't mean you're important. In three years or so, someone else will take your place. And you'll only be remembered as the stroppy girl in some band who couldn't even smile once in a while. If you want to be remembered in the next month you'll do this interview, and you'll do it properly. You don't care about this magazine? I will not lose my job for you, so if you've got nothing to say, I suggest you make something up. So I'll ask you again, Ray Summers. What did it feel like?"

Ray blinked, lips hovering by the mouth of the champagne bottle. I was breathing hard. I wondered how it was possible to feel so vulnerable and so powerful at the same time? I'd let her crack me. I'd let her force a reaction out of me. And yet she seemed totally unprepared for my response. And it felt good. So this is what it feels like. To stand up for yourself.

Ray took a tentative swig of her drink, her blue eyes never leaving me. If I looked closely at her, I could see her freckles hiding under her makeup.

"It felt like this," she said quietly "It felt like someone had put me in my place. Put me on the stage. But perhaps the stage puts you further away from where you really want to be. As a person."

I stared back at her, trying to make sense of her riddle. Was it an indirect apology? I crossed my arms. Ray put down the champagne, looking me intently in the eye.

"Do you believe in second chances, Freya?"

***

We went to a restaurant called Alma de Cuba. Ray hadn't said sorry, but she was taking me out for an expensive lunch, and I wasn't about to complain. Work could wait. The restaurant was a conversion of St. Peters Catholic Church, and inside was light and airy. It was plainly decorated, with plain brick walls, but there was a plush red carpet, and I sneakily slipped my shoes off to relieve my toes of their crushing embrace, toes sinking into the carpet. It was still early in the day, so it wasn't very busy, and we were seated by one of the stained glass windows. We hadn't spoken much on the journey back into Liverpool, but now it felt awkward not to say anything. We couldn't sit in silence for the whole meal.

"If you wanted to convince me you're not a stuck up rich bitch, this probably wasn't the place to bring me," I said half-jokingly, looking at the prices. To my surprise, Ray smiled slightly.

"I'm just trying to eliminate the bitch part," Ray said "I'll admit to being stuck up and rich. Ish. I could have taken you to more expensive places. But I figured you're probably pissed enough that you're going to try and eat and drink as much as you can and run me dry...I have money, but I'm not made of it. At least I can afford this place."

"Hmm...I hadn't even thought of that," I said, scanning the menu "I don't know about you, but I'm feeling a three course meal. And champagne."

"I shouldn't have given you that idea," Ray said. She looked almost shy, then. As shy as her face would allow, anyway. I could tell she was making an effort to be nice. I just didn't understand why she hadn't been from the start.

I finally took the opportunity to look at Ray properly. It was like before, I'd been too angry to really see her. She didn't look posh, or rich. In fact, she looked kind of trashy. A tight red top clung to her as though stuck with sweat. It pushed her breasts up until they overflowed. She had four tattoos. A colourful sleeve on her left arm. The word Intrigue was inked across her ring finger. The word Believe curved behind her right ear, which was covered in silver piercings. I'd later discover the word Entice circled around her right ankle. Her silver sparkled heels made Vegas look lifeless, and when she was stood, she towered over me. Maybe that's the way she likes it. So she can look down on shit like me I'd thought earlier in the day. But as she sat there, scanning the menu, she looked nervous. Her teeth were sunk into her bottom lip. She fiddled with the red headscarf, smoothed down her white blonde hair. She was still beautiful, in a sort of grungy, wild way. She wasn't elegant anymore, or soft on the eyes, or a bundle of sunshine. But there was still something about Ray Summers that made me want to get to know her, despite everything that had happened that day.

"May I take your order?" a waitress called Patricia asked a moment after Ray and I lapsed back into silence.

"Umm...the salmon fishcake starter. Yeah, the one with the tartar sauce. And...the expensive steak," I said, catching Ray's eye. She looked like she was resisting the urge to scowl. She was clearly used to scowling now.

"The Peking duck with rice pancakes please," Ray said, "And a bottle of Dom Perignon magnum."

"Please?" I said, feigning shock "Did you just use manners?"

This time Ray didn't look amused. Only mildly embarrassed "Please," Ray said, then she shook her head "Damn. Sorry. Can we wait until the champagne comes? Please?"

I nodded. Ray looked grateful, her head hung slightly. I watched her carefully. I felt a little guilty. I hadn't meant to make her feel so bad. I wasn't angry any longer. People make mistakes, I figured. Some are just bigger than others. And some are just permanent mistakes- the sort you make over and over.

The champagne came and Ray was quick to pour me a glass. She sipped her own quickly, her purple lips smudging the glass.

"Are you off duty right now?" she wanted to know "This will stay between us...whatever I say? You won't put it in a magazine?"

"I promise," I said quietly. Ray nodded, finding it hard to meet my eyes. Eventually, she outstretched a hand to me. Her nails were bitten into tiny slithers.

"Hi," she said "My name is Rachel Sumner. My friends call me Ray. And I want to sing more than anything in the world."

I shook her hand, going along with the act. She leaned back in her chair. She seemed to slump low whenever she sat, legs parted in a way that would be considered manly. She bit her lip "Everyone has something they want. Right?"

"Right," I agreed.

"I wanted to be famous," she said "I wanted to have lots of money. I wanted to find a nice girl and settle down with her, and never be bugged by the media. I just wanted people to know me, but not know me...you know? I wanted fame and fortune, not the extra little bits that seem to come with it. Stalkers, creepy fans, nosy reporters, people constantly telling you that you're too fat, too thin, too tall, too small...this is not what I wanted." Ray drained her glass and then poured another, shaking her head "But hell. I can't let it go now."

I sipped my drink. Watching Ray was like watching a drunk hamster. She was so jittery it was making me dizzy.

"I couldn't make it on my own," she said "I used to be on my own, but no one wants Rachel Sumner. No, no. Ray Summers. Ray Summers with a bad attitude and that husk in her voice that just drives people crazy. I joined a band. And then people wanted me. They wanted to hear me then. And they wanted me to be mean. They wanted me to treat them like dirt, because that's who Ray Summers is. She's a bitch. And they love it. Do you see?"

"I see," I said. Ray gulped her drink again.

"I lied," she said "My friends don't call me Ray. I don't have any. Ray Summers can't have friends. Everyone likes a bad girl from afar. But getting close...no. Unless they're bad too. Bad plus bad equals baaad."

She was drunk.

"But you know," she slurred "Sometimes girls like you come along. Girls like you tell Ray Summers to stop being a bitch. And that's when I remember who I used to be."

"You still are. Or you could be," I said. I was suddenly aching for Ray. She was teary eyed "There's another Ray Summers," I said quietly "She sings outside Starbucks in Liverpool. She has a hand painted sign and an acoustic guitar. She calls people beautiful, because this Ray Summers thinks everyone, thinks everything is worth something."

Ray gasped, realising I knew about what she used to be like. I leaned across the table "She's not this Ray Summers. And she's not quite Rachel Sumner either. But she's good. And people still like her. They remember her."

Ray pressed her knuckles to her lips, trying not to cry.

"You and I," I said "We'll keep that Ray Summers between us. OK? And it'll be OK."

Ray Summers smiled again "I'd like that."