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She introduced herself and reminded him of the picture they’d worked on. ‘Oh, yes – Hooker Number One. As I recall, you made quite an impression.’

Though wounded that he only remembered her part and not her name, she smiled.

‘What are you doing in a dump like this?’

‘I have bills to pay, and there are always a hundred more actresses with blonde hair and blue eyes and rich daddies to pay for their apartments in Bel Air. Me, I’m not so lucky. Anyway, I should be asking you the same question. What are you doing here – shouldn’t you be at home with your wife – what’s her name, Shauna Jackson?’

‘Ah, yes!’ Dan raised his glass. ‘Here’s to the marvellous, radiant and venerated Shauna Jackson, everybody’s darling.’

Frankie caught the whiff of a discontented husband. She’d seen enough of them in her time.

‘My wife is in Ireland … and I …’ he sank his Scotch and held up his glass for a refill, ‘I am doing whatever the hell I like while she’s perfecting her craft with Richard Gere!’ He sank the next one too, his shoulders shuddering slightly as the golden liquid hit his insides. ‘Anyway, pleased to meet you – you must call me Dan.’

‘Hey, Dan, maybe you should slow down a little,’ she told him, but she poured him another refill anyway.

Where there was misery there was opportunity. Frankie made it her business to please Dan Jackson; she asked him about his life, sounded knowledgeable about his work, and gently drew his attention away from his wife and on to her instead. She’d bundled him into a taxi that night, but to her satisfaction he’d returned the following night and the one after that, seeking her out. Frankie knew she was flattering his ego – the guy was two decades older than her, for God’s sake – but she liked him. He was kind, and despite his obvious unhappiness with his marriage, he didn’t badmouth his wife. He seemed interested in Frankie too, so why not encourage him?

One night, he’d been drinking even more than usual, and when he returned from a trip to the bathroom Frankie saw telltale traces of white powder around his nose.

‘Something getting to you, Dan?’ she asked.

He told her that his wife had been held up on a movie shoot in Europe and would be away longer than expected. Months longer. Frankie could tell that Dan was lonely, and she was lonely too. All the guys she’d dated were only interested in screwing her, while Dan had a gentle side to him. So she asked one of the other girls to cover her shift, promising to make it up to her, then came around to Dan’s side of the bar.

‘Let’s get out of here, Dan. Tonight you need more than booze and cocaine.’

She took him to a decent motel in a better part of town and made love to him. And as he spent himself inside her, she smiled, certain that Dan Jackson was her ticket to the big time.

The bus pulled to a halt outside the hospital and Frankie thanked the driver and headed quickly through the lobby and up to the tenth floor.

After years of doing her best to be a sister and mother to her siblings, hardship had worn Isabelle down until, by a cruel twist of fate, she’d fallen prey to the same cancer that had killed their mother. Thanks to Frankie, she was receiving the best treatment possible.

A nurse was at her bedside, checking the various monitors and making notes.

‘Hi, Ruby,’ Frankie greeted her.

‘Oh, Francesca, can I just have a word with you?’ she said kindly. Once they’d stepped out into the hallway, she explained: ‘Isabelle hasn’t had such a great day today – the chemo has been taking its toll. She’s been vomiting a lot, and now she’s exhausted. So don’t stay too long, OK?’

Frankie nodded, went back in and slipped into the chair by her sister’s bed. Isabelle wore a beanie hat that covered her head, now devoid of hair. Her skin was pallid and looked paper thin, while her lips had an almost blueish tinge. Her eyelids were closed.

‘Hola, cariño mío.’ She reached for Isabelle’s hand and her sister’s eyelids fluttered.

‘Hola, hermanita,’ Isabelle whispered in return, a small smile playing across her lips.

‘Don’t speak, OK,’ Frankie said.

‘Crap day today.’

‘I know, just rest now.’

Isabelle opened one eye. ‘Where’s Alex?’ she asked, alert now.

‘He’s OK, a friend is watching him,’ Frankie lied, knowing that Isabelle would give her hell if she knew that Frankie had left him alone, but it was the only way she could see the sister that she adored.

‘You give that nephew of mine a big hug, you hear?’

‘The biggest. You want me to go?’

Isabelle looked at Frankie, her eyes fluttering with the struggle to stay open. ‘Don’t leave me yet, Frankie, stay a little longer.’