But I’m out of luck. The security guard on duty is a guy I’ve never set eyes on before, wiry, small and so thorough in his questioning that in the Cold War, he’d have done brilliantly working for the Stasi. ‘And you’re here to see who exactly?’ He glares at me.

‘Well, we’re actually here on kind of…emm…personal business, you see…’

Stasi guy folds his arms and I’m just waiting on him to tell us he’ll escort us off the premises if we don’t leave, when next thing I feel Steve’s arm slip around my waist.

‘What she’s trying to say is that we’re here for the show tonight, aren’t we, love?’ he grins cheekily. ‘We won two audience tickets and I can tell you this is the highlight of our week. Neither of us have ever been in a TV studio before, have we, honey?’

Now why didn’t I think of that?

‘May I see the tickets please, sir?’

‘Yeeeeeeeah, that’s the problem,’ says Steve, cool as you like. ‘You see, I thought all along that my girlfriend here had them, and she thought that I had them, but the thing is that neither of us do. In fact, they’re probably sitting on the kitchen table at home right now, aren’t they, sweetheart? Which is kind of funny, when you think about it.’

But Stasi guy looks unconvinced. So I pull out all the stops and join in the improv.

‘Please, you’ve no idea how much this means to us,’ I beg him. ‘We had a terrible fight on the way here about whose fault it was leaving the tickets at home and we’ve just come all the way from…’

‘Kerry,’ Steve finishes my sentence for me. ‘And it’s our anniversary. And being here for the show tonight is just so exciting for us. You’ve no idea.’

There’s a long, scary pause while Stasi guy looks at us, weighing up whether we’re two whack jobs on the loose or an actual, genuine case. But outright lying seems to do the trick because next thing he’s flourishing a biro at us and shoving the visitor’s book under our noses.

‘Sign here, please.’

We do as we’re told, both of us trying to conceal our triumph. Then we’re both issued with visitor’s passes and waved in the direction of the main door.

So far, so good.

‘It’s worse than bloody Fort Knox in here,’ Steve whispers to me as we pass through the door, then find ourselves in the long, narrow corridor that leads directly to the studio.

‘This way,’ I say, steering him down yet another tiny corridor which then leads on to the make-up and dressing rooms.

‘Good line-up for tonight,’ says Steve, noticing a few names on the dressing room doors. I take a quick glance too and it is pretty impressive, for a late summer talk show when a lot of A-listers would be on holiday. The Deputy Prime Minister for one, a boy band member who’s just announced his engagement is another; there’s even a bona fide Irish movie star, who’s been based in LA for years but must be in town to promote a new film. It has all the makings of a terrific programme. Shame about the presenter, is all I can think as we race down to the end of the corridor.

Next thing, a familiar face steps out of one of the dressing rooms and instantly spots me.

‘Jessie? Jessie Woods? Is that you under all that red hair? My God, it isyou! Come here and give me a hug!’

I can’t believe my luck. It’s Amy, the lovely runner.

‘Oh my God, you’ve no idea how good it is to see you!’ I say, hugging her so tight I might break her.

‘Right back at you, babe. You’ve been sorely missed, I can tell you. I never remember there being any diva fits when you were working here.’ She shoots a significant look at the dressing room she’s just come out of and it’s then I notice the nameplate on the door. Ms Emma Sheridan. ‘Hey, introduce me to your friend, will you?’ Amy says, spotting Steve and immediately going to shake hands with him.

‘Oh, Amy, this is my good friend Steve. Steve, Amy.’

‘So what brings the pair of you here? Have you come to wish Emma luck for the dry run?’

I look at her for a split second, weighing up whether or not to confess all. But time is of the essence here, best to leave all explanations until later, I figure. On the other hand though, feigning that we’ve come all this way to wish Emma luck would at least guarantee that we get in to see her…But Steve steps in for me.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ he grins winningly. ‘I’m a huge fan of Emma’s and have wanted to meet her for so long.’ God, he’s good. I almost believe him myself. ‘But then Jessie here suggested we pop in to see her before the show, just to let her know we’re all rooting for her. If it’s OK with you, that is?’

Between all his fair-haired, blue-eyed sincerity and the innocent lack of guile that Steve’s able to project, I can practically see Amy being completely won over.

‘Ordinarily I’d have said no problem,’ she says, dropping her voice a bit, ‘but the mood madam’s in tonight! You’ve no idea, she’s been on my case all afternoon with the stupidest demands you ever heard…’

With that, the dressing room door opens and out comes the woman herself. Emma. Dressed in a very expensive-looking cocktail dress and fully made up, with the most stunning jewellery I’ve ever seen. Looking like she always does: groomed, glossy and it chokes me to say it, but gorgeous.

‘Amy, I asked you for sparkling water five minutes ago and I’m still waiting for it—’ She breaks off, suddenly spotting me.

For a nano second, I detect a sliver of dread in her. Which she instantly covers. Covers so beautifully that I almost doubt myself and wonder if I was just imagining things.

‘Jessie! Oh sweetheart, it’s so lovely to see you! How are you?’

My God, what an actress is all I can think as she lunges into air kissing me. Sincere as you like, warm and friendly. As if she’s genuinely over the moon to see me.

I introduce Steve and she’s equally charming to him too.

‘So what brings you here, babe?’ she beams brightly at me.

‘Actually Emma,’ I say as firmly as I can, ‘I need a private word with you, if that’s OK?’

‘Can it wait? As you’ve probably noticed, I’m kind of in the middle of a show here.’

‘I’ll only take two minutes of your time, Emma, but I’m afraid that no, it can’t wait. This is important.’

‘Hey, so’s my new show, Jessie! You know how it is on a dry run night, all go. Tell you what, why don’t you and I meet up for a coffee really soon and we can have a chat then? But in the meantime, it’s lovely as always to see you. You take care now!’

I do not believe this.

She walks off, calmly as you like, as if I’m some minor annoyance that can be swept under the carpet and dealt with at a later date. Well, I’m sorry, I think, as a massive surge of rage bubbles up from my toes. Emma wouldn’t have a fecking show to do tonight had she not shafted me in the first place.

So I follow her. ‘Emma, I said NO. This is not something that can be brushed aside. I said I need to talk to you right now. And believe me, what I have to say will be far less embarrassing for you to hear in private.’

OK, now she’s ignoring me. Actually blanking me, as if I’m not even here. It’s bizarre, we’re all trailing in her wake down the narrow corridor which leads to studio one, but the only person she’s addressing is Amy, making some ludicrous, bossy demand about the preferred kind of mineral water she wants beside her during the show. She’s striding faster and faster and I’m almost running just to keep pace with her. Then, just as we’re at the door of the studio, I nab her. This is one problem that she’s not going to turn her back on.

‘Emma, if you’d rather I spoke to you in public, then that’s your call,’ I say right to the back of her head. She turns round to me, all smiles and lip gloss.

‘You know, Jessie, if you’d like studio audience seats, I’m sure Amy here can organise them for you and your friend. But I’m afraid that this is where I say goodbye.’

Christ alive, she’s treating us like fans, like we’re her obsessive admirers.