"You were on the phone, weren't you?" Iga asked, her voice carefully neutral.

"Let's not do this now." I wanted to roll away but her sinuous body was locked around me, and the contact was suddenly cloying. I shuddered from neck to toes. Iga just tightened her grip, the teeth at the back of my neck less gentle now. I took hold of her wrists; I could feel her racing pulse, and the light, flexible bones below the surface of the skin.

"You're an actress," she said, the trilled R thrilling as ever. "Why do you waste your time with this nasty stuff?"

"Why are you wasting your time cleaning supermarkets when you're a qualified dentist?"

That wasn't fair, and I knew it. She did it to help out with the rent, so she'd have a little something to send to her family back home, and so she didn't get kicked out of the country for being jobless immigrant scum.

"At least I'm doing what I'm trained to do," I pressed. "Playing a part. Acting."

"And so I should vacuum a dentist's waiting-room instead of a supermarket? You think?" Iga detached herself, flipping over to face the wall, and straight away I missed her. My side of the bed seemed cold. I dragged myself upright to face her.

"I know it feels weird, because it's sex. But you don't have anything to worry about. They're guys, remember? Strangers. I don't feel anything for them."

"But you say things. Maybe things you've said to me."

"Maybe I use material from my life, yes. But it's just a job. It doesn't mean anything. Iga!"

Silence. Snuffles.

"If I was playing Juliet, would you be jealous of Romeo?"

"You're too old and fat now for Juliet!"

I shrank back across the bed, feeling as if she'd slapped me. It was true, of course, but that wasn't what hurt. It was the fact that she had said it. Iga didn't criticise anything to do with my acting, and I didn't make fun of her accent. Those rules had been established early.