At that moment the door opens and Suze is back.

'Hi!' she says, coming into the sitting room. 'Nice evening?'

'Not really,' I begin disgruntledly. 'I've been making these things…'

'Well, never mind,' she says dramatically. 'Because guess what? You've got a secret admirer.'

'What?' I say, startled.

'Someone really likes you,' she says, taking off her coat. 'I heard it tonight. You'll never guess who!'

Luke Brandon pops into my mind before I can stop it. How ridiculous. And how would Suze have found that out, anyway? Stupid idea. Very stupid. Impossible.

She could have bumped into him at the cinema, whispers my brain. She does know him after all, doesn't she? And he could have said…

'It's my cousin!' she says triumphantly. 'Tarquin. He really likes you.'

Oh for God's sake.

'He's got this secret little crush on you,' she continues happily. 'In fact, he's had one ever since he met you!'

'It's not that secret…' I begin sarcastically – then, as Suze looks up in surprise, I stop. After all, I don't want to hurt her feelings.

'So you already know about it?' she says.

'Well,' I say and shrug. What can I say? I can't tell her that her beloved cousin gives me the creeps. So instead I start to pick at the fabric on the photo frame in front of me, and a delighted smile spreads over Suze's face.

'He's really keen on you!' she says. 'I said he should just ring you and ask you out. You wouldn't mind, would you?'

'Of course not,' I say feebly.

'Wouldn't that be great?' said Suze. 'If you two got married. I could be bridesmaid!'

'Yes,' I say, and force myself to smile brightly. 'Lovely.'

What I'll do, I think, is agree to a date just to be polite – and then cancel at the last moment. And hopefully Tarquin'll have to go back to Scotland or something, and we can forget all about it.

But to be honest, I could really do without it. Now I've got two reasons to dread the phone, ringing. However, to my relief, Saturday arrives and I haven't heard a word from Tarquin. Or Derek Smeath.

Everyone's finally leaving me alone to get on with my life

On the slightly more negative side, I was planning to make 150 frames this week – but so far I've only made three, and none of them looks like the one in the picture.

One doesn't have enough wadding in it, one doesn't quite meet at the corner, and the third has got a smear of glue on the front, which hasn't come off. I just can't understand why I'm finding it so difficult. Some people make hundreds of these things every week, without any effort. Mrs S. of Ruislip even takes her family on a cruise every year on her earnings. How come they can do it and I can't? It's really depressing. I mean, I'm supposed to be bright, aren't I? I've got a degree, for God's sake.

Still, never mind, I tell myself. It's my new job at Ally Smith today – so at least I'll be earning some extra money there.

I'm quite excited about it. Here starts a whole new career in fashion! I spend a long time choosing a cool outfit to wear on my first day – and eventually settle on black trousers from Jigsaw, a little cashmere (well, half cashmere) T-shirt and a pink wrap-around top which actually came from Ally Smith.

I'm quite pleased with the way I look, and am expecting Danielle to make some appreciative comment when I arrive at the shop, but she doesn't even seem to notice. She just says, 'Hi. The trousers and T shirts are in the stock room. Pick out your size and change in the cubicle.'

Oh right. Now I come to think-of it, all the assistants at Ally Smith do wear the same outfits. Almost like a… well, a uniform, I suppose. Reluctantly I get changed and look at myself– and, to tell you the truth, I'm disappointed. These grey trousers don't really flatter me, and the T-shirt's just plain boring. I'm almost tempted to ask Danielle if I can pick out another outfit to wear – but she seems a bit busy, so I don't.

Maybe next week I'll have a little word.

But even though I don't like the outfit, I still feel a frisson of excitement as I come out onto the shop floor.

The spotlights are shining brightly; the floor's all shiny and polished; music's playing and there's a sense of anticipation in the air. It's almost like being a performer.

I glance at myself in a mirror and murmur,

'How can I help you?' Or maybe it should be, 'Can I help you?' I'm going to be the most charming shop assistant ever, I decide. People will come here just to be assisted by me, and I'll have a fantastic rapport with all the customers. And then I'll appear in the Evening Standard in some quirky column about favourite shops. Perhaps I'll even get my own TV show.

No-one's told me what to do yet, so – using my initiative, very good – I walk up to a woman with blond hair, who's tapping away at the till, and say, 'Shall I have a quick go?'

'What?' she says, not looking up.

'I'd better learn how to work the till, hadn't I? Before all the customers arrive?'

Then the woman does look up and, to my surprise, bursts into laughter.

'On the till? You think you're going to go straight onto the till?'

'Oh,' I say, blushing a little. 'Well I thought…

'You're a beginner, darling,' she says. 'You're not going near the till. Go with Kelly. She'll show you what you'll be doing today.'

Folding jumpers. Folding bloody jumpers. That's what I'm here to do. Rush round after customers who have picked up cardigans and left them all crumpled, and fold them back up again. By eleven o'clock I'm absolutely exhausted – and, to be honest, not enjoying myself very much at all. Do you know how depressing it is to fold a cardigan in exactly the right Ally Smith way and put it back on the shelf, all neatly lined up just to see someone casually pull it down again, look at it, pull a face and discard it? You want to scream at them, LEAVE IT ALONE IF YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BUY IT! I watched one girl even pick up a cardigan identical to the one she already had on! I mean, what is her problem?

And I'm not getting to chat to the customers, either. It's as if they see through you when you're a shop assistant. No-one's asked me a single interesting question like 'Does this shirt go with these shoes?' or 'Where can I find a really nice black skirt under ?60?' I'd love to answer stuff like that. But the only questions I've been asked are, 'Is there a loo?' and 'Where's the nearest Midland cashpoint?' I haven't built up a single rapport with anyone.

Oh, it's depressing. The only thing that keeps me going is an end-of-stock reduced rack at the back of the shop. I keep sidling towards it and looking at a pair of zebra-print jeans, reduced from ?180 to ?90. I remember those jeans. I've even tried them on. And here they are, out of the blue – reduced. I just can't keep my eyes off them. They're even in size 12. My size.

I mean, I know I'm not really supposed to be spending money – but this is a complete one-off. They're the coolest jeans you've ever seen. And ?90 is nothing for a pair of really good jeans. If you were in Gucci, you'd be paying at least ?500. Oh God, I want them. I want them.

I'm just loitering at the back, eyeing them up for the hundredth time when Danielle comes striding up and I jump guiltily. But all she says is, 'Can you go on to fitting-room duty now? Sarah'll show you the ropes.'

No more folding jumpers! Thank God!

To my relief, this fitting-room lark is a lot more fun. Ally Smith has really nice fitting-rooms, with lots of space and individual cubicles, and my job is to stand at the entrance and check how many items people are taking in with them. It's really interesting to see what people are trying on. One girl's buying loads of stuff, and keeps saying how her boyfriend told her to go mad for her birthday, and he would pay.

Huh. Well, it's all right for some. Still, never mind, at least I'm earning money. It's 11.30, which means I've earned… ?14.40 so far. Well, that's not bad, is it? I could get some nice makeup for that.

Except that I'm not going to waste this money on makeup. Of course not – I mean that's not why I'm here, is it? I'm going to be really sensible. What I'm going to do is buy the zebra-print jeans – just because they're a one-off and it would be a crime not to – and then put all the rest towards my bank balance. I just can't wait to put them on. I get a break at 2.30, so what I'll do is nip to the reduced rail and take them to the staff room, just to make sure they fit, and…

Suddenly my face freezes. Hang on.

Hang on a moment. What's that girl holding over her arm? She's holding my zebra-print jeans! She's coming towards the fitting rooms. Oh my God. She wants to try them on. But they're mine!

'Hi!' she says brightly as she approaches.

'Hi,' I gulp, trying to stay calm. 'Ahm… how many items have you got?'

'Four,' she says, showing me the hangers. Behind me are tokens hanging on the wall, marked One Two, Three and Four. The girl's waiting for me to give her a token marked Four and let her in. But I can't. I physically cannot let her go in there with my jeans.

'Actually,' I hear myself saying, 'you're only allowed three items.'

'Really?' she says in surprise. 'But…' She gestures to the tokens.

'I know,' I say. 'But they've just changed the rules. Sorry about that.' And I give her my best unhelpful shop-assistant smile.

This is quite a power trip, actuality. You can just stop people trying on clothes! You can ruin their lives!

'Oh, OK,' says the girl. 'Well, I'll leave out-'

'These,' I say, and grab the zebra-print jeans.