And then, for a few blissful moments, I’m on my own, listening to the hustle and bustle of a well-executed party (even if I do say so myself), but also dreading what might be happening between Ben and Liv as I watch him watching her walk towards him. Mum has a little crowd of people more her age around her, including Ollie’s dad, and she’s serving drinks liberally as they chat together.
Then I see him – Ollie. He smiles as he walks towards me, holding two glasses of fizz, and I smile in return because talking to him is exactly what I need right now.
‘There you are,’ I say warmly. ‘One of those for me?’ I gesture to the glasses.
‘No. Both for me. Sorry,’ he jokes and then hands me one. ‘Good party.’
‘Thanks. Are you having fun?’
‘“Fun” is a subjective word.’
‘No, it’s not,’ I tell him. ‘Fun is fun. You’re either having it or you’re not.’
‘Bit like sex?’
My mouth drops open. ‘Ollie! You can’t say that.’
‘Too late. I’ve said it now,’ he says, with far more confidence than I’ve ever heard him say anything, ever. He sips his drink and seems more content, more at ease in himself, than before.
‘Are you then?’ I dare, sensing he might actually answer.
‘Am I what?’
‘Getting any,’ I reply with a look that says,I dare you not to answer.
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’
‘That means no,’ I say, tapping on his arm in athere-theremotion.
He laughs, his gaze on mine. ‘Areyou?’
‘Sadly not,’ I reply. ‘I invited Toby, the photographer, though, so maybe one day soon … Have you met him yet?’
Ollie casts his gaze over to the corner of the kitchen, to where Toby is now talking to my agent and a few other industry people. Ben and Liv are nowhere to be seen, so I’m going to take that as a good sign in my plan to get us all back together.
‘I have met Toby,’ Ollie says. ‘He’s very nice.’
‘He is. But he’s not really making any kind of move on me and we got on so well, so I wonder if I’m doing somethingwrong. He’s barely spoken to me all night.’
‘You’re into Toby?’ Ollie asks, looking a mix of stiff and amused.
‘I am,’ I confirm.
‘I hate to say this, but you’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just not a gay man,’ Ollie says and I stare at him in sudden shock.
‘What?’
‘Toby’s gay.’
‘What? No, he’s not,’ I say confidently.
‘Yeah, I’m pretty certain he is.’
‘No, he’s not.’
‘He is. I’m sure of it,’ Ollie replies. ‘Sorry.’
‘You’re wrong. I fancy him, so he can’t be gay.’
