‘Do you know … you flip between total arrogance and total vulnerability,’ I tell him, brushing his bedroom invite aside.
Sam laughs. ‘I know. Sorry.’
‘You don’t have to apologise,’ I say.
‘So,’ he shifts in his seat. ‘Let’s pretend the last few minutes of conversation where I looked like a dirty old man didn’t happen, and let’s think about what we can tell Liv.’
‘It’s not Liv this time,’ I say, turning my phone face-down. ‘It’s … someone else.’
‘Someone else? Vague,’ Sam says.
‘Purposefully vague,’ I reply.
‘Why purposefully vague?’ Sam asks. ‘A guy?’
‘It’s a friend.’
‘A guy friend?’
‘A guy friend,’ I confirm. ‘But an old friend who I haven’t seen in a while, so it’s not important right now. He can keep.’
‘I should hope so. I’d be worried if he became your top priority while you’re drinking champagne with me.’
I think about that for a moment and it makes my heart hurt, but I can’t work out why. ‘You’d be worried?’ I ask.
‘No man wants attention diverted from him because of another man.’
‘I suppose not, no,’ I concur.
‘Who is he? Who are your good friends? Tell me everything about you.’
My eyes dart back to my phone briefly. ‘Well, there’s Ollie,’ I start.
‘The guy?’ Sam’s eyes dart to my phone too and then back to me.
I nod. ‘Just a friend. But I haven’t spoken to him for a while and he’s finally messaged me.’ I’m keen to move on quickly, so I do. ‘Then there’s Liv, who is his ex and—’
‘Whoa … Liv isOllie’s ex? And Ollie is messaging you? Is this about to get juicy? Or awkward?’
‘Now is a good time to remind you that not everything is like reality TV,’ I point out.
‘Fair enough.’
‘No. It’s nothing like that,’ I protest. ‘Ollie and I get on. Liv and I get on, and IthinkLiv and Ollie are in a good space too. Then there’s our friend Ben, who ismyex.’
Sam’s eyes widen. ‘Messy,’ he drawls.
‘A bit, maybe. Or, rather, it was. But it’s fine now. This was years ago, so we’ve all moved on. What about you? Messy skeletons in cupboards?’
‘A couple of exes, but it’s all out in the public domain, so no surprises really. The usual break-ups, make-ups, break-upsagain. Everything documented online for the entire world to see.’
‘God, what’s that like? That constant invasion of privacy?’
‘There is no privacy. That’s what that’s like.’
‘Sounds awful,’ I shudder.
‘You learn to live with it,’ Sam insists sadly. ‘It’s part of the job. It comes with the big pay-cheques, now I’ve moved out here and have started presenting and doing a little acting. Although it’s a bit easier out here. I’m not recognisable enough to worry. Yet. But in the UK? Not being able to get on a bus, a train – I’m forced to travel first-class everywhere, or else I’ll spend an entire flight ducking and diving from two hundred people trying to take my picture.’
