ONE THURSDAY IN JULY
8A.M. – 10A.M.
1
OLLIE CHILES
‘You know, those abs would come in handy as a toast rack. If the acting stuff doesn’t work out, you could just make yourself useful by lying across the kitchen table in the mornings.’
Before Ollie Chiles, acting megastar and the Hollywood Hotlist’s Sexiest Man of 2025, could reply to his girlfriend, Stevie’s, early-morning assessment of his career prospects, an alarm buzzed on her phone and she sat bolt upright in bed, her gloriously messy mane of blonde hair trailing down the back of her vintage Fleetwood Mac T-shirt. She had a whole collection of them, her affection for the band nurtured since the moment in her childhood that she learned she was named after the iconic lead singer, Stevie Nicks.
Stevie switched off the noise and lifted the remote control from the sleek walnut drawer unit at her side of the superking bed. ‘I set the alarm for Devlin Jones’s TV slot onMorning Scotland. If he likes your show, I might keep you around.’
As he watched her flick on the 85-inch TV that hung on the opposite wall of the bedroom, the corners of Ollie’s mouth turned up at the edges. He’d been an actor for over a decade, and played the lead role onThe Clansman, one of the highest rated shows on TV. He had a whole team of managers, publicists, marketing experts and agents analysing every career move he made. Social media assured him that thousands, sometimes millions, of people had thoughts on him, his career and his performances. And yet, the only two opinions he cared about were that of the woman lying next to him in bed and his mum, Moira Chiles. And, apparently, at least one of those was being swayed by Devlin Jones, the film and TV critic onMorning Scotland.
‘He might not even feature it,’ Ollie tried to manage expectations. ‘My publicity team are saying he got the preview and agreed to give it a slot, but these things can change at any…’
He stopped, realising that Stevie wasn’t paying attention, because a graphic still of the promo image Netflix had released for the show was now flashing on the screen.
‘Okay, here we go,’ Stevie exclaimed, nudging him excitedly, as the camera switched back to the studio and the smiling face of Devlin Jones filled the screen. Jones was in his late fifties, still sported an eighties perm and was currently flirting with regrowing a matching eighties moustache, but he was a national treasure much loved for his irreverent, frequently scathing daily reports on the television, film and celebrity worlds.
‘Folks, just a quick reminder that the Netflix special,The Academy of Dreams, airs tonight, starring our very own Ollie Chiles. Now, you all know I’ve got a soft spot for Ollie, because after seven seasons of being the star of the biggest show to come from these shores,The Clansman, he has single-handedly boosted Scottish tourism, with legions of fans heading here to find a kilted Adonis with a penchant for getting his top ripped off in battle.’
Ollie didn’t even mind the objectification because Devlin wasn’t wrong. As the Clansman, Highland chieftain and fearless warrior, he’d triumphed many times but hadn’t yet worn a shirt that had made it to the end of a fight scene. Apparently, there were drinking games that involved sightings of his nipples. Stevie swore she’d never participated but she did come home more than a bit tipsy after watching the final episode of the last series with her pal, Ginny, so he wasn’t convinced.
‘And then, just when we fell for the strong, brooding hunk act, what did Ollie Chiles do? He co-founded the Moira Chiles Academy of Music and Drama, a non-profit performing arts school carved out of an old church in his home city of Glasgow, established to support and develop the talents of teenagers from the underprivileged area that Chiles grew up in. He named it after his mother, Moira – who, in the name of the Holy Cher, has a singing voice that rivals any of the eighties pop divas. Anyway, so far, so performative-virtue-signalling. Except, well, it isn’t. Chiles really does donate a huge chunk of his income to the project, he grafts there in between shooting schedules, he truly does hustle up his A-list star pals for funding contributions and the whole place is run by the indomitable Moira and a staff of coaches who have more talent than some off-Broadway theatre casts. Part of the funding for the centre is raised through shows starring the teenage students, the coaches and a few of those established stars, who waive their multimillion-dollar salaries for the occasion–yup, you could accuse them of that virtue-signalling stuff again, but hush your mouth because we’re feeling charitable – and it’s the lead-up to one of those shows that’s caught in this fly-on-the-wall documentary. Six months of drama, condensed down into a three-episode series that introduces the entire project to the watching world. And, I have to say, it’s an absolute belter.’
That comment sparked a tiny tug of anxiety in Ollie’s gut. He hadn’t seen the final cut, because one of the non-negotiable stipulations in the contract for the show was that there would be a live screening at the Academy tonight, at the same time as the episodes went out worldwide. The production team, Fankled Films, who were making the series for Netflix, had insisted on it, as they wanted to capture authentic responses. All the cast, their family and friends, were gathering to watch it and their reactions would be filmed and shown if a second series was commissioned. Ollie just hoped that his trust in the production crew wasn’t misguided. Of course, there had to be some drama to keep viewers interested, but the aim of the show was to platform the talents of the students and the hard work of the staff in a positive, uplifting way.
His natural optimism stepped in to stamp out the worry. It would be fine. It would be okay. It wasn’t going to bite him on the arse. He tuned back into Devlin, hoping he wasn’t going to say anything to burst that bubble of optimism.
‘Now, granted, I’ve said a million times before that all this reality TV stuff is wearing thinner than my rear-end after a juice cleanse. The fake scenarios. The scripted rants. The showmances that dissolve as soon as either Romeo or Juliet signs a major brand deal.
‘At least, that’s what I would have said if you asked me yesterday.
But today? Listeners, we have new stars in town. I can’t give too much away, but what I will say is that the Kardashians can now retire to a life of daily visits to Beverly Hills Botox clinics, the Real Housewives can go clean their own kitchens and the Love Islanders can cover up their thong bikinis with a comfy hoodie, because they have just been retired by a cast of characters from the rain-soaked streets of Glasgow. And, trust me, there’s so much more drama off stage than on it. This show has everything – spats, strops, knockout performances and the dawn of a couple of stars that could one day join Mr Chiles on that A-list. In other words, it’s simply brilliant TV.
‘So there we go, my friends.The Academy of Dreams, streaming tonight at 8p.m. Cancel your plans, get the popcorn out, call a pal and thank me later.’
Ollie’s relief that the review had been positive was boosted by a ‘Yasssssss!’ from Stevie, who was currently punching the air, saying, ‘That means I can stay with you now that it’s clear you’re not a failure. If the show tanked, I’d be out of here. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.’
Her ability to make him laugh was just one of the things he adored about her, but that only scratched the surface of why he’d spent the last twelve months loving her. Last week, they’d celebrated the one-year anniversary of the first time they kissed, in the middle of a raucous karaoke session in a five-star hotel bar in Hong Kong. He’d gone there because his mum, Moira, had taken a fall on what was supposed to be a grand reunion trip with old friends. Thankfully, she’d made a full recovery, but he’d lost several years of his life in the panicked dash to Moira’s side. However, he’d gained so much more when he’d met Stevie, the daughter of one of Moira’s chums from her younger days.
Stevie was fiercely independent and also completely unimpressed by his fame, his celebrity and his wealth. She volunteered one day a week at the Academy because she loved to sing, but she’d refused to move in with him, because ‘what am I going to do rattling around in that big house by myself when you’re away?’ He’d floated the idea of travelling with him, when he was shooting in the US, Canada and Croatia six months of the year or flying round the globe doing press junkets and promotional tours for weeks on end, but she’d brushed it off because she didn’t want to leave her life here, or her friends, or her job as a radiographer at Glasgow Central Hospital’s Emergency Department. She wanted normality, not living out of a suitcase, being a satellite in his orbit.
And now wasn’t the moment to have another go at that discussion, because she was climbing out of bed and heading to the shower.
While she was gone, he picked up his handset and texted his mum.
Morning Maw. Excited about tonight? It’s going to be great.
He always used the Glaswegian version of ‘mum’, a throwback to his childhood in this city. Moira had brought him up here as a single mother and sacrificed her own dreams of stardom to give him the most stable, loving start in life. Founding the Academy and naming it after her was his thanks to her, but it didn’t come close to repaying her for everything she’d done for him.
Haven’t slept a wink. Nerves shredded. Will I see you before tonight? xx
Always two kisses at the end of every text. It was such an ingrained habit that she frequently bemoaned being mortified after accidentally ending a text to a tradesman or a professional acquaintance with the same abbreviated terms of affection.
I’ll was going to pop over to see you around lunchtime – that ok?
