I wasn’t famous. But there was a photo of Ollie and me on The Shipley Examiner’s website; the one where he’d dropped his lips to mine.

The headline read PLAYER COMES OUT TO PLAY and I skimmed the words underneath:

I studied the image again. ‘Is my backside really that wide?’

‘That’s all you’ve got to say?’ Erin’s voice rose. ‘You’re kissing him!’

‘He was kissing me, actually, and the photo’s misleading,’ I said. ‘It was just a friendly peck.’

My upturned face was barely visible, but in my parka and ‘boyfriend’ jeans (they were going in the bin) I looked to be a decade older than Ollie and punching above my weight. My hair stuck out at one side and his eyes were fixed elsewhere, as if checking the reaction of onlookers.

‘Why were you looking on their website?’ I said, going hot as I recalled the other almost-kiss that Erin knew nothing about.

‘I was checking to see if his visit had been reported.’ Her voice sounded disjointed, as if she was pacing around. ‘It would be bad for his ego if no one turned up to watch him switch on the lights.’

‘Turning the lights on is a yearly event,’ I pointed out. ‘Celebrity or no celebrity, people will be there.’

‘I thought his visit was supposed to be low-key,’ Erin persisted. ‘What’s he doing kissing you in front of a crowd?’

Ollie’s stay had hardly been low-key so far. I wondered whether to mention the visit he’d organised from fans, and that he’d insulted my neighbours, and that Tattie had called him, but Erin would probably give him a roasting, and then he’d be annoyed that I’d told her. He might even decide to leave and, while I suspected my neighbours wouldn’t exactly be heartbroken, I was still hoping to turn things around.

‘It was a spur of the moment thing, after a few people recognised him in the high street,’ I said. ‘And then that reporter turned up.’

‘Handy,’ said Erin. ‘There was supposed to be a paragraph about his visit, and a mention on the local news, not the equivalent of a spread in heat magazine.’

‘Someone must have tipped off the paper.’ Ollie, probably.

‘They’re implying you’re his new girlfriend.’ Erin was working herself up again. ‘I thought you said you weren’t going along with that bullshit.’

‘I’m not.’ I rubbed my hairline, feeling another headache brewing, my gaze dropping to the Comments section.

I was tempted to reply that Ollie was doing it for nothing – apart from exposure – but knew engaging with trolls was a bad idea.

Shaken, I slammed my laptop shut.

‘Lily!’

I realised Erin had asked me something. ‘I said, why the fuck did you let him kiss you?’

‘He took me by surprise.’

‘He had his arm around you, for god’s sake.’

‘It’s just a stupid picture.’ I was starting to feel hounded. ‘No one will care in a week. Isn’t that what you say when one of your stars gets caught in a compromising situation?’

‘Don’t use my words against me.’ Erin sounded equally rattled. ‘You’d better put him on.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I’d like to speak to him.’

‘He’s not here.’

‘What?’

‘He wanted to go dancing.’ Put baldly, it sounded ridiculous. ‘I don’t know where.’

‘And you let him go?’ she snapped.

‘I could hardly stop him,’ I snapped back. ‘Craig’s gone, too.’

‘Footage of him smooching doe-eyed fans in a dingy nightclub is hardly going to endear him to the public. Jesus!’

‘Not all nightclubs outside London are dingy.’

‘How do you know, have you been to any?’

‘Have you?’

She hesitated. ‘No.’

‘Well, then. And Craig hasn’t taken his camera.’

‘Oh.’ Her annoyance seemed to subside. ‘Look, I just… I thought he was supposed to be lying low, living like an ordinary person.’ She emphasised ordinary. ‘Why didn’t you talk him out of going?’

‘For heck’s sake, Erin, make your mind up. First, I shouldn’t get too close, now I’m supposed to be controlling his every move.’ I felt on the verge of tears. ‘You’re starting to sound like you care a bit too much.’

She sucked in a breath, as if I’d hit a nerve. ‘I want his career to get back on track, but not at your expense,’ she said, uncertainly. Erin never sounded uncertain. Even when The Actor had left her, she was unequivocal in her summing up that he was a bastard who didn’t deserve her.

‘That’s not what you were going to say.’ I waited. ‘What’s going on?’ I felt the weight of her silence. ‘Erin?’

In a rush she said, ‘I kissed him too, OK? A couple of times, ages ago, before he started seeing Tattie Granger. It was stupid and I regret it, but I can handle myself and I’m not sure you… I’m worried you’ll start thinking you might have a future with him.’

My mouth was hanging open. ‘You kissed Ollie Matheson?’

‘I know,’ she wailed. ‘I still can’t believe it.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Why do you think? I was embarrassed,’ she said. ‘When he first called the agency, looking for representation, I had no idea that when I met him he’d be so…’

‘Good-looking?’

‘Exactly!’

‘Oh my god, Erin!’ I swallowed some wine, trying to get my head round it. ‘You were Ollied, too!’

She groaned. ‘Don’t remind me.’

‘And all this time, you never said a word.’

‘I’ve been trying to forget it.’

‘Did he want to take things further?’

‘Of course he did,’ she said. ‘But only because it’s what he expects. Luckily, I came to my senses.’

‘Not your type?’

‘Do you need to ask? I could never be one of “those girls”.’

‘How did he take it?’

‘He kept asking if I was sure I wouldn’t change my mind, in that gentlemanly way he has. He tried to win me over for a bit, then he started seeing Tattie and lost interest. It’s not like he’s short of options.’ She sounded a bit gloomy, probably at being reminded that she’d been briefly taken in by him. Maybe she wasn’t as immune to showbiz types as she made out.

I was quiet for a moment, letting her words settle in. ‘Was kissing Ollie a reaction to… you know?’ I meant The Actor leaving.

‘Oh god, no.’ It was said with such conviction, I believed her. ‘I fancied the pants off him, pure and simple. Like I told you he’s…’

‘Very persuasive.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Not that ours was a proper kiss.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘Maybe he hypnotises women, like those vampires in True Blood.’

The funny side hit and we were suddenly helpless with laughter.

‘You called him a tosser,’ I said, between unladylike snorts.

‘He is.’ Her runaway giggle made me laugh even more. ‘A handsome, trumpet-playing tosser with amazing hair and abs.’

‘He does have amazing hair,’ I whimpered. ‘How does he get it so shiny?’

‘I think it’s gold-plated,’ she yelped.

‘Or he washes it in Windowlene.’

‘Or uses a special serum made of unicorn milk.’

I felt a bit bad for laughing behind his back. ‘Poor Ollie,’ I said, wiping my eyes, recalling my first impression of him as a fairy-tale prince. ‘He probably thinks a kiss is enough to make any woman fall for him.’

‘Probably because they do. At least in the television world.’

‘Maybe that’s why he’d like an “ordinary” girlfriend.’

‘But not you,’ said Erin, sobering up.

‘Or you.’

‘Never.’ It came out a bit strangled, probably from laughing, but I sensed she felt a bit guilty too.

‘It’s hard not to like him, though,’ I said, pouring myself some more wine.

‘I know.’

She broke the little silence that fell by asking, ‘How come you’re home alone?’

I didn’t want to tell her about my conversation with Craig. ‘I fancied getting on with my novel,’ I said.

‘How’s that going?’ Like Mum, Erin had initially expressed doubt about my new venture, before declaring that teaching’s loss would be the reading public’s gain.

‘Slowly,’ I admitted. ‘I haven’t settled on a genre yet.’

‘Well, you’ve plenty of material there. And you’ve heard enough stories from me to fire your imagination.’

‘True.’

‘In fact, I’m having dinner with a potential new client tonight. She’s an ex-mob wife, so she’ll have a few tales to tell.’

‘Better stay on her good side,’ I said.

Once she’d rung off, after extracting a promise that I’d keep her updated with Ollie’s movements, I picked up my laptop and looked at what I’d written, but my thoughts leapt and crackled like the flames in the grate and kept circling back to Ollie.

It wasn’t that I’d nurtured any illusions about him falling for me. This wasn’t Maid in Manhattan – I was no J-Lo – but I couldn’t help wondering what it was about Tattie Granger that had captured his heart. Maybe he just wanted what he couldn’t have, now that Tattie had dumped him. I had the feeling that women didn’t finish with Ollie Matheson very often.

A yawn escaped. The heat from the fire was making me drowsy and I couldn’t concentrate on writing.

After checking the fire was safe, I finished my wine, switched off the tree lights, and made my way upstairs, where I paused outside the spare room. Spotting the contents of Ollie’s holdall all over the floor, I tiptoed over to tidy up. There wasn’t much apart from his designer clothes, a few pairs of Snugz, and a monogrammed wash bag of classy grooming products – just a chewing-gum wrapper, and a receipt for a meal for two at Chiltern Firehouse that had cost £296. How much had they eaten?

Hoping Ollie wouldn’t think I’d been snooping, I went to draw the curtains, pausing as a movement next door caught my eye. A woman came into the garden, banging a cat bowl with a fork, presumably to entice Marmite in for his supper. In the pool of light from the open door was the woman I’d seen through Barry’s window, her vivid red hair falling forward and a towelling robe hugging her considerable rump.

How could she be so blasé? Anyone could spot her – if they happened to be having a nosy out of their bedroom window – but maybe that was the idea. Perhaps she was hoping Sheelagh would find out she’d been there, and order Barry to leave, and then she could have him to herself.

As if my thoughts had beamed down to her, she shuffled backwards into the house with her head down – an odd movement, reminiscent of a Japanese geisha.

So, she did care about being spotted.

As the garden was plunged into darkness, I spotted Marmite posed on the fence post, silhouetted by the moon, like a witch’s cat in a storybook. If only he’d bring some good luck, instead of emitting unfriendly vibes whenever he looked my way.

Finally, I got into bed and after fretting for a while about Craig and Ollie, I slipped into a deep sleep and dreamt they were doing the Argentine tango, while Doris pelted them with muffins.