‘Lily, do not pretend to be his girlfriend,’ Erin blasted. ‘I can’t believe he even thought it, let alone suggested it.’

‘I didn’t say yes, for crumble’s sake, what do you take me for?’ I shivered as I paced around the shed in an attempt to warm up. ‘He was probably joking.’

After Ollie’s girlfriend-pitch, which I’d tried to laugh off – not very convincingly –Craig had jumped in to propose I fetch some logs so he could get the fire going.

Ollie had graciously agreed and, too dumbfounded to argue, I’d grabbed my keys and phone from the kitchen, and headed down the garden on a wave of adrenaline.

‘He’s such a shit.’

‘Erin! I don’t think he meant any offence,’ I said. ‘He got a bit carried away, that’s all. I’m sure it’ll be forgotten about by the time I go back indoors.’

I banished an image of me crushed to Ollie’s broad chest, wondering whether the air in Shipley was affecting my brain cells.

‘Lily, you don’t get it.’ Erin sounded despairing. ‘This is part of his routine, to pull you in. It’s how he finds validation, even if it’s subconscious and he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. Don’t think for a minute he’s actually going to fall in love with you.’

‘Thanks for thinking I want him to fall in love with me,’ I huffed. ‘And for assuming that he wouldn’t. It’s a good job I don’t have self-esteem issues.’ There was a momentary pause. ‘I don’t have self-esteem issues, Erin.’

‘Of course you don’t.’ Her voice turned soothing, as if I was one of her rabidly insecure clients. ‘That’s not the point, though,’ she added. ‘He’s a persuasive bastard, which you’d know if you’d ever watched the show.’

‘Don’t make it sound as if I haven’t got a mind of my own.’ I was getting heated now. ‘I’ve been a teacher for several years, and an adult for even longer. I’m capable of assessing a situation and deciding on the best course of action.’

As Erin remained silent, no doubt resisting the temptation to fling my impulse-based move to Shipley in my face, I slumped down on a bag of kindling and glanced around.

Although the padlock had been a bit rusty, requiring some frantic key-jiggling, the inside of the shed was almost as immaculate as the cottage, with only one visible cobweb draped across the window. Apart from a lawnmower, and a shiny spade leaning against one wall, it contained only stacks of logs and bags of kindling. A fire waiting to happen, Dad would have said. The air smelt pleasantly of seasoned wood and I breathed it in, trying to soften the knot of tension in my stomach.

‘I’m starting to think this might not have been the best move for him,’ Erin said at last. ‘Or you.’

Now it was my turn to be exasperated. ‘It’s too late to back out,’ I said. ‘He’s here, and it’s happening, and he seems perfectly happy about it.’ I remembered something he’d said. ‘Did you know he wants to be an actor?’

The noise she made was like an old-fashioned foghorn. ‘I thought he’d got all that out of his system,’ she said. ‘He tried it once and was bloody terrible.’

‘The vampire movie?’

‘Honestly, you should look it up,’ she said. ‘It mostly flew under the radar, which is where it should stay.’

‘Didn’t you get him the part?’

‘No, I did not.’ She sounded horrified. ‘He did it when Players was on a break, without telling the agency. A friend of his father’s was directing, and agreed to give him a part. Big mistake.’

‘It clearly hasn’t put him off.’

‘Clearly,’ she said. ‘He said he’d be better next time, but hasn’t mentioned it for a while.’

‘And you don’t think there’ll be a next time?’

‘I doubt it,’ she said. ‘Unless he signs up for acting lessons for about twenty years.’

‘So, what kind of future does he have?’

She sighed. ‘If this one-off show goes OK, then maybe a crawl back to the reality circuit. I’ve been working on the idea of a series, maybe something themed. Ollie Goes to… could be the title, and he’d visit different countries and go white-water rafting, or play the slots in Vegas, and soak up the culture.’

‘But do the public want to see some privileged posh boy doing things he could easily afford to do anyway?’ I felt a twinge of disloyalty at referring to Ollie as a ‘posh boy’ when I actually really liked him. ‘I would have thought that… if this thing they’re doing here’s a success… it would be more interesting for him to take on something out of his comfort zone. Working at a food bank, or visiting the homeless, that sort of thing.’

Erin was quiet for a moment. ‘Can you honestly see Ollie Matheson mixing with the poverty-stricken at a food bank? Surrounded by cans of baked beans?’

‘Who knows?’ I said. ‘It would be different.’

‘He’d just make a donation,’ she said, rather wearily. ‘He gives a lot to charities, I’ll give him that, but he won’t want to do the dirty work.’

‘Maybe I could persuade him?’

‘By sleeping with him?’ Her voice rose. ‘Don’t sleep with him, Lily. You don’t want to be one of those girls.’

‘Erin, what are you talking about?’

‘Another notch on his bedpost.’

‘Erin, for goodness—’

‘I think I should come over.’

‘What? No!’ I stood up. ‘Honestly, it’s as if you and Mum think I’m completely helpless.’

‘What’s your mum got to do with it?’

‘She’s on her way, already.’ I told Erin about Ollie coming into the kitchen to ask for a towel, while Mum was on the phone.

‘Shit a brick,’ she said. ‘Don’t tell me he was parading around in his undies.’

‘He… concealed himself.’ I blinked away a momentary flashback. ‘He wasn’t showing off, or anything.’

‘Oh, Lily.’

‘Will you stop saying my name like that!’

‘I should call him,’ she said.

‘What, and warn him not to sleep with me? That doesn’t show much faith in your client,’ I said. ‘Or me, for that matter.’

‘Fine,’ she said, after a long pause. ‘Sorry. I didn’t sleep much myself last night.’

‘Oh?’ I perked up. ‘Did you have a date?’

‘A date?’ she said, in an old-lady voice. ‘People don’t date any more, Lily. They sext and swipe, and send photos of their ugly genitals.’ She sighed. ‘No, I wasn’t on a date, I went for a curry with some friends and got the runs.’

‘I wish I hadn’t asked.’

---

Back inside, Craig was kneeling in front of the open fireplace, and had arranged some scrunched-up newspaper in the grate. ‘I had one in my bag,’ he said, looking round to see me gaping.

‘How did…?’

‘Oh, it was easy.’ He gestured at the sheet of copper lying on the rug. ‘It was a false front, that’s all. The grate hasn’t been used for a while, but the chimney looks clean.’

How could he tell? ‘Thanks,’ I said, wishing I’d thought to check the fireplace myself. Feeling silly, I dropped some logs in the basket by the hearth, and passed over a bag of kindling. ‘I’ve some matches in the kitchen drawer, I’ll go and get them.’

‘No need.’ Craig reached for his rucksack. ‘I always carry some, just in case.’

In case of what? ‘Something I picked up on a survival course.’ He swiped at a smudge of soot on his nose. ‘If you can start a fire you can keep warm, have a light source, boil water, and keep predators away.’

‘Brilliant,’ I said. ‘That must come in handy.’ I was immediately ashamed of my sarcastic tone, but a faint smile tugged at his mouth.

‘Let’s just say, I’ve never needed to start a fire… yet.’

‘Good to know.’ I scanned the room, aware of how quiet it was, in spite of Craig rustling about. ‘Where’s Ollie?’

Craig arranged some kindling, placed a log on top, then struck a match and held it steady until the whole thing caught alight. ‘I told him to have a sleep.’ He pushed back onto his heels, watching the flames leap to life. ‘I hope that’s OK.’

‘But I haven’t sorted out his room,’ I said, realising I hadn’t had a chance to check out the new bed either. ‘The duvet and bedding…’

‘We sorted it out, while you were doing whatever you were doing in the shed.’

What did he mean by that? OK, so I’d been gone a while, but only because I’d wanted to talk to Erin. What had Craig said to Ollie while I wasn’t there? He was looking up at me, as if he could read my thoughts, a faint flush of colour on his cheeks.

‘He probably won’t pursue the fake girlfriend angle,’ he said, and I felt a flash of annoyance. Maybe I’d wanted to be Ollie’s fake girlfriend. I hadn’t had much luck being a real one, and perhaps a pretend relationship would have been fun.

‘He didn’t seem tired to me,’ I said, peevishly, ‘and even if he had been, surely he could have asked me himself if he wanted to have a lie down?’

Craig placed his hands on his thighs. They were broad hands, with faint dark hairs on the back. ‘Shall I go and wake him up?’

‘What? No, of course not.’ I shrugged my coat off. The fire was blazing away now, the heat scorching my cheeks. ‘I think I’ll just go and check on him.’

Craig’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t comment. We looked at each other for a moment, the only sound the crackling of wood in the grate. ‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ I said, when the silence stretched and grew awkward.

His voice stopped me at the door. ‘He’s a good person, Lily. He’s just… used to a different way of living, and getting his own way, and that awful show didn’t bring out the best in him.’

I swung round, clutching my coat. ‘I happen to like Ollie, and don’t need you to speak up on his behalf.’ Craig got to his feet and rotated his shoulders, as if to alleviate some tension. ‘Why did you even agree to work on the show if it was so awful?’

He stopped in the act of massaging his upper arm. ‘Agree to work on the show?’

‘You were glad enough to accept Ollie’s offer of a job, and yet—’

‘Just a minute.’ His frown deepened. ‘I got Ollie a place on the show, after I started working for the TV company that were making it. He’d been looking for a challenge and I thought, because of his background, it would be a good fit for him, but…’ his voice trailed off. Dipping his head, he rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I sometimes regret it,’ he finished.

I tried to think back, and realised that in my hung-over state I’d assumed that Ollie must have brought Craig onto the show, instead of the other way round. ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled. ‘My mistake.’

He didn’t seem to have heard, his gaze lowered, as if there was something meaningful carved in the floorboards.

Keen to change the subject, I said, ‘You can put the kettle on if you like, and help yourself to a mince pie or two.’

Before he could reply, I slipped into the hall and hung up my coat, removed my boots and crept upstairs, careful to miss out the second step from the top where I’d noticed it creaked. My mind heaved with snippets of all the conversations I’d had since waking up, and I was overcome with an urge to crawl back under my duvet and have a sleep myself. Perhaps, when I woke, I’d realise it had all been a dream, and the only things I had to think about were my novel and what to cook for dinner.

My novel.

If Ollie was taking a nap, there wasn’t much point going back downstairs just yet. I didn’t fancy trying to socialise with Craig, and Mum wouldn’t be here for at least an hour – more if traffic was bad. I could take my laptop into my bedroom, and focus on some writing.

The door to the spare room was ajar, and I pushed it open to see Ollie sprawled on his front in the new bed, the duvet rucked up to reveal he still had his jeans on, though he’d shed his top, which was hanging over the back of the computer chair. One tanned arm was flung up, hiding most of his face, but from the rise and fall of his shoulders it was obvious he was deeply asleep.

Ollie Matheson was asleep in my spare room. It was so bizarre, it felt unreal. If I hadn’t left my phone in my coat pocket, I might have been tempted to take a photo and post it on Twitter. Imagining it, I bit back a giggle. No one would believe it was him. I crept closer, intending to pick up my laptop, and froze when a floorboard squeaked, the sound deafening in the silence. I couldn’t bear the thought of him opening his eyes to see me looming over him, like Kathy Bates in Misery.

I backed out and stood for a moment, holding my breath, but he didn’t even stir.

Perhaps I should go back downstairs. It wasn’t polite to ignore a guest, and Craig had got the fire going, as well as putting one out this morning, and he’d cooked quail’s eggs without complaining.

I entered the living room, with a smile in place, ready to make small talk and find out more about him – after all, a writer should be interested in people – and stopped dead when I saw him stretched out on the sofa, asleep.

One arm dangled towards the floor, and his face looked softer, his lashes dark against his skin. His foot twitched, as though he was dreaming about running, and I carefully picked a throw off the armchair and shook it over him.

The room felt cosy with the Christmas tree lights casting a warm glow, and the fire blazing – Craig had sensibly put the fireguard across – but I didn’t feel comfortable parking myself in the armchair.

I felt like a visitor in my own home.

My gaze fell on Craig’s open rucksack, where his notepad was poking out, and I remembered my earlier idea to write my novel by hand. Perhaps I could go to the café on the seafront, which Craig had mentioned, and spend an hour there before Mum turned up. It might be the last chance I had for a while.

The only problem was, I didn’t have a notepad. Why hadn’t I got a notepad? What kind of writer was I? Would Craig mind if I borrowed some sheets from his? I’d replace the pad, obviously.

Moving stealthily, I crossed the floor, keeping one eye on Craig. Clearly, his night in the car hadn’t been that restful after all.

As I eased the notepad out, it struck me that I could just as easily buy one. Perhaps from the newsagent’s, if it wasn’t too far away. About to put it back, I noticed the first page was folded over and covered with scribbled words and I couldn’t resist a peek.

Behind Closed Doors I read, in sloping handwriting that practically ran off the page.

Behind me, Craig gave a snort. I dropped the pad and held my breath, waiting for him to ask what I was doing.

His breathing deepened and, hot with relief, I stuffed the pad back in his bag.

Picking up a discarded sheet of newspaper, I carefully tore off a corner, located Craig’s pen on the floor, and wrote Gone for some fresh air, back soon. Lily. I placed the note on the floor, where Craig would be sure to see it if he woke up, then slipped out of the room like a ghost.