‘What did Ollie mean about directing you?’ I grilled Mum after dinner, which Craig had produced with seemingly little effort, waving away our compliments and claiming that partridges were no more difficult to cook than tiny chickens.

Ollie had kept up a string of anecdotes designed to make us laugh, but Craig hadn’t spoken much, despite Mum doing her best to draw him out. Plans for the show hadn’t been discussed at all.

Now, Craig and Ollie were doing the washing up, while Mum and I relaxed on the sofa with mugs of tea.

‘Before you came back, I was telling Ollie that our director’s walked out,’ Mum said, ‘and he’s offered to help. Apparently, he directed a couple of episodes of Players and was rather good at it.’

I was beginning to wonder whether there was anything Ollie wasn’t good at – apart from acting. ‘Why would he want to direct a bunch of amateurs?’

Mum looked offended. ‘Why wouldn’t he?’ she said. ‘I expect he likes a challenge.’

‘I’m surprised he doesn’t want to be on stage instead.’

‘Ooh, I can see him being a big hit, with those looks.’ Mum went a bit swoony.

‘Maybe his looks, but that’s about all.’ I told her about The Vampire and Me, keeping my voice low so Ollie couldn’t overhear. ‘Perhaps he’ll be better suited behind the scenes.’ If he meant to keep his word. I couldn’t imagine him rocking up in East Finchley to direct the Acting Out bunch, who regularly fell out over who did what, according to Mum, as they all vied to be top dog.

She put down her mug. ‘Lily, I’m sorry I thought you’d got drunk and been taken advantage of by a stranger,’ she said. ‘I should have known better.’

‘You should, but it’s OK.’ I didn’t add that I suspected she’d wanted an excuse to come over. I was glad that she had.

She glanced in the direction of the kitchen, where Ollie was singing the Ghostbusters theme in a bizarre baritone. ‘I actually think you’re in good hands with those two.’

‘Craig’s a bit quiet, don’t you think?’ He’d barely contributed to the conversation over dinner, although he’d been quietly attentive. At one point, while Ollie was helping himself to a slab of fruit cake, which I’d been planning to smother with icing and keep for Christmas, I’d been ready to quiz him about the ‘ideas’ I’d read. But then Mum had asked what I wanted for Christmas, and when I said, ‘Someone to massage my feet for an hour every night,’ Ollie’s grossed-out face had made us laugh.

This had led to us naming our worst-ever gifts: an empty DVD case for me, from my brother (though, to be fair, I’d given him a pine cone the year before); a motorised rolling pin for Mum from her mother-in-law; and for Ollie ‘a scuba-diving kit, because I already had two.’ Craig had smiled along when Ollie added, ‘For Craggers it was probably the Ferrari I bought him a couple of years back, because he made me take it back,’ but hadn’t commented.

‘I thought he was quiet, but he’s a nice man.’ Mum said it so firmly I looked at her in surprise. She had good instincts about people, and was rarely wrong, despite her misjudging ‘Lovely Dan’, but I couldn’t help thinking she was giving Craig more credit than he deserved. She’d always rated men who could cook, perhaps because Dad had been handy in the kitchen, his roast potatoes second to none. ‘I think Ollie needs someone like Craig around, to balance him out a bit.’ My surprise grew. I’d assumed she was completely captivated by Ollie. ‘Just don’t fall in love with him,’ she said, looking at me over her glasses.

‘Craig?’ I gave a snort. ‘Not much chance of that.’

‘No, silly. I mean Ollie.’ She patted my arm. ‘I can see he’d be very hard to resist, but a man like him…’ She pursed her lips. ‘He’s a heartbreaker, and you’ve had enough of those.’

‘I’m not planning to fall in love with anybody, and anyway, he’s in love with someone else,’ I said, repeating what I’d told Erin.

Mum shook her head again. ‘He might be, but he’s obviously very persuasive and not immune to a pretty face.’

‘Well, I’m glad you think I’m pretty, but I won’t be falling in love with anyone. If anything, I’m only having casual flings from now on.’

‘That doesn’t sound very sensible, either.’

There was a sound at the door, but when I looked round there was only a sliver of light cutting through from the hallway.

‘I’m a big girl, Mum.’ I stifled a yawn as tiredness descended. ‘I can look after myself.’

She looked as if she was going to say more, then glanced at her watch. ‘It’s almost eight. I think I’ll make a move.’

‘Sure you won’t stay the night?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Better not. I’ve got to open the shop in the morning,’ she said, standing up and stretching. ‘Annie’s going Christmas shopping with her daughter.’

‘I can’t believe you came all this way because of a silly selfie.’

‘I think any mother would have done the same.’ She pulled me up into a hug. ‘And I’m really glad I did.’ She drew back, eyes dancing. ‘Now I can tell my friends I’ve met Ollie Matheson.’

‘Will they know who he is?’

‘Oh, they all watch Players.’

Did everyone watch Players apart from me, Barry Lambert, and Mr Flannery?

---

Ollie did his best to persuade Mum to stay, offering the new guest bed, joking that he could ‘bunk up’ on the sofa with Craig.

‘I’ll be sleeping in my car,’ Craig said, leaning against the kitchen door frame, his jumper sleeves pushed up to reveal hairy forearms.

‘You’ll do no such thing.’ Mum glanced at me for support. ‘Will he, Lily?’

‘No,’ I said obediently.

‘Lily could cuddle up with me.’ Ollie gave me a merry look and my heart nearly sprang out of my chest.

Mum lightly slapped his arm. ‘Enough of that,’ she scolded.

‘’Bye, Mum,’ I said, steering her to the front door, where I enfolded her in a hug. ‘Let me know when you’re home.’

Once she’d left, Ollie suggested we go to the pub and ‘start mingling’, but my eyelids were starting to droop and I knew I’d be terrible company.

‘I’m tired,’ I said, unable to stop a yawn escaping.

Ollie did a boyish little pout. ‘Where is the nearest pub?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘Me and Craggers can go for a pint and chat to some locals.’

‘There’s one called The Anchor, but I don’t know what it’s like.’ It seemed incredible, when so much had happened, that I’d only been in Shipley a few days and still hadn’t had chance to have a good look around.

‘Let’s turn in and start afresh tomorrow,’ Craig said, coming over and clapping Ollie on the back. He looked as tired as I felt, despite his earlier nap. ‘We could all do with some sleep.’

‘But I’ve already had some.’ Ollie leapt from foot to foot, like a boxer warming up. ‘I’m feeling pumped.’ Lowering his chin, he raised his fists and punched the air around him, his hair flopping up and down. ‘I haven’t been to the gym today. I’ve tons of energy to work off.’

‘You could go for a run,’ I suggested. ‘Or do some push-ups?’

‘Hey, that’s a great idea.’ Without warning, he did a combat roll over the sofa and started doing one-armed press-ups on the rug.

‘You’ve started something now,’ Craig muttered, as Ollie swapped arms and started counting out loud. ‘He could be at this for hours.’

We exchanged looks.

‘I need to sleep,’ I confessed. ‘Today’s been a bit much.’

‘Go on up.’ Craig jerked his head at the stairs. ‘I’ll keep him entertained.’

‘Don’t sleep in your car,’ I said, impulsively. ‘I haven’t got a spare duvet, but you could use your sleeping bag on the sofa.’

‘…nine, ten, eleven,’ Ollie puffed, barely breaking a sweat, the tendons in his neck standing out alarmingly.

‘I might do that,’ said Craig. ‘I could grab some more logs and keep the fire going.’

‘What is it about men and fires?’ I said. I’d meant to be jokey, but it came out as a criticism.

‘Maybe it appeals to our inner caveman.’ Craig’s smile deepened the fine creases around his eyes. ‘Luckily, we’re good at putting them out as well.’

Touché.

‘Make sure you put the fireguard across,’ I said primly.

‘Yes, miss.’

I wished people would stop saying that.

‘…twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven.’ Ollie was using both hands now, to lever himself up and down, and for a split second I imagined lying beneath him and heat washed over my face.

‘I’ll… er… I’ll just…’ I bit my lip.

‘Go,’ Craig said, and I had a horrible feeling he’d read my mind. ‘We’ll be fine.’

I didn’t need telling a third time. I hurried upstairs to the sound of Ollie counting, and heard Craig say, ‘If you can make it to a hundred, I’ll let you beat me at arm wrestling,’ before closing the living-room door.

Trying not to think of Ollie stripped to the waist, his biceps flexing, I undressed and brushed my teeth, then dived under my duvet with my phone. In the darkness, I strained my ears for voices downstairs, but they were faint and intermittent. After a while, the television came on and sitcom laughter flared, then someone went into the kitchen and I heard the crackle of foil. Ollie’s at the mince pies again. I’d have to bake a fresh batch.

I thought about Mum telling Ollie how Max’s wife had been horrible to me at school, but for once the memory didn’t bring the burn of mortification. Instead, I remembered Ollie’s response to Max’s poem and gave a stifled giggle. His poetry had been kindergarten level. In fact, my class of five-year-olds could have done better.

While I waited for Mum to text, to say she’d arrived home safely, I tried to fix a first paragraph for my novel in my mind, but only got as far as Nellie the elephant packed her trunk and said goodbye to the circus… before sleep dragged me under.