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“Well, you know the saying; television is an invention that permits you to be entertained in your living room by people you wouldn’t have in your home.”

I forgot who coined that originally, but I thought about it often, usually when I had to pretend to look adoringly into Leigh’s eyes. On screen, I had my shit together, the sassy boy with the love of his big cuddly hero. In real life, I rattled with antianxiety meds, Jonas was a cokehead, and Leigh would trample his own mother to bag a job presentingBake Off.

Emma sighed. “I’m beginning to wish I’d known as much at the start.”

“You’re still here, though, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, unfortunately, I am.”

Even with the alcohol buzz, I detected a change in her mood. “Seeing as we’re spilling secrets, would you like to talk aboutthat?”

Her gaze dropped to her glass. “Not especially. I’ve not drunk enough wine yet.”

That was fair, I supposed. There was no rush; we had nine months. I daresay I’d know her sexual history, GCSE grades, and bra size by the end of it. I swirled my rosé around the glass.

“Leigh and I got together when we were twenty. I never imagined life without him, which was incredibly naïve of me, but, then, I was so incredibly besotted. I’m only pursuing a career in television because he wanted it.”

“I’m sorry.” She sounded sincere.

“Yes, well.” I swallowed a deep breath. “I’ve been a fool. It’s had a very negative impact on my mental health, as you can tell. Not helped that we’re still glued to each other.”

“Roll on September, yeah?”

“Too right. Except fuck knows what I’ll do then. I’ve wasted years I’ll never get back. When I could have been following my own dreams, not Leigh’s.”

She took a much daintier sip. “Which are?”

“Can’t remember.” I gave a helpless shrug. “Which gives you an idea how inspiring they must have been.”

“Would you go on one of those celebrity reality shows?”

Leigh would. He was addicted to them; starring would be a dream come true. Already, he was in talks with the celebrity jungle one. Shame no one had asked Jonas. I quite liked the idea of him trapped in a tank full of cockroaches. He’d feel right at home.

“Christ, no. They couldn’t pay me enough. My agent, Libby, is looking at a few things, but nothing has sprung out yet.”

A polite way of saying I’d turned down everything she’d thrown my way. Such as a slot presenting a popular car programme on prime-time television, following my surprise Formula 3 success. The money was a huge step up from now. But when she mentioned adlibbing in front of a live audience, I’d nearly retched on the spot.

“What about radio?”

I’d contemplated that more seriously. According to the producers at Radio 2, I had a very soothing voice. Before Leigh and I startedMy Big Gay Adventures, I’d had an ad hoc late-night stint on a London radio station. Ratings had grown, and I’d enjoyed the challenge. Now the thought of speaking live to a nation through their car speakers and kitchen radios wracked me with horror. Chronic anxiety was a bitch like that.

Were me and my media career about to part ways? For most of the last few years, I’d felt out of control, like a blind man on horseback, galloping from nowhere to nowhere. I’d given it my best shot, for Leigh, but I’d been reluctant from the start.

“Maybe.”

“What transferable skills do you have?”

The pub door swung open, bringing with it a wintry blast, and my response was cut short. A good thing, seeing as I didn’t have one. Being in your mid-thirties, without a clue regarding career aspirations, wasn’t a good look. I was poised to distract Emma by bitching about the cold draught, seeing as whinging was my default mode these days.

The guy lumbering in stole the words from my mouth. First and foremost, he was big. Like, not only upwards, but sideways too. Even his head was huge, covered in a shaggy mess of thick brown curls, as if a seagull had built a haphazard nest, then abandoned it. I didn’t get much of a peek at his face as he strode away from us in the direction of the bar, except that an equally wild beard covered the bottom half. Heavy woven metal baskets swung from each colossal hand as if they weighed nothing at all, and a black Labrador, with most of a front leg missing, obediently hobbled at his heels.

Generally, the cute dog would have commanded my attention, but on this occasion, he hardly got a second glance. Not only was his owner a delicious hulking giant, but he was dressed from head to foot in thick blue rubber, and no one seemed to have noticed. Aside from yours truly, obviously.

“Fuck me,” I murmured. “It didn’t look like that type of pub from the outside.”

Emma snorted into her glass. Pretty sure wine connoisseurs weren’t taught that. “Those are waders—he’s a fisherman, you idiot.”

Aah. I really needed to get out of the city more. “Well, he can dangle his rod in my bait any time. Yes please. Blimey, look at the thighs on him!”

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