Page 1 of Hello Darling
1
Evan
Oh Christ, the paparazzi.
Fuck me.
I was in such a hurry to get out of London, it didn’t leave enough time for my assistant to book the Heathrow VIP service, and apparently my dark sunglasses and baseball cap aren’t cutting it as a disguise today. I should have just worn a bloody mask since it’s the day after Halloween.
“Evan! Morning, mate! Where you off to today?”
Just smile and keep walking, smile and keep walking. At least there’s only two here today. This one’s the nice photographer. Stay calm. Don’t look miserable. Because you’re not.
“Taking a trip by yourself, then?” says the wanker photog who always tries to rile celebrities up. “You still in touch with Georgia, now thatEvangiais no more? How you feel about Braden—you a fan?”
God, I want to punch this one in the face. My publicist would love it if I did. Anything to tarnish my squeaky-clean polite English gentleman image. She’s literally begged me to go on an angry drunken rampage and snog Kylie Jenner in front of as many cameras as possible.
“International flight, then? You off for work? Where you off to, then?”
“Flying off to Hawaii to try to win Georgia back? Heard she’s there with Braden. How’s it feel to be dumped for a bloke who’s nine years younger than you, eh?”
What a delightful question—so glad he asked! Maybe I should buy him a coffee and we can have a good long chat. And then I can punch him in the face.
Truth is, it doesn’t feel good, but not for the reason people think. Thirty-one is starting to feel a bit old to be a bachelor. I honestly don’t know how Hugh Grant managed it well into his fifties.
You know perfectly well how I managed it, you fool,says the voice of Hugh Grant in my head.By not being a giant pussy. If you ever write your autobiography it would be called The Subtle Art of Giving Too Many Fucks.
You’re right, Hugh. This time, you’re right.
Smile and keep walking, smile and walk, almost there.
“Evan! Evan Hunter! Can I have your autograph, please?!”
Shit. A fan. A young one. I can’t ignore her. I’ll just stop to sign autographs for this sweet girl and the…crowd of twenty people who are following her…fuck me…but at least they’ll be between me and the paparazzi and then I’ll be at security in no time.
I do wish I weren’t so well known for being a relentlessly happy and friendly fellow. It must be so liberating to be regarded far and wide as a moody bastard who gives fuck-all about what other people think. What I wouldn’t give to be early-career Colin Farrell, just for three days. I’d even take 1995 Hugh Grant.
Nobody’s stopping you from going cruising for a sex worker, you airy-fairy prat. I dare you to get arrested for lewd conduct—anything.
Shut up, Hugh. Nobody even remembers that little PR glitch, you lucky bastard. That all went down before everyone had camera phones and Twitter and YouTube accounts. Everything’s so heavily documented now. Not that that’s why I’m always on my best behavior. I’m going to spend so much time here signing autographs and posing for selfies with fans that the paparazzi get bored and piss off to look for someone more famous to blind with their camera flashes, and because my fans are lovely and they mean the world to me.
And also because I give too many fucks.
I’ll arrive Seattle in about ten hours, and it will be late in the morning of the same day. Couple of hours later I’ll be in Port Gladstone. It will be fantastic to start this day over again on the other side of the world, alone, where no one gives a toss how I feel about the demise ofEvangia. I can start this new month in a new town, where people won’t care that I’m a movie star, and I won’t have to act like one. I’ll have two weeks there before I officially begin work on the movie, so I’ll have time to be me again, away from all the rubbish that comes with being Evan bloody Hunter.
There are many different reasons for taking a role in a film, limited TV series or stage play. Occasionally it’s because you really want the part. Sometimes it’s purely financial. Sometimes there is so much pressure from your agents to be part of a package with other talents that it’s difficult to refuse, and sometimes it’s just a matter of timing. I took the part in this next film because of timing and location. I wanted to get as far away from London, New York and L.A. as possible, as soon as possible. The small town aspect of Port Gladstone, Washington seems perfect. No paparazzi to deal with, and it reminded me a bit of the coast of Cornwall when I looked it up online. The script is more than fine, I like that when my character comes to this town, he takes on a new identity and finds it very freeing, in the way that you can when you’re in a new place, with new people. And the fact that I’ll have to get back in shape for the part seems an ideal way to keep busy before production begins—not to mention it’s a good way to keep my randy arse busy while I get my head sorted out.
The other great thing about this project is that it’s unlikely I’ll get involved with the female lead for a change, because the love interest role is quite small, so whoever the actress is, she won’t be around for very long. She hasn’t been cast yet, but I’ll only sign off on her if I’m definitelynotattracted her. Problem solved.
Now that I’m in the lounge, I can decompress and put all of that behind me. Wendy has sent me links to a few gyms in Port Gladstone, so I can start getting back in shape soon as I get there. The first gym is open twenty-four hours, but it’s one of those big chains with bright lights and loud music and too many machines packed in too close together. The second one just looks a bit too hippie-dippy for my tastes. Complimentary kombucha drinks and too much use of the words “energy” and “healing” on their website. The third gym looks promising.
Starkey Fitness. Not too large, not too small. Family-run.
Hold up.
On the “About Us” page there’s a picture of one Stella Starkey, the gym’s manager and yoga instructor and she has—quite simply—one of the best faces I’ve ever seen. Fair skin, no sign of make-up, framed by dark hair, her full lips curled into a tiny smirk and a twinkle in her intelligent tea brown eyes that lets everyone know she can’t quite take everything they’re saying too seriously. Of all the stunning celebrated faces I’ve had the pleasure of gazing at in my life—how is it possible that this one is so enchanting to me?
Probably just the rebound-effect I’ve been so thoroughly warned about lately.
