Him Pt. 01

Hello dear readers! Just a few warnings before you carry on:

this story involves cheating. I do not condone cheating on any level, so please remember that this is just a work of fiction. This is a long one - when I say 'recent daydream' this has actually been a recurring plot for weeks now - I spend full days fantasising about this scenario and adding to it. And as a result of that... There's a long wait for the spicy stuff. This is a tale of yearning and, crucially, wanting what you can't have. If you like slow burn then you're in the right place!

Happy reading!

Part One

It started with a chance encounter.

On a delightfully, though surprisingly, warm mid-October morning I'd just met with my friend Isla for our usual Sunday morning walk and coffee. I was on my way back to my flat in Bruntsfield when I came across a crowd at the edge of the Links.

Curious, and frankly with nothing better to do, I wandered over to have a look.

The park was closed off, with barriers and staff in high-vis vests dotted around.

"Do you think they'll come over and say hello?" One woman said to another.

"I doubt it - you know what actors are like." The other woman replied.

"Really? He always seems so nice on television. Just the other day he did an interview on This Morning."

"Yes, but it's all for show," the woman stressed. "The more people that like him, the more will watch his films."

Finding a gap in the crowd - which was very easy since it was early in the morning and there was nothing to actually see - I caught the attention of one of the attendants. "Sorry - what's going on?"

"They're filming an episode of At Night," the young guy smiled. He seemed quite excited. "They'll be here all day. If you hang around, you might catch a glimpse of one of them, but I'm not sure." He gestured at a group of tents surrounded by a temporary fence. "I think they're getting ready in there."

"Thank you," I smiled back at him.

Immediately I got out my phone and clicked on my dad's contact. I couldn't believe this.

The phone rung several times before he picked up. "Maddy, how are you, love?"

"I'm a bit upset, actually, Dad," I said into the phone, my eye on the tents.

"What's the matter?" His voice became serious. Perhaps I shouldn't have pulled his leg.

"I've just found out my father is working in Edinburgh for at least the day and didn't even call me to come and say hi."

"Bloody hell, Maddy, I thought something was actually up," he laughed. "We're filming on the Links. Where are you?"

"I'm here already - the west side on Whitehouse Loan," I told him.

"I'll be two minutes," he replied and hung up the phone.

Immediately I could see him exiting the tents the attendant had pointed out. He spotted me, too, and waved.

My dad had been a director since long before I was born. He had become quite big and would take me and my mum on trips abroad to watch him film. As I got older he scaled it back so he could be around a bit more. He stuck to UK-based productions most of the time. It wasn't until five years ago, when I'd moved out and was properly settled in my flat and my job, that they moved down to London to focus back on doing what they loved.

"Is that David Allan?" I heard someone say near me, making me smile.

There were a few murmurs of 'who?' as my dad approached because, honestly, how many people can recognise directors unless they're Hollywood big-shots?

"Maddy!" Dad beamed at me as he pulled one of the barriers back and came out to hug me. "How are you doing?"

I savoured the hug. It'd been a few months since I'd last seen him but it felt like an age. The thing about growing up as an only child, for me at least, was that it had felt like my mum, dad, and I were a unit. There was no distinct 'they're the parents and you're the kids' - it was just us. I hated how far away they lived now.

"I'm good," I said as he pulled away.

"I'm sorry I haven't called yet - it's been mayhem. It was on the to-do list. If you're not busy you can hang around for a bit?" He asked. That was his way of saying 'please stay'.

"Of course," I followed him past the barrier. "I don't have anything planned today."

"Great," we began to walk back to the tents. "If we wrap up here early enough we could go for dinner?"

"That'd be nice," I agreed.

We didn't go into the tents, instead weaving between them towards the set as he filled me in on how my mum was doing.

I looked around to take it all in but there was very little 'set' to speak of. My dad explained that it was a scene in which two characters were walking and talking but then there was a chase through the park, hence why the whole area was shut off.

"Have you seen the program before?" He asked as we neared the screens. Though I had been on many sets, I'd never taken much of an interest in them. My mum's job as a book editor had always appealed to me more. Even now, I had little idea of the technical names for the set. As far as I cared or knew, there were cameras, screens, chairs, and the bit where the actors were. I don't think my dad ever got over me going into publishing, rather than entertainment.

"No," I shook my head. I only knew of the show due to my dad being involved.

"We're on the third series," he told me, "so there's a lot of background. All you need to know is that the main character - that's Matthew - is visiting Edinburgh following a lead in a case that he's trying to solve. This is just the first episode, we're in Scotland for almost this whole series. Oh - here's Matthew now. Matt!" Dad called, as an actor came out of one of the tents.

I looked up and saw Matthew Wood heading towards us.

I knew of Matthew Wood. He'd been in a few TV shows and movies I'd seen but I wouldn't have necessarily called myself a fan. He was one of those actors whom I'd taken little notice of.

Still, my stomach did a bit of a dip. I mean, the guy was really handsome - that much was obvious - even without the lighting and makeup of television. He had dark hair and a beard, both a little too long, though I assumed that was for his role. It suited him. He must have been in his mid-forties and, though I couldn't pin-point an age, he'd developed those delicious signs of maturity that I went crazy for. Subtle lines on his forehead and between his brows; a smattering of grey hair in his beard and at his temples. I could imagine my fingertips brushing through it on a lazy Sunday morning...

However, his attractiveness didn't just come from his looks. It was his presence. He walked towards us with such confidence. He stood over six feet tall, as well, which I supposed helped.

"Matt, this is my daughter, Madalyn," my dad introduced us.

Matthew smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Madalyn, it's a pleasure to meet you," he greeted me. His voice was deep but smoothed by his English accent. He sounded posh. I had a terrible affliction for posh boys.

"Please, call me Maddy," I shook the hand he extended. He had big hands and a firm grip.

Was that butterflies I could feel? Surely not. I was nearly thirty, for Christ's sake. Big hands and a deep voice shouldn't have been enough to excite me.

"Maddy will be here today to watch," dad told Matthew before turning to look over something. A script? I couldn't tell.

"Excellent," Matthew nodded at me. "You can give me notes on my scene."

"Oh, I wouldn't dare," I laughed lightly. "I'm a terrible actor and a far worse director. I'd probably do more harm than good."

"Nonsense. It's not about knowing how to act - it's about how you personally react to the character," he told me. "For example, my character is arrogant, rude, and condescending. If you still like me after the scene then I'll know that I need to fix something."

I raised an eyebrow. "You mean if I still like your character?"

"Sure," he smirked, beginning to walk away, in front of the cameras. "I expect detailed notes so I know your eyes were on me the whole time."

My cheeks heated up a little as he turned. Was that flirting?

Surely not. My hair was scraped back into a ponytail and I wasn't wearing make-up. I looked far too normal for someone like him to take notice of. Then again, my dad was his boss for this project, so maybe he was trying to butter him up by making me like him.

I honestly couldn't tell. My friends always told me how hopeless I was at detecting these things. It's why I hadn't had a boyfriend (or anything even close) in the past two years.

"Remember to steer clear of the cameras, darling," my dad reminded me.

I stepped back and watched him begin working.

I observed take after take of Matthew and his co-star walking and talking. Then they'd change the camera angle and do it again. Then the sun would come out and they'd have to wait for the clouds to come back before they did it again. Then a dog would start barking so they'd have to do it again.

Everyone here had the patience of saints because after just an hour I was bored out of my mind.

Don't get me wrong, watching Matthew was quite thrilling. It was like he wiped his face of all traces of who he was and put on a whole new one. His mannerisms and voice all changed - even the way he held himself as he walked was different. It all told a story.

But even he couldn't keep my attention. It was the same few lines being said. It was monotonous hell.

I was ready to tell my dad that I was going to head home when he was called over to one of the camera guys about something not looking right.

Matthew took the lull in production as an opportunity to approach me again. "So, what's the verdict?"

"You were good," I told him honestly, suppressing the desire to smile up at him like some silly little fan girl. And it really would be smiling up at him - he towered over me.

"Oh no," he grimaced.

"What?"

"I must have been terrible if that's all you can say."

I smirked, eyebrows lifted. "Are you fishing for compliments?"

"Dear me, yes I must be," he leaned a little closer to me. "I'm an award-winning actor, yet a pretty word from you would mean more than any other form of recognition."

I rolled my eyes and groaned, though I was still smiling. It seemed I couldn't stop. "Lord, you actors are so melodramatic."

Matthew clutched his chest as though I'd shot him through the heart. "You wound me, Maddy."

He took a staggered step as though he was about to fall over from the hurt, landing on me. I squealed, pushing to keep him upright. "Ok, ok!" I shouted, getting him off me. He stood easily with a small, teasing smile on his lips. "You were wonderful! You deserve an Oscar for that scene alone."

He settled himself beside me, watching my dad wrestle with a camera before someone qualified came to help him. "Go on," Matthew's elbow nudged me, his tone sobered. "What did you actually think?"

I shrugged helplessly. "Honestly, I have no idea, Matthew. It was such a small snippet of conversation and I became a bit desensitised after the fourth take."

"Fair enough," he nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. "In that case, you can watch the first two series and forward me your notes on them."

"Ah, yes, that's how I'll spend my next few evenings - bigging up your ego."

Matthew pretended to look affronted. "Bold of you to assume my ego can get any bigger."

"Ah, so what you're saying is I'm morally obligated to point out your flaws - just to help balance you out?"

"Definitely don't do that," he grinned. "I like cruel women far too much."

"You've left me in a difficult spot, then. I can't be nice and can't be mean."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," he winked at me.

I caught his gaze and struggled to look away. It's surprisingly intense making quiet eye contact with another person, especially one you don't know all that well. After a moment, I had to look away and dip my chin behind the zip of my jacket. My hands were nearly shaking. What an odd experience.

"Are you bored watching, yet?" He asked.

"Actually, I was just about to leave," I admitted, scrunching up my nose. I didn't want to be rude but it really was dull.

"That's a shame - I was hoping to get to know you a bit better. David's always talking about his publishing-whiz daughter," one side of Matthew's mouth ticked up in a half-smile. There was something in his smile - I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It was like a challenge. "I'm intrigued."

"Hm," I hummed, noticing my dad was walking back towards us. "Then here's the man to ask - I'm his favourite subject to talk about." I caught my dad's attention. "I was just telling Matthew that I'm going to head home."

"Alright, darling," dad hugged me.

"Give me a ring if you have time for dinner, ok?"

"Of course," he assured me, though he was clearly distracted. I wouldn't have been surprised if I didn't hear from him again for a week.

"It was lovely to meet you, Matthew," I dipped my chin as I walked past him, heading back the way I had come in.

"Until next time, Maddy," He grinned and watched me as I left.

***

In the late afternoon my dad finally messaged me.

DAD: Dinner at 6? Some cast/crew coming too

ME: Sounds good! Where?

DAD: Evoo - the Mediterranean place near the old house

ME: Perfect, see you then.

I took time getting ready. I showered and blow-dried my long, dark hair. I took time to do my make-up, attempting to look subtly glamorous. I plucked and shaved and micro-bladed every inch of my skin. Not because of a certain actor, but because it's always good to practice self-care.

I picked out a high-necked black jumper, a short, burgundy skirt, some tights, and knee-high boots. Checking myself in the mirror before I left, I looked decidedly parent-friendly, but still really good. I was happy. And if Matthew happened to notice-

I stopped the thought. Jesus, I'd spoken to the man for all of five minutes earlier. I had to get a grip.

But he was hot, I conceded as I donned my leather jacket. More than hot. He was older, confident, flirtatious, so handsome. With big hands. And I'd bet he had an even bigger-

My phone buzzed as my Uber arrived. Probably for the best.

I arrived in Stockbridge just after six. The restaurant was an old favourite of my parents. It was intimate, lit by lots of little fairy lights and candles, but convivial with big tables to seat large parties.

I spotted my dad quickly, sitting at a round table towards the back. He'd saved me a seat next to him.

I tried not to let my disappointment show at the fact that Matthew was nowhere to be seen.

"Darling," my dad stood and hugged me before pulling my chair out for me. Little details like that were why I had such high expectations for men. My dad had spoiled me growing up.

He made introductions around the table. Some people were vaguely familiar - a few actors who I thought I recognised from other shows - but it was an intimate gathering. There were only nine of us in total.

I was just looking at the menu when someone called out. "Better late than never!"

Looking up, my stomach did the same dipping thing it had done earlier, but a bit more. Because now Matthew wasn't just a handsome older man. He was a handsome older man in his own clothes (which suited him much better), in an intimate restaurant, and we'd been flirting earlier. The stakes were higher and so was my heart-rate.

At this rate I felt like I was going to suffer cardiac arrest if we ran into each other again.

I watched him remove his jacket and put it on the back of a chair. To my disappointment, someone had saved him a seat at the other side of the table from me, effectively ending any plans for further flirting with him. All the same, his eyes caught mine and his lips ticked up at the corners. If that was all I could get from him tonight, I was sure I'd leave happy anyway.

A waiter stopped by to take a drink order. My dad ordered wine for the table and a few people got other drinks as well. I was happy with just the wine and some water.

"Are you having the usual, darling?" Dad asked me.

"Yes, thank you," I told him, passing my menu over as he ordered for me. We'd been here many times and there was really no dish better than their linguine con salsiccia - a pasta dish with Italian sausage, onion, bacon, and garlic and tomato sauce. I would bury that all under a mound of parmesan as well, of course.

Once the orders had been taken and we had our drinks served the conversations continued uninterrupted. Almost immediately someone brought up the dreaded topic. "I'm surprised you didn't follow your dad into entertainment, Madalyn."

I took a sip of my wine. "Yes, though if we talk about it too much my dad might just start crying, so..." The line got a few laughs, as it always did. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to deter them.

"What is it you do, then?" Linda - at least, I thought her name was Linda - asked. I was sure I saw her working with the camera earlier.

"I'm in publishing," I replied, my eyes wary. Take the hint, I wanted to say. Leave it there.

I loved my job, and I was proud of everything I'd achieved in it. But I didn't like talking about it in front of my dad because it was a genuine sore spot for him.

"You'll need to enlighten me," Linda continued, undeterred. "I'm under the impression that working in publishing means you read books and pass them along if you think they're any good."

The table was now quiet as everyone joined this conversation. My dad took out his phone and was not-so-subtly diverting his attention. I tried not to feel hurt.

"That's the gist of it, yes," I nodded. I could feel my cheeks heating up. "I'm a senior commissioning editor, so I'm finding new works, developing them, and working with agents or authors up until the work is published."

"Senior commissioning editor?" A man in his fifties echoed. I didn't recognise him at all and my dad's introduction from earlier escaped me. "Aren't you a bit young for such a big job title? I mean you're, what, twenty-seven?"

Apprehension prickled up my spine. His tone was so condescending, and I could tell he was skirting around the word 'nepotism'. Not that anyone here would have the balls to say it in front of my dad, but the intent was very clear. I could understand genuine confusion, to be fair. My mum did help to get me an interview for my first job in the small Edinburgh office of a larger publishing house. Otherwise getting into editorial work was absolute murder. Using connections in the industry was expected and, besides, denying myself a leg-up would have been stupid.

I smiled at him but I was clearly unamused. "I'm twenty-nine. I graduated uni with excellent results and I got an entry-level position straight from there. Luckily, I landed an editorial assistant job, which I worked in for four years before I was promoted. And that's not considering the summers I spent getting work experience while I was still a student, so..."

"Mm," the guy sat back as his meal was put before him. "Summer experience? I take it you interned with your mum, or...?"

"Daniel, tell me does your dad still work in the BBC or has he retired yet?" Matthew asked. It seemed so off-hand as he leaned back to allow the waiter to put his plate down. He thanked the waiter with a smile.

"Retired," Daniel, the man who had been needling me, stated before busying himself with his food. He didn't say anything else.

I flicked my eyes to Matthew but he wasn't looking at me. I couldn't be sure if that comment had been for my benefit, or just a general addition to the conversation. I chose to believe, perhaps naively, that it was for me.

Everyone began eating and conversations became stilted. Some people were chatting among themselves and I joined in where appropriate. Mostly I just enjoyed the atmosphere and did my best not to stare at Matthew.

I was surprised by what I did see, though. He seemed quite serious when he spoke with the people around him. He didn't smile often, nor did he laugh. It was a bit of a shock in comparison to how cheeky and generally likable he had seemed earlier.

When the plates were being cleared, I excused myself to the ladies' room.

One of the things I'd always loathed about Edinburgh was that most pubs and restaurants have a labyrinth of hallways and staircases you have to traverse before you actually get to the toilet. Sometimes I judged whether I liked a place based on how simple the toilets were to get to, or at least how well signed they were.

Leaving the ladies' room I ran into a familiar face.

"Did you follow me down here?" Matthew looked back towards the restaurant and then to me again, his eyebrow quirking. His lips quirked up at the edges - an expressions I was beginning to recognise on him - and I tried not to smile in response. Gone was the series Matthew of the dinner table.

"I think you'll find I left the table before you did," I told him, crossing my arms. "So, by your logic, that means that you followed me."

"How is it then, that I will be back first?" he asked, gesturing me to go first, before we moved back along the narrow corridor towards the stairs. "Really, what is it you women get up to in public toilets? You're always in there an age."

"Oh, don't you know? Women's public toilets are surveillance hubs. It's the only place we can access the main database to store and access information about men. Why do you think women are so willing to queue for them? Or that we need to pee all the time?"

We came to the stairs, where two women were coming down. I went to step to the side to allow them past and, as I did, Matthew's hand landed on my waist.

Unthinking, I place my hand on top of his, just acknowledging that it was there.

It was only for a few seconds, as the women thanked us and moved along, but the contact was thrilling.

I really need to have sex, I realised. The horror of being in my late-twenties and being electrified by touching a man's hand was not lost on me. Sure, it was my favourite part of the Pride and Prejudice film, but that was set at the turn of the nineteenth century. It was 2024.

"Is that so?" Matthew murmured in my ear just before we began up the stairs. I was surprised my legs were working. "I suppose it makes sense, then, that you were in there so long. You must have been having a wonderful time saving pictures of me to your phone."

"Ha," I guffawed. Christ but that was an unattractive noise. "A database full of the most personal information and you think I'd use it as my own personal Pinterest?"

"Perhaps not," he added slightly quieter as we entered the dining room again. "Though now you'll need to show me your Pinterest so I know you don't have a board dedicated to me."

"I don't even have a Pinterest account," I shook my head.

"Sure you don't. Just like how people read erotica for the plot," he all but whispered as we got back to the table.

Oh no, I internally groaned. Now I was wondering if Matthew read erotica. And if he did, what kind?

I needed a cold shower.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. I caught Matthew's dark gaze a few times but I always had to break contact first. It was so intense and direct. I felt weirdly naked when he looked at me.

By the time people began to make plans for getting taxis, I knew I had a full-blown crush on the man.

"About this Pinterest board you have of me," Matthew began, sitting down next to me. I started - I hadn't realised he was over at my side of the table. He was wearing his coat and people were standing, saying their goodbyes.

"There's no bloody Pinterest board," I argued, rolling my eyes. I seemed to do that a lot when he was around.

"Semantics," he shook his head. "I think it would be better if you deleted it and I just gave you my number instead."

I bit my cheek to stop myself from smiling. I didn't want to look too pleased - his ego was big enough as it was.

"But the pretty Pinterest pictures don't talk," I made an exaggerated pout. "That's why it's my favourite way to interact with you."

An evil gleam crept into Matthew's eyes. "You think I'm pretty?"

I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to roll them again - at some point they'd end up getting stuck - and settled instead for taking a long, deep breath. I held it for a second before releasing it and looking back at him. He looked positively delighted.

Shaking my head, I took my phone out, opened a new contact, and handed it to him.

He fiddled with it for a moment and handed it back.

"I took the liberty of sending myself a text so I have your number as well," he told me as he stood to join the others who were leaving. "I'll reply when I can."

With his signature cheeky grin, he exited the restaurant, leaving my dad, Linda, and I to wait for Ubers.

I looked down at my phone and sucked in a breath.

"Everything alright, darling?" My dad asked.

"Yep," I smiled tightly at my dad. Keep it together.

Glancing back down at my phone I re-read the text Matthew had sent to himself.

ME: Please send nudes - need them for my Pinterest board x

As I put my phone away, I knew I'd have to speak to my friends about this.

***

The group chat was buzzing all day on Monday.

I had invited them around to mine after work for cocktails and a take-away. That immediately tipped them off that something was going on.

Isla, Craig (her boyfriend), and Emma had given many guesses at to what was happening. They ranged from me getting a promotion, to booking a group holiday, to helping to hide a body. I particularly enjoyed Emma's guess. I liked the thought that I would provide refreshments and dinner in return for assisting in murder.

They arrived at six and we ordered Indian food. I'd made a pitcher of rum-punch (which was particularly weak because we didn't rebound from drunken mid-week soirees as well as we used to).

Emma and Craig settled on the couch. Isla sat on the floor by the coffee table - a weird quirk of hers, she always preferred sitting on the floor - and I took the armchair.

"Are we all ready?" Isla asked, looking around the group with barely contained excitement.

Isla was the optimist of the group. Craig was similar in that regard, but he was more of a realist. Together they made a very sweet couple. I'd met Isla in secondary school. We'd attended a private school together and bonded over the fact we were both only children. In an amazing stroke of luck, our parents had befriended each other as well. From the ages of eleven to eighteen we'd been on several joint-family holidays together. She was, for all intents and purposes, my sister.

I had been delighted when she met Craig in university. Craig was from Aberdeenshire and he had felt very out of place when he came to Edinburgh. It wasn't the big-city-scaries that had got him. It was more the fact that everyone he spoke to had gone to a private school and he was from a big family where he was the first to attend university. He didn't feel that he fit. Craig was working a bartending shift when he met Isla. She asked for his number and he'd said no because he was afraid that he'd get in trouble for fraternising with customers. Luckily Isla was ballsy - she spoke to one of the girls on the bar who passed along Isla's number and told Craig that he was being a twat.

I was sure that they were going to get engaged at Christmas, but I kept that to myself. I didn't want to pressure them.

"I swear if all of this was just to tell us that you've matched with someone on Tinder, I'll go mental," Emma stated, taking a sip from her drink.

Emma was the black cat. She could claw and bite pretty hard, though only when warranted. Other than that she came across as standoffish and haughty. A lot of people avoided her and she liked it that way. It made it all the sweeter when you actually befriended her and she let you pet her. Not that I'd petted her, or anything close. But I did make her laugh on occasion and she'd proven herself to be one of the most loyal friends I'd ever had. She was also from Glasgow and a big fan of Karl Marx. Unsurprisingly, she had joined the group through being friends with Craig, rather than Isla or me.

"Not quite, but similar vein," I acknowledged how close she'd come.

"Wait, wait - you've met someone that you like enough to tell us about him - since I spoke to you yesterday morning?" Isla clarified.

Emma's eyes widened at that.

I bit back a grin. "Mhm," the grin came out anyway.

The three of them began to holler and laugh.

"Fuck off," Craig shouted.

"Oh my God," Isla fanned herself. "Oh, this is so much better than any of our guesses!"

"Shut up!" Emma hushed them and, under her command, they dutifully went quiet. "Start at the beginning."

"Well..." I stirred the straw in my punch. "I was walking home from coffee with Isla-"

"What?!" Isla exploded.

Emma gave her a look. Isla giggled, apologised, and mocked zipping her lips shut.

And so, I told them how I saw the set and that my dad's show was mentioned. I told them how he invited me to join him and then introduced me to some people.

"Wait, sorry - sorry, stop," Emma interjected. "Is he an actor?"

I nodded, a shit-eating grin splitting my face.

"No, fuck off," Craig jumped in. "I watched the first series of At Night. Is he a main character?"

Again I nodded, more enthusiastically this time, trying to keep myself from exploding. This was maybe better than the actual experience - reliving it with my friends. Getting so hyped up that I was ready to scream.

"Is it the guy that plays Morton?!" Craig shouted. He looked ready to grab me and shake me.

"I actually don't know," I laughed a bit in disbelief. "I've never watched it. Is that the main detective guy - the rude one?"

"Yes?!"

"Then, yes it's him!" I started bouncing in my chair a bit.

Isla and Emma protested, both complaining that they hadn't seen the show and who were we talking about?

"Do you know Matthew Wood?" I asked, squinting a bit. I didn't think they'd recognise the name. Their expressions stayed blank. "You know," I stressed. "The guy that played the ghost of the husband in that BBC period drama - the one still in love with his wife but he had to watch her move on?"

"Ohmygod," Isla screamed. "The tall guy, dark hair - English?"

"Yes!"

Isla screeched, throwing her hands up. She spilled a good amount of punch in the process.

"Who?!" Emma asked frantically. "I don't watch period dramas!"

"The guy on your hear-me-out list - from the Waitrose advert!" Isla beamed at Emma and I couldn't help but laugh. I'd forgotten about that advert.

"No fucking way!" Emma shouted.

And that was it - it was absolute pandemonium from then.

Every detail of the story; every smile, wink, or joke was met with disbelief and hilarity ensued. When I told them about the text he sent himself from my phone they all but began jumping on the couch. It took an hour to get through the whole thing. Even when the food arrived we only paused for a moment to get it served before we were back at it again.

"We have to message him," Isla announced. Her face was a picture - she looked as though she'd just realised the most incredible thing ever. As though she'd found a cure for all illnesses. "Right now!"

"Yes!" Emma agreed. "Give me your phone."

"No!" I hollered, moving away from her. "My God, no - I need to play this cool."

"Ok, so we'll play it cool?" Emma argued, once again reaching for my phone.

"Here," Isla took a pen and notebook from a drawer in my sideboard. "We'll draft a message together on paper first. Craig, you're the man here," Craig smiled smugly, and I chuckled at his silly expression. "What should Maddy say?"

"Oh, em..." Craig thought about it. "Well, what do you know about him?"

I grimaced, shaking my head. "Not much."

"Just send him a picture of your tits," Emma cackled. I thought she might have added more booze to her punch. "Go right to the point."

"You don't know anything?" Isla asked, shocked. "Like - what age is he? Where is he from?"

"Mid-forties, I'd guess," I shrugged. "And probably London?"

"Ew," Isla groaned. "He's in his forties?!"

"What's wrong with that?" Emma asked at the same time I said "Yeah, so?"

"Well, it's weird, isn't it?" Isla looked to Craig for back-up. "It's not like you could seriously date him or marry him or anything."

"Dating for the sole purpose of marriage is so outdated, Isla," Emma backed me up. Emma was pansexual in the most literal term. Her type was consenting adult. If anyone would back me up it would be her.

"Fine, fine - do what you like!" Isla threw her hands up. "I'm not judging."

"Oh, you so are," I argued, laughing. It wasn't the first time we'd had this debate.

"The message!" Emma insisted, gesturing to the notepad. "What are we - I mean, was is Maddy going to say?"

"Honestly, I'd just ask him out," Craig turned to me, ignoring Isla's furious scribbling. "Just ask him out for a drink whenever he's free. Since he's filming."

"I thought that too," Emma agreed. She sat further forward in her seat, like we were conversing about secret matters. "But then if he's filming for the rest of the week, you won't have an in."

"What do you mean?" Craig asked.

"Well, if she can't see him for a week, then she at least wants to be talking to him during that time," Emma explained to Craig before turning to me. "If you start a conversation first then at least you can keep talking. It might be more awkward to do it the other way around."

"Yes," Isla chimed in. "That makes sense. Which takes us back to - what do you know about him?"

I tapped the edge of my glass, thinking. What did I know?

"We could..." Craig drew out the word as though he was about to say something controversial. "Google him?" He was met with a chorus of groans and rejection from Emma, Isla, and me. "Why not?" he demanded.

"Maddy's not an idiot," Isla began.

"Yeah," Emma jumped in. "She'll have already Googled him."

Craigs' eyes swung to me. I pursed my lips and looked down. This was met with a triumphant cheer. "Ha! Where is my phone?!" He patted his jeans and the couch beside him before heading into the hall.

"You've not Googled him?" Isla asked, astonished.

"It felt like cheating!" I defended myself.

"What planet are you living on?" Emma asked, looking at me as though I were a disappointment to woman-kind.

"Maddy, it's no different from when you meet a guy on Tinder and you look him up on Instagram. Everyone does that," Isla tried to mediate.

"No, it's totally different - the guys on Tinder don't have Wikipedia pages telling you every detail of their personal life."

"If only they did," Emma sighed dreamily. "Why wouldn't you rather know everything now, though? Do a bit of screening to make sure he's not a psycho."

"Because what if I find out his mum died in some horrific accident? Then, months from now, when he's trying to open up to me and we're having a heart-to-heart, I'd have to either say 'yeah, I know' or lie. It'd be so shitty."

Isla made a humming noise that sounded as though she could see my point. Emma blatantly ignored me.

"Here we go," Craig announced, bringing his phone through from his jacket pocket.

"I don't want to look," I told him resolutely. It felt like a real breach of privacy and I wasn't going to take part.

"Then don't, you fud. We'll look," Emma made space for Craig and greedily pulled the phone so she could see it as well.

"Okaaay," Craig scanned his eyes over the information. "Matthew James Wood is forty-five years old," Isla made an exaggerated gagging noise and I toed her with my foot, making her laugh. "He had a pretty nice childhood - went to a private school, just like you Maddy!"

"He went to Cambridge University and has a degree in Classics - that's odd," Emma remarked.

"What?" I jumped at the comment, staring at them. I had to try not to grab the phone. "What's odd? Why?"

Emma side-eyed me. "That he's an actor but he studied the classics, rather than acting."

"His mum and dad are mentioned but neither are in entertainment, apparently," Craig stated, his thumb scrolling down the page.

"Ah, not a nepo baby like you then, Maddy," Isla joked. If it had been anyone else it would have stung. "There goes the theme for your wedding- ah!"

She was cut off as I grabbed her foot. Quickly she was screaming and trying to pry me off of her. I wasn't even tickling her, yet. What a baby.

It was only a few seconds but when Isla managed to grab my hands and calm, we both looked to the couch where Emma and Craig were concerningly quiet.

I felt a bit of colour drain from my face.

Emma looked morbidly delighted - like she was hearing the best awful piece of gossip ever. Craig just looked morbid.

"What?" I asked, my stomach dropping horribly.

Emma's eyes flicked up. "You said you didn't want to know. Maybe wait to until Matthew tells you. If he tells you."

"Why?" I stood up, going over to the phone, which Emma immediately pulled back. "Emma, it's a phone - we all have them. It's not like I can't look him up myself."

"But you said!" she cackled at the same time Craig said "Sorry, Maddy."

I looked at Craig, who was looking at Isla and pulling a face.

"This isn't funny - just tell me," I demanded.

Craig worried his bottom lip between his teeth and looked at his hands.

"He's married," Emma stated, holding out the phone. She'd either had enough of her little game or she just wanted to be the one to tell me.

On the screen was a picture of Matthew with a woman. They were at some sort of an award ceremony. She looked nothing like me - she was in her forties. Blonde. Very curvy. Her head was on his chest and his arm was around her.

"Oh," I breathed. Married.

'Matthew Wood and his wife, Hannah Little at the BAFTA's 2023' the words below the picture read.

Isla stood beside me looking at the picture. "It's been a year," she offered. "Does the page mention a split or a separation?"

Emma shook her head. "Nothing. But I'll Google it, maybe it just hasn't been added yet."

I turned my head to look at Isla. I knew my eyes conveyed the horror I was feeling. I knew I was also being irrational. I hadn't slept with the guy. I hadn't kissed him. I hadn't even held his fucking hand. But still...

"Nothing on the news tab," Emma told us, scrolling through Google.

"That doesn't mean they're not broken up," Isla clutched at straws. I sat back down, putting my head in my hands.

I couldn't tell if I was upset or just mortified. I couldn't believe I had just spent an hour giggling about this man over cocktails with my friends only to find out that it was all bullshit.

"They might just not have announced it yet," Emma offered. Somehow it felt better coming from her. She wouldn't say it just to make me feel better. "Or it's not been leaked yet."

"Yeah, Maddy," Craig chimed in, patting my knee. "I mean no happy husband takes a job in Edinburgh for a month and just leaves his wife at home."

"My dad once went to Egypt for three months to film, while my mum and I were here," I reminded him. That sent a jolt through me. "Oh my God - did it mention kids? Does he have kids?"

"No!" Emma shook her head vehemently. "No kids - child-free."

Ok, I reasoned. At least I haven't broken up a family.

"Not to be the voice of reason, but even if he did have kids, it's not like you'd be a home-wrecker. Even in the slightest," Emma put the phone away and sat back down on the couch.

"Yeah," Isla smiled up at me. "You didn't cross any lines! And even if you had, you'd not be to blame because you didn't know. He's the arsehole."

"He's a proper arsehole," Craig nodded.

I allowed them to lull me into a sense of calm melancholy.

I wasn't a homewrecker. I was just sad. What a waste of perfectly good chemistry.

We sat in silence for a moment or two. Isla was crouched in front of me, rubbing one hand on my arm and holding my knee with the other. She got it. She knew me well enough to know that I wouldn't gush about a guy for no reason. Not this quickly. And not to this extent.

"Henderson's has a pub quiz starting in half an hour," Emma quietly offered after another minute. "Might be good to get your mind off of things?"

Taking a deep breath in, I smiled at her. "Yeah, alright."

I loved a pub quiz.

We didn't get dressed up or anything. Henderson's was our local and we knew the vibe was always quite chilled out.

I can put Matthew Wood to the back of my mind for the rest of the night, I resolved. It wasn't a break-up. Not even close. Yet, it still stung. I knew it would take a bit to get over the idea of what could have been.

But I could deal with that later. For now, I needed to win a pub quiz and a £30 bar tab for next week.