Free From Notting Hill with Love...Actually by Ali McNamara Page A

smile to appear on my face.
    As we set off side by side along Lansdowne Road, I was glad Oscar’s house was just around the corner; at least I knew I wouldn’t have to be in this idiot’s company for too long. I felt quite self-conscious walking alongside him. While he was still dressed in his casual attire from earlier of a light jacket and T-shirt, I was wrapped up against the cold February evening like something from an upmarket ski-wear catalogue, in my warm winter coat, hat, and scarf.
    “I guess if we’re going to be neighbors, we should introduce ourselves properly,” he said after a few paces. “I’m Sean.” He held out his hand.
    “Scarlett,” I said, briefly shaking it with my gloved hand as we walked.
    “That’s an unusual name.”
    “Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. Wait for it, here comes the next question …The next question usually depended on the person’s age. Looking at Sean I guessed he’d go for the obvious—and he did.
    “Is it from Gone with the Wind ?”
    Bingo! If only I had a pound for every time someone had asked me that.
    “Yes, it was my mother’s favorite film.” At least I was able to answer that truthfully now.
    If Sean had been a few years younger or trying to chat me up he’d have probably gone for “Oh, like Scarlett Johansson—the actress?”
    Sean smiled knowingly.
    “What?” I asked.
    “Ah, nothing. It’s a cool name, that’s all.”
    “Thanks.”
    We walked along together a bit further. “I have to turn here,” I said, stopping to cross the road.
    “That’s fine,” Sean said, standing on the edge of the pavement next to me, “so do I.”
    We stood silently like two schoolchildren carefully crossing the street together. Look left, look right, and look left again. Then we looked at each other for mutual agreement, before stepping out into the road.
    “So where are you off to this evening?” Sean asked. “Anywhere exciting?”
    “A dinner party, actually.”
    “Really? How odd. Me too.”
    No, it couldn’t be, could it? I thought as we reached Oscar’s house.
    “It wouldn’t be here by any chance?” I asked, positive I already knew the answer to my own question.
    “Well, actually…”
    “Scarlett, you made it!” Oscar called, holding Delilah in his arms as he flung open the front door. “And I see you’ve already met Sean.”
    I looked across at my fellow dinner guest.
    He grinned. “Looks like I could be learning just a little bit more about you tonight than only your name, Scarlett.”
    We both made a move to go up the narrow path at the same time. Sean stood back to let me pass. “Ladies first.”
    “Thank you.”
    I walked toward Oscar, who was looking quite resplendent in a deep-purple shirt and matching shade of tartan trousers. But I was still having problems with who he reminded me of. Most people I could usually match up with a movie actor or character, or at the worst a mix of two. Currently I was getting vibes of both John Hannah in Four Weddings and Tom, one of Bridget Jones’s gang of oddball friends, for Oscar.
    “I brought you this,” I said, holding up a bottle of wine. “ And ”—emphasizing my gesture to Sean, as I held up a shopping bag in my other hand—“I’m returning your T-shirt you lent me earlier today.”
    “Darling, you shouldn’t have—really, there was no need for either. But do come in, won’t you, I can’t wait for you to meet everybody. Do come along, Sean,” Oscar called down the path. “The gang’s all here!”
    Once inside, Oscar took our jackets and we followed him through to the lounge. There were five people already sitting on two settees and a chaise longue, drinking wine and chatting.
    “Now then, everyone, I’d like to introduce Scarlett,” Oscar announced, clapping his hands to gain their attention. “Oh, you all know Sean, of course,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
    “Wish we didn’t sometimes.” A woman with extremely short black hair, and an alarming