Free A Seaside Affair by Fern Britton

relief after waitressing to make ends meet. And yet …
    She wanted to act. Proper acting. A chilling thought entered her brain and send a shudder through her. Oh God: she was acting. Brooke Lynne was just a part. A character she had created. Had created so successfully that no one could see or remember Brenda Foster. No one wanted Brenda Foster, but they loved Brooke Lynne.
    She needed to talk to Milo. Face-to-face. Tonight.
    *
    Ollie woke with the King Daddy of hangovers. He lay still, waiting for the thumping in his head to subside. As of ten thirty last night he was officially out of work. The end-of-season party had been a very boozy affair. The Knight, Sir Terry, had made an emotional speech to the assembled company, recalling his glory days with ‘Darling Larry, Ralph and Johnny’ before following Ollie to the gents and making a clumsy pass at him.
    Ollie groaned, recalling the heartbreaking look of humiliation on Sir Terry’s face as he gently turned him down.
    ‘Oh, dear boy,’ The Knight had blustered. ‘Please don’t think that I … I would never do anything so … please don’t mention this to anyone … I’d hate to give the wrong impression.’
    Ollie’s response had been to give him a firm hug and plant a kiss on his wrinkled cheek. ‘Sir Terry, I’m flattered.’
    One thing The Knight had said to him later that night, as they said their final goodbyes had stayed with him and it now rattled around in his brain like a painful ballbearing.
    ‘My dear boy, you are indeed a pretty face, but you’re a bloody fine actor, too. Never lose sight of that. Make that your focus and don’t get sucked into all the other flim-flam.’
    ‘By flim-flam, do you mean Red?’ asked Ollie.
    ‘I mean the fame game, my dear. I’m sure your Red is a wonderful girl. But fame is a fickle mistress. You need to be known for
your
talent, not for hers.’
    His thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of his smartphone on the bedside table. He fumbled for it and saw it was Red wanting FaceTime. He pressed the accept button and held the phone up so that she could see him. Her face came into view on the screen.
    ‘You look like shit,’ she said.
    ‘Hey, thanks. Good morning to you, too.’
    ‘Let me see round the room.’
    He held the phone up and turned it a full three hundred and sixty degrees.
    ‘You’re on your own?’ she demanded.
    ‘Yes. As always.’
    ‘How was the party? Anyone make a pass at you?’
    ‘Yes – The Knight.’
    ‘You turned him down?’
    ‘What do you think?’
    ‘Dunno. I haven’t seen you for so long, for all I know you might have turned gay.’
    He closed his eyes and didn’t bother to reply. She was getting more and more demanding, and irritating.
    Red spoke again: ‘So, now you’re not working, when are you coming out to see me?’
    Even if he could have afforded it, especially now that he was unemployed, the last thing he wanted to do was jump on a flight and travel halfway around the world. He longed to get back to his flat in London and hang out with his mates. Sleep a bit. Drink a bit. Have a break. Then look for another job. Despite the constant attention from the media, his new-found fame had yet to result in any big new job. He thought about what Sir Terry had said. Thanks to all the ‘flim-flam’ most directors probably saw him as a liability rather than an asset.
    ‘Ollie! Have you fallen asleep? Can you hear me?’
    He opened his eyes and tried to smile, ‘Sorry, babe. I’m a bit hungover.’
    ‘So, do you want to come and see me or what?’
    ‘I would love to, but I really need to sort some stuff out here. Get back home to London, pay the bills, do my washing … You know …’ He trailed off lamely.
    Her expression turned sour and she spoke to someone Ollie couldn’t see: ‘He says he’s tired.’
    ‘Put him on!’ shrieked a German-accented voice. Henrik’s overplucked eyebrows and satsuma tan filled the screen. ‘Why are
you
tired, Actor Boy?