But she was conscious of the fact that Chitra didn’t really care about Will Reid. Chitra cared about Abbie’s Reactions to Will Reid, and occasionally she mentioned him in leading tones while studying Abigail carefully, as if waiting for some sort of meaningful response. Which was ridiculous, and pointless, since there was no meaning of any kind to be found in Abbie’s responses to Will.

In order to prove as much, she sipped her tea and murmured dryly, “Ah. I thought you meant interesting news.”

Chitra’s unsubtle examination dissolved as she laughed around a mouthful of biscuit. “Don’t let anyone else hear you dismiss our city’s greatest success. They might excommunicate you.”

She did not exaggerate. It wasn’t often a small city like Nottingham produced America’s third-favourite British heartthrob (as voted by the readers of E! Online).

Lowering her voice, Chitra went on, “I take it you’ll see him at Christmas?”

Abbie opened her mouth to dispense an appropriately sarcastic reply. Unfortunately, instead of offering words, her brain helpfully produced a series of images instead.

Will Reid’s familiar, million-dollar face smiling just for her.

His literal superhero body sitting on the floor beside her grandma’s Christmas tree.

His hands—the same hands that had entire social media accounts dedicated to them—reaching for the clay ornaments they’d made together when they were twelve.

“Yes,” she said finally, the word a little hoarse. “Yes, I’ll see him at Christmas.”

Always would.

@DoURe1dMe: Is that a CHRISTMAS PARTY I see in your story?

@DoURe1dMe: I didn’t know you went to those.

@AbbieGrl: Har de har. It’s a work thing. Chitra forced me.

@DoURe1dMe: That woman is a very good influence on you.

The trouble with Will, Abbie reflected three days later, was that he lived in two realities at once.

Hollywood Will only existed on-screen. He lived in blockbuster American movies as Captain X, kicking aliens in the nuts without tearing his spandex. He lived in viral YouTube videos where he answered rapid-fire questions about his twelve-year acting career while a truckload of puppies scrambled into his lap. He lived in her phone, on social media, despite the fact that she’d muted all iterations of his name. Someone would tweet Jesus Christ I’d pay him to spit on me, and lo and behold, there’d be a picture of Will eye-fucking some glossy American woman next to a palm tree.

Really. Did they have anything other than palm trees over there? Perhaps a nice hedge or two?

Hollywood Will was inescapable and distant and might have been safe to drool over alongside the rest of the world, if it weren’t for the fact that Home Will also existed.

Home Will had lived next door to Abbie since they were ten.

Home Will sent her adorable memes and indie artwork via his secret Instagram account.