THAT NIGHT JAMIE WENT home alone; Callum, presumably, had gone home to his lovely wife. Jamie hadn’t spent much time at his own flat in weeks and felt particularly lonely when he let himself in.
Despite the late hour, he considered calling friends to see who he could round up for a pint. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in his bathroom mirror; that was not going to work. Not with hickeys scattered across his throat. On set, makeup had the decency not to comment. But in real life his drama school friends would laugh, purr at him to share details, and give him no end of grief.
But sudden work and incipient fame had made having friends hard. There wasn’t time to sit around pubs drinking and chatting anymore. Jamie felt terrible about it, but it wasn’t something he knew how to make right.
