Page 2 of From LA to London, With Love

It wasn’t just that. For the sake of my mental health, I needed to start working again. Acting kept me sane. While I’d lost some of my passion for it recently, I loved the challenge of becoming someone else, of losing myself in a character and experiencing everything through another person’s eyes. It allowed me to forget my problems, escape the everyday reality of my life.

And I currently had a lot of problems that needed forgetting, and reality that needed escaping.

“Chris, I’ve told you so many times, but I’ll say it again. Your reputation doesn’t need redeeming. I know it’s been an awful few months for you, but you didn’t do anything wrong. You were the victim here. And if anything, the photos made you more popular. Your Instagram followers increased by half a million after they were made public.”

My chest tightened as I began to spiral thinking about the photos, but Serena’s words pulled me back.

“Chris, are you still there?”

“Yes, sorry. Sure, send it to me again and I’ll take a look. When do I need to decide?”

“Officially, it was yesterday. But if we come back to them today, it’ll be fine. I’ve just sent it. It should be in your inbox now.”

Alfie, who had remained at my feet the entire call, bounced into action as soon as I hung up. He grabbed one of my shoes in his mouth and dragged it toward my foot.

“Very subtle, little man,” I said, tussling his golden head.

Energized by the phone call, I got off the couch, pulled my shoes on, and made my way to the yard, grabbing one of Alfie’s tennis balls on the way. He bounded after me, barking with joy. As much as I was itching to read the script, Alfie clearly needed to burn off some steam first.

* * *

A few hours later, I called Serena back.

“I’m in! It’s great. My only concern is the accent. I’ve never had a great ear for them. The last thing I need right now is to be ridiculed for that as well.”

She let out a squeal and clapped her hands.

“Fantastic! Don’t worry about the accent—we’ll get you a dialect coach, and you’ll be speaking flawless Queen’s English in no time. You’re going to be fabulous, Chris!”

I really hoped she was right. After the last few months, I couldn’t afford to be anything less than fabulous.

CHAPTER TWO

SOPHIE

“Josh, I’m almost at the mothers’ group. I need to hang up,” I groaned.

I stopped the pram outside Cynthia’s house, located on prime real estate overlooking the sprawling woodland and meadows of Hampstead Heath. Josh’s call had been a welcome, unexpected interruption from the monotony of Monday, and I was disappointed I had to cut it short, even if it had primarily consisted of me giving Josh a pep talk about his client meeting this afternoon.

“I don’t know why you keep torturing yourself with the mothers’ group,” he said. “They sound dreadful—a whole lot of white, wealthy, unhappily married women going on about designer baby clothes, posh schools, and bilingual nannies.”

I sighed. Josh was right. The group was meant to offer new mums support and bonding. But as reassuring as it was to hear that their babies also snored like freight trains and had disturbingly hairy backs, I’d struggled to bond with any of the women. As far as I could tell, all I had in common with them was that we lived in Hampstead, gave birth to our first child around the same time, and had signed up for the local mothers’ group.

“It’s good for Elliot to interact with other babies, even if all they’re doing is trying to steal each other’s toys. And it’s not just that. Everyone else—you, my parents, the rest of the gang—all have full-time jobs. As much as I love Elliot, he can’t exactly hold a conversation or do…much at all, really. Except for poop and pee with abandon, guzzle milk, and fight sleep.” I looked down at Elliot in the pram with affection. “No offense, little man, but I miss adult company. As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes being around people, even if they’re not my preferred company, is better than nothing.” Besides, I was used to feeling like I didn't belong.

“Hmmm, fair enough. Maybe I should take a day off soon, and we can take Elliot to the zoo. That seems like the sort of thing a godfather should do.”

I smiled. Josh was a good egg.

“That would be lovely. Now, I really have to go. We’re running super late. Good luck with your meeting. You’re going to nail it!”

I hung up, took a deep breath, and then pressed the buzzer at the front gate. The lock clicked, and I pushed the pram through, parking it next to seven other monstrous prams in Cynthia’s garden.

The front door opened just as I’d unbuckled Elliot.

“Sophie! We didn’t think you were coming,” Cynthia exclaimed, her signature lipstick-covered lips forming a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

My heart sank. It might just be her botox. Don’t take it personally.