Page 59 of Not Just for Christmas

‘Hey, come on.’ Dylan made a grab for her phone, but she side-stepped him. ‘He’s a minor, he’s entitled to his privacy.’

‘Did you see that?’ she gasped, turning the camera onto herself. ‘What the hell! Dylan Wilde just tried to steal my phone.’

‘Yeah. Got it on film,’ said her friend.

Dylan bundled Sam and me into the changing cubicle. ‘Sorry about this, guys.’

‘We’re OK.’ I said, although I wasn’t. I was shaking with anger. Sam hadn’t been in any danger and didn’t look at all bothered, but being ambushed like that had thrown me.

‘Thanks. But it’s not OK.’ He peeled his arms out of his wetsuit angrily. ‘If I took a picture of them, they’d probably try to sue me. But when it’s the other way around I’m supposed to smile and look pleased about it.’

He was almost down to his boxer shorts. I’d seen him in swimming trunks before, but that was on the beach, in public. His chest muscles flexed as he pulled first one foot out of the wetsuit and then the other.

‘Yeah,’ I croaked.

I had no idea what he’d just said.

Sam was still clutching the bodyboard. ‘Are you really angry, Uncle Dylan?’

‘Not for myself, dude.’ Dylan mustered up a smile. ‘I’m just looking out for you and your mom.’

‘Everything all right over here?’ A shop assistant knocked on the door. ‘I’m the manager, I’ve asked those girls to leave. I’m honoured to have you visit our shop, Mr Wilde.’

‘Thanks. And yeah, all good. We’ll take this.’ Dylan pushed the wetsuit through a crack in the door.

‘But not this, thank you.’ I pushed Sam’s bodyboard out of the door too.

‘Mum! I wanted you to take a picture of it for my Christmas list. So you don’t forget the one I want,’ Sam protested, slipping out of the gap after the manager.

‘Then come straight back,’ I told him. ‘And don’t go near the door.’

‘Am I being an asshole?’ Dylan pulled on his jeans and zipped them up.

I sat on the stool in the changing room and watched him put his T-shirt on inside out. He was so tense that I decided not to mention it.

‘No,’ I said carefully. ‘But surely you’re used to the fuss by now? It goes with the territory, no?’

‘My agent once told me that the moment to start worrying was when the public stopped paying me any attention. And for a long time I believed him. I’ve done performances when I didn’t want to, interviews when I felt so sick I could barely speak and posed for selfies on flights when all I really wanted to do was sleep.’

He pushed his feet into his boots and slipped his arms into his coat, his movements rough and jerky.

‘And look at you,’ I said, ‘you’re at the top of your game. A success the world over. It paid off.’

‘I’ve had years of living in the public eye and most of it has been awesome,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I’ve served my time, but honestly, I think I’m done.’

‘Surely you can’t just walk away from your career? Your fans?’

‘There’s so much in my life that I have to be grateful for, Luce, and I am. My fans, especially. But this,’ he swept a hand through the air, ‘this constant requirement to be accessible to everyone and anyone is exhausting. I want a private life. I want to be able to turn up somewhere and not have complete strangers assume they have the right to interrupt any conversation, any situation. And you and Sam didn’t sign up for this. If Sam’s photo ends up on some girl’s Instagram, I’m really sorry.’

He extended a hand to help me up from the stool and I grasped it. Face to face, toe to toe, I could feel the heat emanating from him; the cubicle felt very small all of a sudden.

‘We chose you to be his godfather, so we sort of did sign up for it.’ I laughed softly. ‘And at least it was you in a wetsuit and not me.’

‘True.’ A smile spread slowly across his face. ‘Thanks for cheering me up.’

‘You’re welcome. So what are you going to do?’

He shrugged. ‘Right now, I don’t have all the answers, but what I do know is that we have one life and we should make the most of it. And living it only to make others happy isn’t the way.’