Chapter Twenty-Four
Christopher
What the?’ Christopher murmurs, trying to make sense of what his friends are saying.
‘
‘What’s wrong?’ asks Nash.
Rather than explain in front of the others, he takes Nash by the hand and leads him into the bakery kitchen.
‘Something weird is going on, and I don’t think it’s a prank.’
In the group chat, Haf replies to a message sent earlier that’s just a Twitter link.
Haf: Open this
Christopher: I don’t have Twitter.
Ambrose: it doesn’t matter just open it!!!!!!
It’s a tweet that says ‘spotted on TikTok: Nash Nadeau in Wales??’
It has hundreds of retweets and quote tweets, and so many thousands of likes that there’s only a ‘K’ after the first three numbers. Attached to the tweets are grainy screenshots from a video, zoomed in as far as possible, showing Nash in the kitchen.
A cold shiver runs down his back.
‘Oh fuck,’ groans Nash, peering at the screen.
Laurel: I think I found the source. Do you happen to know this teenager?
At the same time, a screenshot and a TikTok link arrive in the chat from Laurel and Ambrose respectively.
And while Christopher might not understand TikTok, he does absolutely recognise the heavily eyelinered teenager smiling and grimacing at the camera, dancing around a café, his café, showing off all the things they have been cooking for Christmas dinner and the beautiful table settings she spent all morning on.
It’s Tegan.
And when he plays the video just for a flash in the background you can clearly see Nash and Christopher working in the kitchen. It’s not the best-lit shot, but it’s very clearly him.
Ambrose: there’s a whole hashtag where they’re cross-referencing Nash in the background with side profiles from his films, it’s wild
Ambrose: his fans were sharing it with each other
Haf: And somehow that got out of fan circles onto like everyone’s Twitter
Laurel: It’s all over Instagram too. They think you’re re-enacting one of your films or doing it for PR. The press has gotten hold of it too, and keep talking about a deal?
‘Oh FUCK.’ Nash turns a spectacular shade of green for someone with a seemingly permanent California tan, and starts pacing back and forth in the kitchen.
Christopher: Christ this is bad. Thank you for warning us.
Ambrose: idk how we can help with this one im sorry
Haf: Do you have a Santa costume lying around? Perfect disguise right now?
Kit: Or, you could just hide him upstairs?
Laurel: That’s terribly dull darling. What about the possibility for hijinks?
‘What do we do?’ he asks Nash.
‘I have no idea. But I’m fucked if this gets back to my team, which it probably will, even though it’s Christmas Day. And I’ve heard that the British paparazzi can be vicious.’
There is no script for how to proceed here, and Christopher is floundering. He needs to help Nash, but how?
‘Do you think any press will even be able to get here? The roads are still pretty bad, right?’ Nash splutters.
His gut twists. That van. What if the van that pulled up outside is the press?
How are they going to even explain this? Though the press obviously know Nash is trans, they otherwise seem to think he’s a somewhat reclusive straight man. What if this outs him? What will that do to his career options? He’s spiralling, and they need help. They need Shaz.
‘Shaz,’ he calls, trying to keep his voice calm but deeply aware he’s doing that we need your help because a crisis is unfolding voice.
‘What’s up?’ She walks into the kitchen bringing a stack of dirty plates with her. ‘Is a crisis unfolding? You’re doing your stressed voice.’
He hands her the phone.
‘Oh shite.’
‘Indeed. I think they’re here too.’
‘Fuck,’ mutters Nash, his hands running through his hair.
‘Tegan!’ Shaz barely raises her voice, but her tone is sharp.
It surprises him a bit that Tegan comes running so quickly, but when she does, her face is frantic. ‘I’ve just looked at my phone! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise what was happening and I had notifications turned off and my account is private so someone stole the video from there and leaked it and—’
Nash sets his hands gently on her shoulders.
‘Tegan, it’s not your fault. It was probably going to get out eventually that I was here.
Someone was going to spot me, and if it wasn’t on TikTok it would have been on someone’s Facebook photos or something.
It’s not like I laid down the law on privacy. ’
‘I’m really sorry,’ she whispers, deep sobs punctuating her words.
‘Discussions on internet safety coming for you later. Right now, we possibly have a situation to be dealing with,’ Nash reassures her.
They poke their heads out through the kitchen door, only to see that the van isn’t just one van anymore. It’s a gaggle of photographers and reporters, and several more vans.
‘Christ, do they have nothing better to do? It’s literally Christmas Day!’ Christopher hisses.
‘Like what? Report on the weather? Give over, this is the most exciting thing in celebrity news that’s happened round here since Will and Kate left Anglesey.’
In one horrifying singular motion that feels right out of a horror movie, the mob turns towards the café.
‘Hide the American!’ Shaz yells, and Tegan yanks him as far back into the kitchen as possible without knocking anything over.
Christopher can just hear his muffled cries of, ‘I’m Canadian,’ before Nash disappears entirely from sight.
Making himself as tall and broad as possible, the latter rather difficult for him, Christopher takes up the full doorway to the kitchen like a guard, just as the front door bursts open.
The reporters and photographers attempt to shuffle inside, clearly not expecting it to be quite so full in here.
A photographer looks around the café with lens raised to eye just in case they can grab a candid photo.
The guests go deadly silent, eyes focussed on the intruders.
‘Can we help you?’ asks Tamara, standing up from her seat and assuming her usual role of Being In Charge, hands on her hips.
One particularly smarmy-looking chap saunters forward with a grin like the cat who got the cream. ‘We have it on good authority that actor Nash Nadeau is here . . . assisting the community, apparently. We would really like to just get a few words with him about what he’s doing here.’
‘You are interrupting a private event, and we are not speaking to the press at this time. Please vacate the premises immediately.’
‘And who are you to speak? His PR?’
‘Tamara Yang, I’m the local councillor. I’m in charge.’ This yields a cheer of yeahs from the townies. ‘So now, you all must leave.’
‘And will you shut that bloody door?’ cries Dai. ‘Letting all the heat out, you are.’
‘He is here, though, isn’t he?’ presses another photographer.
‘No, he’s not,’ says Priti, getting to her feet.
‘Why would an actor be here in our quaint little village?’ sniffs Cecil.
‘We don’t even know who you mean!’ yells Myffy extremely unconvincingly, but Christopher’s heart aches for the effort anyway.
The journalist looks not remotely amused by the solidarity on display.
‘Funny you’d say that, because I’m pretty sure this is the same establishment as seen in this TikTok here.
’ The photographer next to him holds up their phone where Tegan’s TikTok is playing.
‘So, unless he’s already left, which I sincerely doubt, I’m sure he’s here. ’
‘Regularly watch videos of teenagers, do you?’ Christopher snarls from the doorway into the kitchen, and one of the photographers chuckles before remembering they are essentially all here from the same tip-off.
‘We know he’s here,’ yells someone from the mob.
‘Teegs,’ whispers Shaz. ‘Record this, will you? In case they kick off.’
Still keeping out of sight, with shaking hands, Tegan points her phone camera to film through the doorway by Christopher’s knees.
‘We also heard that he’s been delaying signing his next contract,’ someone from the mob shouts from the doorway. ‘I’m sure his production team would be very happy to know that he’s hiding out all the way over here. Especially with Barbie Glynn’s contract on the line, too.’
Christopher gasps. There must have been a leak. It’s all out there now. Poor Nash.
‘Is that some kind of threat?’ Christopher asks, his hands curling into fists at his side.
‘Please leave, or I’ll be forced to call the police,’ says Tamara.
‘For what? For entering a public place?’
‘I repeat, this is a private party,’ Tamara emphasises, ‘and you are currently trespassing,’ she growls, with all the fury of a warrior. Though, God bless her, not a single one moves.
Christopher can hear some faint whispering coming from the kitchen behind him, and wills Nash to stay where he is.
‘We’re just after an interview, my guy,’ the reporter calls to Christopher again. He tries to walk around the tables, presumably to get through Christopher to the kitchen behind, but people keep pushing their chairs out, or standing up to block him.
‘I’m not your guy,’ growls Christopher.
‘You seem to care a lot about this. Why else would he be here, in the middle of nowhere? Perhaps then you’re Nash Nadeau’s guy? Care to comment on that?’
There it is, laced in just enough plausible deniability for them to say they’re not being completely homophobic and trying to out Nash. And just as the boiling hot rage is about to spill out of Christopher’s body, the room explodes with shared furious protest.