‘What are your parents like?’
‘Fine and low-key.’
‘You get on with both of them?’
‘My mum, yes. We’ve always been very close. My dad not so much.’
‘Daddy issues?’
He laughed. ‘You could say that. Are you close with your dad?’
Rose felt her chest tighten. ‘No. I – I don’t actually know him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He left when I was a kid. Just walked out the door and never came back. It’s such a cliché.’
‘Oh, wow.’
‘I got over it a long time ago. He had some high-flying city job and left us with plenty of money so I can’t complain too much.’
‘Sure, but not having a dad isn’t exactly ideal.’
‘I do have a dad. I just don’t know him.’
‘Well, judging by his behaviour it sounds like it’s best you don’t.’
Rose fidgeted with her hands.
‘I’m sorry,’ Milo said, leaning closer to her.
‘Don’t be.’ She decided to change the subject. ‘Do you enjoy being famous?’
Milo laughed and rolled his eyes. ‘That’s your next question? I was expecting something a little more exciting.’
‘That’s my next question,’ Rose said.
‘Would you like to be famous?’
‘Don’t politician me. Answer the question.’
‘Look, there are obviously parts of it that I enjoy.’
‘Like?’
‘The parts that anyone would enjoy.’
‘You don’t have to be so embarrassed to admit that you like drinking ludicrously expensive wine and getting to skip queues at airports,’ she replied, waving her hand in the direction of the 1982 bottle they’d long ago finished before moving on to gin and tonics.
‘Those are the highlights, to be honest.’
‘Come on. Tell me.’
‘It’s not that I’m embarrassed. But I don’t know. It’s not something I created, wanted, or even thought about. And it’s not real,’ he sighed and took a big gulp from his drink. ‘I just wanted to make music.’
There are certain things in this life you’re not supposed to admit that you want. If you’re a woman, for example, you aren’t supposed to admit that you would like to be a little bit thinner, even though Rose and every woman she knew wanted this. The rules about wanting were more lenient for men for obvious reasons. But whatever your gender, there is one thing no one is supposed to admit to coveting. And that is fame.
You could admit to wanting wealth, success and all the paraphernalia that comes with it. But wanting fame itself, craving that obscene level of attention, admiration and analysis, no one was supposed to want that because it would make you sound like an arsehole. Milo couldn’t even bring himself to say the word let alone admit that it was something that applied to him. It was hard to tell if this was out of modesty or something else that was evidently harder for Rose to understand.
Nonetheless, he continued to talk about the downsides of whatever level of special attention he was willing to admit that he had, a ritual she suspected all famous people performed to non-famous people on a regular basis. The ‘I’m just like you’ dance, as Minnie called it. Rose listened intently as Milo rattled off the downsides of touring – how he’d never really been able to enjoy travelling because there wasn’t enough time to explore the cities, and if he ever tried, he’d either be swarmed by fans or would have to arrive at sightseeing spots before opening hours, which made the whole experience feel austere and inauthentic.
Then there were all of the friends he’d lost over the years because so many of them tried to get something out of him, whether it was performing at their relative’s wedding or promoting someone’s sister’s new fashion brand on Instagram. Some had been offered inordinate amounts of money to talk to the tabloids about him – and he was shocked by how many did. The paparazzi thing was an obvious nightmare, too. He had to fire one of his managers because he was colluding with paps every time he went out in public.
The hardest thing, of course, was dating; he never mentioned anyone by name, or divulged any information that was too detailed, instead speaking in generalisations and opaque references. But it was the most he’d offered about himself so far. He explained how quickly relationships were ruined when they got into the press, how awkward it would be when someone was referred to as his ‘girlfriend’ before they’d been on a single date, and how it would be even more awkward when he found out that person had been the one to leak the news themselves.
Then there were the women who just wanted fame by proxy. Sometimes they’d even steal items of clothing he’d worn in public recently and wear them to events to confirm they’d been sleeping together. The sad thing was that it often worked. Those photos would appear in a tabloid and then the women would be interviewed, ostensibly to promote their own ‘projects’ but really to unearth more gossip on Milo. They’d complain about the unwanted attention they’d received on social media before talking avidly about the brand they were about to launch and where you could find them on social media.
Rose could recall a few of these interviews; they reflected a corner of the internet Oliver often talked about in the office. There was one woman Milo had dated who had a full-page feature in a national newspaper all about her fledgling wellness empire after she’d been seen outside a pub with him. She spoke ad nauseum about building her brand and how difficult it was to be taken seriously as a business owner with all the sudden attention she was getting. When asked about the rumours surrounding Milo, she replied: ‘Oh, I can’t talk about that.’ Neither a denial nor a confirmation. The papers all reported the quote as confirmation of their romance the next day.
The actual dates themselves were also a nightmare, he added, often involving endless logistics that made the whole thing feel more like a conference than a date. Like finding a restaurant where photography was banned. And entering into the venues separately or through back doors to avoid the paparazzi. And hoping that the women he went on dates with wouldn’t secretly call the paparazzi themselves.
‘So, do you just not trust anyone then?’ Rose asked him.
‘I trust everyone until they give me a reason to prove otherwise.’
‘That sounds risky.’
‘It is. But I have to be able to live my life.’
