Logging - Nick Spalding Page 0,30

She wasn’t impressed. Nothing might well compare to you, but that night I convincingly compared to an utter cock.

‘Er, ah, eh, um,’ I respond, going bright red. Lucas La Forte isn’t what you’d call a ‘proper’ celebrity, like Robert Downey Jr. or Ryan Reynolds, but he does have nearly one hundred thousand followers on Instagram, which most definitely places him in the category of social media celebrity.

And I know my social media celebrities.

This is one of them. Standing in front of me.

At a . . . at a bus stop?

‘You OK, pal?’ Lucas asks, probably worried that I might be about to have a heart attack.

‘Yes! I’m fine, thanks. And I do follow you, yes, Mr La Forte.’

Lucas La Forte stands up straight. ‘Please . . . call me Lucas!’

‘OK . . . Lucas.’ I point at the bus stop behind him. ‘Why . . . why are you here?’ The incredulity in my voice is unmistakeable. This is a man who I am used to seeing either sitting in a very expensive sports car, sitting on an equally expensive motorbike, sitting in an exquisite leather armchair on his penthouse terrace or sitting on a luxury yacht.

Basically there’s a lot of sitting involved with Lucas – generally in places I’d be thrown out of, or off of, at the earliest opportunity. Seeing him standing at a bus stop is incongruous, to say the least.

Lucas looks a little alarmed for a second, but instantly covers it up again with a self-assured smile. ‘Bit of trouble with the Porsche,’ he tells me. ‘Damn titanium connecting rod threw a wobbler while I was doing a hundred. You know how it goes.’

No, Mr La Forte. I do not know how it goes. I drive a 2004 Volvo. I wouldn’t know what a titanium connecting rod was if you poked one up my bottom.

‘Ah, yes. I . . . bet that was . . . annoying,’ I reply, trying to sound like I think I should remain part of this conversation involving Porsches and titanium connecting rods, but knowing that I probably shouldn’t.

‘Damn right, pal!’

‘Couldn’t you get a taxi?’ I ask, still flummoxed as to why this ultra-successful man would be at a bus stop.

‘What? And miss the chance to travel like an honest man for once?’ Lucas says, and laughs. ‘In life, when an opportunity to see how others live arrives, you should grasp it with both hands. It will broaden your horizons and make you a better person.’

Jesus Christ. He talks like he Instagrams. I’m pretty sure he wrote that little epithet on a post that accompanied a picture of him sitting on a luxury powerboat in the Med.

‘Ah well, that explains it then,’ I say, still not 100 per cent convinced. Something feels a little . . . off, here.

But this is my chance to get to know someone from my online life a little better – right here in the offline world.

I’m going to take Lucas’s advice to heart and grasp an opportunity to see how others live, in both of my sweaty little hands. ‘I could give you a lift, if you’d like?’

Lucas appears to weigh this up for a moment, before nodding his head. ‘Thank you. I always say that when the hand of friendship is reached out, you should take it without hesitation.’

‘Yes. I’m sure. That sounds . . . like good advice,’ I tell him. ‘My car’s parked over there, outside Currys. Happy to take you to wherever you need to go. Back to your penthouse at Southern Quay, if that’s the way you’re headed?’

Lucas’s face darkens briefly.

Oh, shit. I’ve obviously overstepped here. Now I look like some kind of weird stalker – knowing where he lives, and everything.

But he plasters it all over Instagram! Everybody who follows him knows where he lives!

‘Ah . . . no. Not there, thank you,’ he says, suddenly looking very awkward.

Oh, well done, Bellows! You’ve made a right fool of yourself!

‘You could . . . you could take me to my mother’s house though,’ he suggests. ‘I like to pop in on her when I can.’

‘Oh . . . OK.’ This is slightly disappointing. I wanted to see that penthouse in the flesh.

‘She’s a wonderful woman,’ Lucas continues. ‘And as I always say – cherish the moments you have with those you love. They will not be around forever, so grasp those times with both hands.’

‘Yes. I’m sure . . . sure that’s correct.’

Lucas nods, smiles and starts to walk off