Text Emma!

It’s about half an hour later that you realise you don’t have Emma’s number.

Shit. You experience a momentary stab of panic, before remembering that you do actually know where she’s staying, and you sincerely doubt she’s mean enough to move out without leaving an address.

So… now what do you do?

Emma said something about a press junket. Right. Okay. She’s promoting Beauty and the Beast at the moment, you know that much… and your mind is briefly sidetracked by the unprompted but delicious thought that she might have one of those pretty yellow ballgowns stashed away in a closet somewhere.

Okay. Right. Focus.

You can’t really interrupt – it’s not like they’d let you into the building anyway – but what do you do the morning after Emma? If this is a dream, it doesn’t feel like you’ve woken up yet… you want to tell someone, yell it out loud, let the world know what’s happening.

As it is, you’re stuck staring at the remains of an ice cream sandwich, wondering when Emma might call you.

And then you have an idea.

It’s the sort of idea that is almost certainly terrible, but that you know – with a horrible sinking certainty – will not go away until you’ve tried it.

So, after a few seconds’ of wrestling with your conscience, you pull out your phone and Google ‘Emma Watson boyfriend 2018’.