Charlie is finally back from France. He spent Christmas and New Year with his family in Paris and on the day I expected him back, he messaged to say that he’d gone to Lille instead. I didn’t ask why.

“How was your Christmas?” he asked. “Ok,” I said, “it was a quiet one, but Christmas was ages ago.”

Levi had spent Christmas with his mysterious girlfriend and the apartment had been depressingly subdued. I’d spent Christmas Day watching movies on Netflix.

“I have something exciting to tell you,” he said. “I met a guy in Paris who thinks I should be a model.”

“That’s good,” I replied, “but be wary of anyone who says you could be a model, even though he might be right”.

“I know, but this was different, and he invited me to go to Lille for a photoshoot.”

Charlie opened his phone and showed me photos from his Instagram account, the same one that he’d blocked me from seeing. There he was, in various stages of undress, and I had to agree that he looked good.

“The shoot was called Catholica,” he continued, “and the photographer thinks I make a good catholic boy.”

Looking at the erotic images, I would have described Charlie as anything but.

“Did you get paid for it?”

“There was no money, but it was good exposure.”

I felt like telling him that I’d done so much for exposure, but it rarely reaped rewards. I had learnt that exposure meant giving something to someone for free.

“I didn’t realise that you wanted to be a model.”

“I am a painter, but I believe I could make a career as a fashion model. It pays to multi-skill.”

In the time that I’d known Charlie I had realised that he was a dreamer, but that added to his French charm. He was certainly handsome, if not on the small side, and he certainly had the physique.

“Can I have a good look at the photos?” He hesitantly handed me his phone. His cheeks coloured, as if he was embarrassed to show me, and I flicked through them.

“They are very good,” I conceded. “Will you show them to Levi?”

“I think that Levi will have seen them already, because he follows me on Instagram.”

“Ah yes,” I responded, “he showed me while you were away, and I realised that I couldn’t see them because you’d blocked me.” Charlie couldn’t look me in the eye and looked nervously at the floor. “I’d like to follow you because I think your photos are excellent, but you obviously don’t want me to see them.”

“It’s not that,” he said,” I thought that you would think badly of me.”

“Not at all,” I told him, “I’m proud that you want to do something different, and the photos are very creative, but I understand if you don’t want me to see them.”

Whilst I was scrolling, I noticed a photo. It had been taken in Paris and showed a guy with his arm around Charlie. The guy had a baseball cap and wore a big coat that said, ‘blessed have not seen yet still believe.’ He had a broad grin that was matched by the one on Charlie’s face. They looked happy. I handed the phone back and pretended that I hadn’t seen it.

“I shall unblock you.”

At that point, Levi, the Polish boy with a broad Yorkshire accent, came in.

“Charlie, you’re back.”

“Hello Levi. Yes, I am back. What have you been up to?”

Levi nodded towards me. ”Did he tell you that I got him drunk?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“It was an amazing night. So good that he asked me to sleep with him.”

I squirmed with embarrassment because it was the first time that Levi had mentioned it and I had hoped that it had been forgotten.

Charlie was shocked. “What do you mean?”

“He said he wanted to take me to bed, but I had to turn him down.”

There was a strange look on Charlie’s face, and I couldn’t tell if it was pity, or disgust. He shook his head and went to make a coffee.

When I checked later, Charlie still hadn’t unblocked me, and I didn’t want to remind him because it might make me look desperate.

I mentioned it to Levi later who thought about it before responding. “There are some parts of his life that Charlie doesn’t want you to see.”