Who's That Girl?

by Mhairi McFarlane

  ‘Elliot!’ she called, making the weeing man startle and nearly piss on his shoes. ‘Taxi’s here.’

  Elliot appeared, pulling his hat on.

  They bolted out through the doors, Edie leading Elliot. It was unbelievably odd to be doing an Elvis Has Left The Building dash in a pleasant Tynemill pub that did sausages and mash and quizzes, and shared a car park with the Co-Op next door. Extreme famousness didn’t seem as if it could happen here.

  ‘Where to, love?’ said the taxi driver, frowning at Elliot as he wriggled low on the back seat next to Edie, his hat yanked below his eyebrows.

  ‘Just head towards the city centre,’ Edie said, as the driver frowned some more. Elliot sank almost below the level of the rear windows as they drove past the gaggle of girls that had now gathered on the street, outside the front of the pub, as they saw their prey escaping. Some held phones aloft and took pictures of the departing taxi, as if they were press photographers besieging a prison van.

  A few moments later, as they approached Trent Bridge, the driver pulled over, sharply.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Edie asked.

  ‘I’m not taking some toerag in trouble with the police anywhere. Go on, out you get. You can take your chances.’

  Edie turned to Elliot, who was already holding out a twenty-pound note between finger and thumb to her. She passed it over, mumbling that it ‘wasn’t like that’. The taxi driver glanced at Elliot in annoyance, sighed, took the note, and they set off again.

  ‘Which road?’ said the driver.

  ‘Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need roads,’ Elliot mumbled into his collar.

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Know any other quiet pubs?’ Elliot said, to Edie.

  ‘I think so …’

  Edie had been arrogant, she realised. She no more knew Elliot Owen or understood his life than any of his most ardent fans did.

  The person sitting next to her was a stranger. She’d give him the basic respect of treating him like one, from now on.

  21

  ‘Can I let you into a secret? It’s horrible. We’re not taping yet, are we?’

  Edie shook her head. She’d positioned the Dictaphone near her body, where it hopefully couldn’t be seen by onlookers, but was yet to turn it on.

  Edie nodded and felt guilt for the hat derision. The hat was back on. Elliot looked hunted.

  She’d brought him to The Peacock pub, north of the city centre. With the mounted stag’s head, flock wallpaper, wax-dribbling pillar candles and general air of cosy eccentricity, it was like the bric-a-brac-laden front room of an alcoholic uncle. Stevie Wonder’s Innervisions played on vinyl on a turntable on the bar.

  ‘The first day I realised how big Blood & Gold had got was when I got chased out of a newsagent by a fourteen-year-old-girl in Muswell Hill, like some reverse-sexism Benny Hill sketch. I went home, and this realisation bore down on me: there is no off switch. You can’t get un-known in the same time you got known. The devil doesn’t do refunds. You gave it away and you aren’t getting it back.’

  Edie was sorry the Dictaphone wasn’t on now, this was much better quality stuff than she thought she’d get.

  ‘Do you wish you’d never done Blood & Gold?’ Edie said.

  ‘No, I liked the show. I like the fact I currently have my pick of scripts. I wanted to do this for a living. I just wish …’ He looked at Edie warily again. ‘I wish I was a character actor. I don’t want the fuss.’

  Edie read that as ‘female fuss’ and nodded. She nearly made a joke about not enjoying the burden of sex symbolism herself, and then considered it was a bad idea for about five reasons. She was wearing her tartan coat, an old T-shirt and a plastic pineapple necklace. She was turning forty in five years’ time, maybe a wardrobe rethink was in order.

  ‘The fact that success gives you a new set of problems without solving all your old ones has come as a surprise. Do I sound a massive whiny twat? The money’s nice, obviously.’

  Edie smiled. ‘You don’t sound a twat. It’s quite interesting actually. I always sort of assumed famous people secretly love the fuss.’

  ‘Some do,’ Elliot said. ‘The truth is it was funny and weird and a buzz to me for about five minutes, and then the novelty wore off and stayed off. I can’t go on the tube any more.’

  ‘Can’t you?’

  ‘Nope. Getting spotted in an enclosed space, bad. Not worth the risk. One hairy experience on the Circle Line with some over-caffeinated American schoolgirls and I accepted it.’

  Edie said ‘huh’ and watched as Elliot drew a small figure of eight with the bottom of his pint glass.

  ‘My best mate from here, Al, sometimes gets a bit like: “Ah I don’t like to tell you what I’ve been up to, I went on a camping holiday with the kids,” and the thing is, he’s having a better time than me. What about you?’

  ‘What?’ Edie said. ‘Camping? I don’t see how it can be a holiday if it’s worse than real life.’

  Elliot laughed. ‘Whether or not you’re having a good time. Are you happy?’

  ‘Uh …’ Edie stumbled into silence. She couldn’t remember a time when anyone had asked her this. She’d not asked herself this.

  ‘Probably not that happy. I mean, I told you what happened at work. The wedding.’

  ‘You were seeing someone’s husband?’

  ‘No …’ Edie shifted in her seat and thought how surprisingly exposing it was to describe yourself to a new person. This wasn’t like a date, you couldn’t do your best-foot-forward anecdotes. No wonder Elliot didn’t enjoy it. ‘He was my colleague’s boyfriend. We messaged all the time, that’s all. He started it. Somewhere during all the chatting, I really fell for him. We got on to, y’know, deep topics, all that. Then he kicked me in the guts by moving in with her, having said he didn’t want the commitment. I didn’t know what me and him had all been about. And on their wedding day, for reasons I will never understand, he finally decides to make a move on me.’ Edie swallowed and said, ‘Men,’ with both palms up, as a nervous full stop.

  ‘Oh-kaaay,’ Elliot rolled his glass in his hands. ‘Let’s do the visualisation bit, like my therapist.’

  ‘You have a therapist?’

  ‘I’m an actor who spends half the year in the States, what do you think?’ he deadpanned. ‘Next you’ll ask me if I have prescription sleeping meds.’

  Edie laughed.

  ‘What did you want to happen between you and …?’

  ‘… Jack. Nothing if he was still with Charlotte. I wasn’t trying for an affair. I wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘What did you want to turn out differently? He was always going to move on with his life, eventually?’

  ‘I … suppose I wanted him to leave her.’

  ‘The narrative in your head was that he falls for you, and leaves her, for you? I’m not judging here, I’m trying to understand.’

  Edie was caught. Stevie Wonder was yodelling ‘Don’t You Worry ’Bout a Thing’. Easy for you to say, Stevie.

  ‘Yes. I mean, I didn’t understand why Jack wanted so much of my time, but not … me.’

  Why was she telling Elliot Owen, of all people, this? Tragic.

  ‘And all the way through this, he had to make the decisions, based on guesswork? You weren’t going to tell him how you felt?’

  ‘No.’ Edie had never even considered that.

  ‘You were waiting for him to give you things he never said he’d give you and you never asked for. You could have asked him what your “thing” meant to him. But you didn’t. By default, you gave him all the power. Doesn’t sound like he was trustworthy with it.’

  Edie nodded, miserably.

  ‘In my experience, hopeful silence is a tactic that is DFD.’

  ‘“DFD”?’

  ‘Destined for doom.’

  ‘Is that a therapist phrase?’

  Elliot laughed and Edie drank her drink and started to wish she’d said No I ask the questions and you answer them, that’s the deal
. He had just taken her apart in about three chess moves.

  ‘Waiting for people to read your mind never works.’ Elliot swigged his beer. ‘One of my old acting coaches used to say the only thing that comes to those who wait is cancer. He was a jolly sod.’

  Edie smiled, thinly.

  ‘I’m not saying it’s your fault. We all do it. You can only look what happened in the eyes and learn from it and try not to repeat it.’

  ‘Thanks, Oprah.’

  Edie made sure she said this with a grin, so he couldn’t take the arse at it.

  ‘Jump on my couch,’ Elliot said, and they both laughed. ‘I scoffed at therapy, you know, but you can get useful things from it, without disappearing up your own arsehole. It makes you pull the camera back and see how you’re participating in your fate. Or not.’

  Edie made polite noises, as while she had sympathy, she definitely didn’t think the burden of being Elliot Owen was worthy of psychiatry. Also, she refrained from saying that it didn’t sound as if his own relationship was going great guns.

  At that very moment, as if God was a film director with no fear of the absurd, the pub’s music system started playing ‘Crumple Zone’, the emo rock ballad that was forever associated with Elliot’s face. Elliot groaned and pulled his hat down over his eyes, slid down the seat.

  ‘Do you realise, I thought I’d get well paid for wearing a Levi’s jacket, squinting into the setting sun and driving a Mustang around the desert outside LA, in that video. And it was such a bad song that no one would ever see it.’

  Edie giggled and had a Hannah will never believe this moment.

  They turned the Dictaphone on and managed to gather another forty minutes or so of fairly anaemic material on Elliot’s inception as an actor. Edie couldn’t help wishing they could put the off-the-record material in. As himself, Elliot could be adroitly funny and surprisingly incisive. As Elliot Owen, Actor, he became tense, blander, more on message.

  Their glasses were empty.

  ‘Mind if I get going?’ Elliot said, checking a no doubt horrifically expensive watch, concealed under his jacket sleeve.

  ‘Oh God, absolutely, sure,’ Edie, embarrassed that she’d relaxed and had opened her mouth to suggest another drink, as if the big screen’s next hot property didn’t have somewhere better to be on a Friday night.

  ‘Will you be OK?’ she said. Elliot grinned with those otherworldly white teeth.

  ‘Yeah, taxi rank opposite. Ta, Mum.’

  Edie blushed.

  22

  Edie knew her mobile – a smeary iPhone, plain black case, wallpaper picture of a carefree, sundress-clad Marilyn Monroe holding a flower – had multiple functions. She had never thought of it as a weapon. But it turned out she was carrying an incendiary device that could go off at any moment. What did Elliot say? It wasn’t as bad before mobiles, I’m sure.

  In the minutes after Elliot left, she’d started to think she might get used to being back in this city, and come to terms with her situation. The atmosphere in the pub was so welcoming, for a moment, she was almost content. Then the screen pinged with an email alert from Louis.

  An email, on a Friday night? What could be important enough to merit that? Nothing good. She felt the usual adrenaline spike and stomach flop as she slid the unlock bar.

  Hi doll. Hope things are good up north? So … Charlotte just put this on Facebook. Thought you should see it. I think she should let bygones be bygones really but I guess she’s got a big grudge. They’re all drunk tonight I think. L Swag Xx

  Below his message was a screen grab of a Charlotte status, and the ensuing comments.

  Hey I’m finally back on here. And yes Jack & I are still together. Wedding day had a slight hitch (no pun) but we’re moving on. I guess you never know who your real friends are until a time like this, and it turns out some people weren’t your friend at all.

  That could’ve been worse, Edie thought, though her skin burned with shame while she read it. Underneath she saw her old foe, Lucie Maguire, was the first to dive in.

  Welcome back C! It wasn’t your fault you let that horrible girl into your special day. She will die alone and her fat arse will be eaten by hungry cats. There’s plenty to go around lol. Love you & the scrummy new hubster to the moon and back.L xxxx

  Over a hundred miles away, Edie gasped as if she’d been slapped. Someone she didn’t know, hated her that much. Wait. Dozens of people she didn’t know, hated her that much.

  What Lucie said. What a total bitch. And errrr … aren’t you supposed to be tempted by a BETTER looking woman? This is the whole Camilla/Diana thing again.

  Who was she? I never even noticed her?

  Sadie, nor did anyone else until she threw herself at him. Can you imagine having that little class?

  Seriously, which one was she? Is this girl on here?

  Chubby face, dark hair, big tits, red dress. Short. Waaaay too much make-up. No, she’s disappeared! Stupid tart.

  LMAO. I think I know who you mean. Completely throwing herself at every bloke and falling out of her dress. Ugh to infinity.

  Edie would like to know where this evidence was coming from, but the roasting had a momentum of its own. It was powering forward and it didn’t need facts as fuel, only feeling.

  I hope if she ever gets married, someone completely trashes her big day

  Hahahahahha no one’s marrying THAT. NO ONE. Pig in a ribbon.

  Does she have a boyfriend? I thought she was there with someone?

  A gay BFF. She’s a forever single type girl.

  OMFG I wonder why. And I wonder why she was JEALOUS.

  Has anyone got a photo of this skank? I want to laugh at her loser-ness

  The last comment was from Charlotte:

  Ladies, thank you so much for having my back, I love you all. I will have to get rid of this now as I don’t want her to be mentioned on my profile again. She’s a nobody. C xxx

  Edie stopped reading and looked up, lightheaded and nauseous. It was as if they were talking about someone else, but they weren’t, it was her. Her name, her appearance, her behaviour. She was a virtual piñata. Her phone rang. Louis.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Edie, hi. Look, that email I sent you. Delete it, don’t read.’

  ‘I’ve read it.’

  ‘Oh shit! Right after I hit send, I thought I shouldn’t have sent it. Are you OK, babe?’

  ‘Not really,’ Edie said, in a small voice.

  ‘Oh NO. Oh God, I feel so awful. I didn’t like people talking behind your back and I thought someone else might show you it.’

  Louis truly was the worst sort of sadist. The utterly manipulative, cowardly sort. He wanted to have his cake and eat it. To get the savage thrill of passing all this on, and to soak up Edie’s first reaction. And for her to thank him for doing it, to soothe him that it was fine, no, don’t worry, you meant well.

  As he was the sole person posing as her ally, falling out with Louis would leave her completely alone. Hah, who was Edie kidding: she was anyway. But no. She had no desire to make another enemy, however much he deserved it. You win, Louis.

  ‘I don’t get …’ Edie had to gulp. The back of the roof of her mouth was frozen with a cold, hard pain, which had spread out through her nose and ears. ‘I don’t get why everyone is saying I’m a horrible person when it was Jack’s decision.’

  ‘I know,’ Louis lavishly-sighed and tutted, ‘Jack gets his fit arse out of any trouble, doesn’t he? I guess they are saying things, but not to Charlotte’s face.’

  ‘Why did she take him back?’

  Edie felt a tear roll a wet trail down her cheek. She brushed it away and disciplined herself to keep her voice steady. Don’t give Louis the satisfaction.

  ‘The same reasons you let him kiss you, I guess,’ said Louis, with exquisitely judged nastiness.

  ‘Thanks, Louis! Thanks a lot!’ Edie said this loudly enough that a few people in the pub glanced over.

  ‘Noooo, babe,’ he said, in h
is serpent tones. ‘I mean, he’s charming, isn’t he? And technically, they’re married. There was a period where Charl could get it annulled. Jack obviously beat the clock, hah.’

  Edie wanted to be out of this phone call.

  ‘… How’s it going with you and this actor? I cannot BELIEVE you’re getting to meet Elliot Owen, I would die wanking.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m meeting him in a minute actually, so got to go. Speak soon!’

  Edie rang off. This was clearly going to be used as leverage for more Edie-bashing in the office – she knew exactly how Louis would operate, innocently dropping a chunk of meat into the cage and enjoying the ensuing feeding frenzy. Edie had considered asking Richard to keep it secret, then considered she might be pushing her luck.

  She’d pay for this discourtesy to Louis, of course – she could picture the lip curl he was doing, right now – but all things considered, Louis operating as her enemy and Louis operating as a friend were pretty hard to tell apart.

  Edie deleted the email, and deleted it again from her trash. She had meant to send Charlotte an email herself with some sort of explanation and a heartfelt apology, once the dust had settled. She saw now that all she’d do was stir things up, to absolutely no end whatsoever. Edie had fantasised that it’d be possible to repair some of the damage by grovelling and minimising what happened, but she knew it wasn’t possible. She was the woman who ruined Charlotte’s wedding day and nearly wrecked her marriage, and that was that.

  No doubt Jack had dropped enough Aw man, I suppose now when I look back, she was quite full on … hints that Edie had led him astray, and it had got him back in the door. She finished the last of her wine.