She shrugged and gabbled: ‘Wedding days … People get fussy about them being important somehow though, don’t they.’
‘Oh, they get completely het up. You’re not supposed to try to have sex with anyone else for the whole day, as far as I can work out.’
Edie laughed. And sighed.
‘… I know I ruined someone’s wedding. I have to live with that for the rest of my life. It seems hard to bear when it isn’t something I chose to do, it happened to me. It sounds gutless, but it’s true.’
‘Of course it’s true. You’re alright, you are. Stop taking what other people say to heart so much. You’re one of those people that people always want to be around. You light up a room, dear.’
‘Aww thanks,’ she said, self-consciously, glad they had to negotiate a road crossing. ‘What about you? Have you moved on, are you seeing anyone?’
‘Only the four walls of my Sneinton divorcé dad grief hole.’
Edie had forgotten how jaundiced-funny Nick was. She’d let their friendship drift because of the mad wife, yes. Also because she didn’t think they had much in common any more, and he was miles away. A mixture of ignorance and laziness.
They queued for their order and while they were talking, Edie saw her face reflected in the stainless steel counter of the chippy. She saw a tired-faced person who nonetheless, looked fleetingly happy.
26
‘Chippy dinners taste best outdoors, but they taste second best when you’re in a new house that smells different and half your stuff’s in storage,’ Hannah said. ‘Pete and I had one when we moved in, in Edinburgh too. It’s the biz.’
They were eating out of unfurled paper and polystyrene pots, the room lit by tealights and a big Tiffany lamp, feeling fuzzy round the edges from champagne and wine drunk out of chunky glass beakers. Hannah always had the nicest grown-up things.
‘We’re all single for the first time since sixth form, then,’ Hannah said.
‘I was single before it was trendy,’ Edie said, excavating the mushy pea tub. Fairground peas and candy floss: one of the few positive childhood memories.
‘What happens now, do we all go on dating sites and start Veet-ing our privates?’ Hannah said. ‘If there’s one thing to be said for long-term relationships, it’s the freedom to have un-groomed genitals. Pubic fashions can come and go and you care not a jot.’
‘Hairy’s back in anyway. Hairy’s the new bald,’ Edie said.
‘I’m not Veet-ing my balls for any woman,’ Nick said. ‘And I’m pretty sure demand for my bare ballsack is nil. When did people start liking this macabre stuff?’
‘When we got the internet,’ Hannah said. ‘And everyone started panicking their lives weren’t good enough.’
Edie said: ‘Here we go,’ to Nick, then considered that she was an extremely good case study for Hannah’s Social Media Is Evil lecture.
‘Society as we know it is fucked,’ Hannah said, noisily squirting the plastic ketchup bottle on to her chips. ‘Everyone pretends their life is great online. It’s lies by omission. It’s just one big lie by omission. It makes people feel constantly inadequate and anxious and envious. All our lives are a managed mess but look online and you get advertising.’
‘At least I couldn’t be accused of making anyone insecure,’ Edie said. ‘My life’s a car crash. I had to shut all my accounts down. The only one I miss is Instagram. It’s just cats and sunsets and eggs with avocado.’
Hannah brushed batter from her hands.
‘I’m trying to work out what would’ve happened after the wedding, before Facebook,’ Edie said. It felt so good to have people to share this with, at last. ‘Everyone would’ve still been saying things about me, but I wouldn’t have known what they were. We see things now we shouldn’t see.’
‘Exactly! And it’s so dehumanising,’ Hannah said. ‘Here’s the thing. We know more about each other than ever before, and yet we’ve never understood each other less.’
‘Profound. I feel like we should be sipping water on a panel show here,’ Nick said, making light work of the last of his saveloy. Nick had the tastes of a filth hound and the waistline of a whippet, ‘Called The State of You or something, one of those late-night ones. I’d put this on my show with you both as guests, but you’d only start bellowing about pubes.’
Edie guffawed. ‘Don’t you have a delay thing?’
‘No, that’s a myth, it’s live radio. We have an apology-afterwards thing.’
‘Is the show doing OK?’ Hannah said.
‘Not brilliantly,’ Nick said, sipping his drink. ‘Listener figures are down. I keep waiting for one of the older presenters to do an Alpha Papa-style siege, we could do with a bit of an enema in the staffing department. Not me, you understand. Other people.’
Edie guffawed again. ‘JUST SACK PAT.’ She paused. ‘Ad Hoc let Jack go. He was the man, the husband,’ she explained to Nick.
A small silence settled over them. Nick didn’t know what to say and Hannah looked as if she was weighing whether not to say what she thought.
‘You’re not feeling bad for him, are you?’ Hannah said.
Edie said: ‘No. Not really,’ in a small voice. ‘I feel bad for being the cause of so much trouble.’
It might’ve been a tense moment. But it was shattered by a large white and tortoiseshell cat, with saucers for eyes, winding round their feet. It stared at them in a mutual: Who the fuck are you?
‘I didn’t know you got a cat!’ Edie exclaimed.
‘I didn’t!’ Hannah cried, and there was an outbreak of squawking.
‘Why are we screaming, it’s only a cat?!’ Nick said.
The cat flattened its ears back and skittered out. Some investigations showed Hannah’s flat had a cat flap left by the last inhabitants, still swinging in the breeze from the departing moggy.
Once they were settled back down and the cat had been thrown some haddock through the flap, Hannah said: ‘While we’re doing big talk not small talk. Do you know why this Jack didn’t choose to be with you, Edith? I’ve been turning it over.’
‘I guess I thought it was the reasons people always prefer one person to another,’ Edie said, embarrassed, despite being in drink. ‘Charlotte looks like Andy Murray’s wife.’
‘BEEP. Wrong. You would’ve seen through him, eventually. He was attracted to how sharp you are, but too lazy and self-serving to want someone who’d give him that much trouble as a partner. He kept you at arm’s length, enjoyed the frisson, and stuck with the safer bet.’
Edie nodded. ‘I suppose Charlotte’s always been very starry-eyed about Jack. I liked him but I didn’t really give him that sort of unquestioning adoration. I think that was part of it.’
It used to be difficult to analyse this beyond the bitterness-buzz of ‘sour grapes’ and now it was even more difficult with the guilt-buzz of ‘wedding sin’.
‘If he didn’t have a major thing for you, why lunge at you during his wedding?’ Nick said.
‘Why not lunge at me before the wedding?’
‘You might’ve lunged back harder! You might’ve treated it like it meant something! And he didn’t want to risk actually getting what he wanted. Far too much trouble,’ Hannah said.
She was too much trouble. That was it, throughout, wasn’t it? It was an explanation that didn’t pander to Edie’s ego, either. Love for her didn’t conquer all.
And it was the first time, the timing of that kiss made some sense. It wasn’t about the moment she was the most dangerous temptation, it was when she was safest. Edie finished her champagne and held her glass out for more.
‘Amazing. You two might’ve solved “Jack”.’
Hannah lifted the bottle again.
‘You built him up to be something he wasn’t. We women are prone to it, I think. No matter how grown up and independent we think we are, I swear we have a brain illness from childhood where we think a man on a white horse is going to turn up at some point and fix everything. And when he doesn’t turn up, a
nd he can’t fix anything even if he does, we think we did something wrong. But he never existed.’
‘I wish there was a man on a horse to fix everything for me,’ Nick said. ‘He’d have Alice’s head in a bag.’
There followed a short discussion where Hannah gave Nick her similarly unvarnished views on Alice and Nick more or less agreed and said he’d made a fatal in error in mistaking a bullying personality for a dynamic, charismatic one.
Post Jack, Edie was much less inclined to judge Nick. Yes, commitment to vinegar tits Alice was unfathomable from the outside. But look how Hannah could clearly see Jack was a glib time-wasting liar, who was going to sit on Edie’s heart and squash it like a whoopee cushion. Edie was so addled by oxytocin, or whatever the love drug was, she couldn’t allow it when she was in the grip of it. Maybe it was a simple matter of chemicals: it was hard to accept that someone who’d caused so much pleasure, was in turn causing you pain.
They put the detritus from dinner in a bin bag and stretched out on the sofas.
‘I’ve had enough of this angst. What’s Elliot Owen like, then?’ Nick asked.
‘If you’d asked me that before I’d have said a hissy- fit-chucking dickhead. But it turned out he was getting it from all sides. He’s alright, I think.’
‘Is he ridiculously handsome?’ Hannah asked.
Edie made a ‘hmm’ face. ‘Yes, I suppose. I mean, yes.’
‘I never understand that question,’ Nick said. ‘No, there’s a reality distortion field around him on screen and in real life he’s got a face like a Halloween cake.’
They all gurgled.
‘Wait, wait. I’ve got it. If you fall in love with him, and have an affair with a famous actor, it’ll be – Nottingham Hill,’ Nick said.
Edie grimaced.
‘God, waxed scrotums though,’ he added.
Hannah sat up and did a quizzical face. ‘Eh?’
‘I’m returning to the earlier conversation. Do you think actors do it?’ Nick said.
‘Shall I ask Elliot, and say it’s for the book?’ Edie said.
‘Nick, you’re disproportionately haunted by this bald ballsack notion,’ Hannah said.
‘I saw someone, in the gym. I don’t want to talk about it,’ Nick said. ‘Legal proceedings are still active.’
‘If I sleep with anyone ever again I’m going to say “I apologise in advance” and hope that legally covers me,’ Edie said, lying back and closing her eyes.
‘I could get pants with “Warning: Graphic Content” on them,’ Nick said.
Edie opened her eyes again.
‘It’s great the three of us being together again, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘Let’s make the most of it. Let’s do things rather than saying yeah great that sounds great and then never getting round to it,’ Hannah said.
‘Agreed,’ Edie said, and Nick nodded. ‘Who can do dinner next? I can cook, but no real space at Dad’s.’
‘I have space but can’t cook. You cook at mine, Edith?’
‘You’re on!’
The mood was broken by a wail from the intruder cat, who’d thought about it and decided he really quite liked battered haddock.
27
No male human had done a double take at the sight of Edie in a while. At least, not in a good way.
Was this the good way? She couldn’t tell.
The man who answered the door at the well-appointed Owen residence the following week was late-twenties, and over six foot tall, built like a rugby player. He had blond hair, light stubble and a sort of brute, laddish handsomeness that some women went wobbly for.
He pushed his hands into the pocket on the front of his hooded top, and grinned, as if he and Edie already shared a secret.
‘Hello. Can I help you? It feels like I could.’
Edie stuttered and smiled.
‘Ah … I’m here to see Elliot?’
‘Oh God, don’t bother with him. We don’t. He’s a tonsured fop. A fruity ponce. A giant woofting ham.’
Edie laughed now.
He stuck his hand out. ‘I’m Fraser. His brother.’
Of course. The other kid in the photo.
‘And you are?’ he said.
‘Edie. Thompson. I’m ghost-writing Elliot’s autobiography.’
‘Why should you have to toil for him, the lazy fucker? He can write his own thoughts down, can’t he? Such as they are.’
Edie giggled.
‘Fraz, let Edie into the house, please,’ called an unseen Elliot beyond.
Fraser stepped back, his fists still bunched in his top.
‘I’m thrashing him at table tennis right now,’ Fraser said. ‘Don’t give him an excuse to duck out before the thrashing is complete.’
Elliot was in the hallway, rubbing his forehead on the neck of his navy T-shirt. He was moist around the edges, curly dark brown hair slick and black with sweat, twiddling a ping-pong bat back and forth in one hand. His eyes and skin glowed with the exertion. Good grief.
Edie gulped and internally swooned a little and thought, Cor, if I could get a stealth photo of you right now I could sell it for much MUCH coin.
It must be odd to be around people who you must know had rapacious monetising vulture-thoughts about you, even if they didn’t act on them.
‘Do you mind if we finish our game?’ Elliot said. ‘I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.’
‘She can play!’ Fraser said.
‘Maybe she doesn’t want to play,’ Elliot said.
‘I’ll have a go,’ Edie said. ‘I don’t mind.’ And it couldn’t hurt in getting to know Elliot Owen better.
She hung her bag over the banister and followed them into the kitchen.
Elliot reached into a giant double-door fridge and handed Edie a bottle of beer.
She paused in surprise at the lack of accompanying words, and Elliot said: ‘Oh sorry – do you drink?’
‘You’ve been in America too long. That question in British is “Are you driving?’’’
‘I like this one!’ Fraser said.
‘Fraser! Behave yourself,’ Elliot snapped, and Edie relaxed, realising she was in the middle of a slightly fractious sibling dynamic. She knew it well. And then some.
‘Are you driving?’ Elliot said, politely.
‘I am not, a beer would be great, thank you.’
She accepted the cold bottle, and the opener, flipped the lid and copied Elliot in palming it into the nearby bin. She was so cool, she totally fitted in at a famous person’s house! Oh wait. She’d also said she’d play sport. That might not be such a breeze.
‘Don’t worry, Fraser’s only back from Guildford for a few days,’ Elliot said.
‘What do you do there?’ Edie asked Fraser.
‘Financial consultancy,’ he said. It was hard to imagine Fraser consulting anyone’s finances. He seemed more like a swimming pool attendant, or kids’ TV presenter.
It was a beautiful garden, beyond the kitchen’s French windows: an undulating expanse of well-tended grass with flower beds around the border and trees planted against high walls, making it entirely private. Imagine growing up in a place like this. A large ping-pong table had been set up in the middle of the lawn.
‘Five minutes, I promise,’ Elliot said, and Edie waved her hand to indicate no worries, plonking herself on a wrought-iron garden chair on the patio and watching them leaping around. Not the worst sight in the world.
What must be Elliot’s phone, on top of what looked like a script, was at Edie’s elbow. It pinged with a notification every three seconds or so, the screen lighting up again and again, like an activated burglar alarm. Sheesh. She made a note to self that if Elliot seemed peremptory and hassled, he might simply be at input overload.
‘Edie, want a game?’ Fraser said. She nodded and stood up. She had worn a black playsuit with a halter neck today, a slightly more fashionable choice than usual. She hoped it stayed put while she was jumping about.
Edie picked up he
r bat, the handle still hot from Elliot’s grasp, and bounced the ball. A gentle knock over to Fraser’s side, and he knocked it back.
‘Start off slow, like your style,’ he said.
‘Fraser!’ Elliot barked, taking Edie’s seat. ‘No smut.’
‘Smut! That wasn’t smut. Sign of a smutty mind.’ Fraser angled a volley back at Edie. ‘Also, smut? Is it 1931? Alright, P.B. Wodehouse.’
‘P.G. Wodehouse!’
‘… Pee Wee Herman.’
Edie giggled. She wasn’t going to be any good at ping-pong but it didn’t matter. Before long she was leaping around and cackling and pretend-bickering the rules with Fraser, pink in the face from the exertion and forgetting to care whether her arse looked like a bin bag full of yoghurt from Elliot’s angle.
‘You are so much better at this than my brother,’ Fraser said. Elliot looked up from checking his phone and rolled his eyes.
‘One last match, Edie?’ Fraser asked.
‘Can I have another match?’ Edie said to Elliot.
‘You’re the boss,’ Elliot said, pleasantly, getting up. ‘Another beer?’
‘Yes, thanks!’ said Edie.
Hang on. Edie was having fun. She hadn’t thought fun was going to be possible for a long time, and certainly not in Nottingham, and absolutely not around the diva thespian.
There was a light tap on her shoulder, and Edie, out of breath and laughing, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear, turned to see Elliot holding a beer out towards her.
He smiled at her, she smiled back, and something snapped into place.
28
If Edie had learned one thing from being around Elliot, it was that awe wasn’t a limitless natural resource. Your body can’t sustain awe. Sooner or later it gets tired of awe and wants a sandwich.
So while, ‘I can’t believe I’m drinking a beer given to me by ELLIOT OWEN’, ‘I can’t believe I am sat on a chair recently sat on by ELLIOT OWEN’, was the repetitive internal monologue for part of the ping-ponging, it simply wasn’t possible to keep being amazed afresh by his famousness. Eventually it became ‘Elliot? Yeah he’s over there, making me lunch. NBD, as the kids say.’
Who's That Girl? Page 15