Who's That Girl?

by Mhairi McFarlane

  ‘Ah, yeah, but that’s obviously not true, I was just saying it to cheer you up.’

  Edie laughed.

  ‘How’s that all going?’ Elliot asked.

  For the umpteenth time, Edie cringed at him knowing. If only she hadn’t checked her phone at that time, on that day.

  ‘It’s still going. I feel like I know something about having to stay quiet while people say awful untrue things about you,’ Edie caught herself. ‘On a much smaller scale, obviously.’

  ‘The feelings are the same. They don’t scale up whether it’s twenty people hating you or two million. I’m more worried about Fraser than I am about the entire readership of a newspaper. Joking aside, Edie. You did nothing to deserve what’s happening to you. You know that?’

  Edie smiled, thinly. ‘I did kiss someone’s husband on their wedding day.’

  ‘Yeah OK, that was ripe.’ Elliot smiled. ‘Wow, he must’ve really wanted to kiss you though, eh?’

  Edie flushed hard red and mumbled Maybe erm perhaps he was intoxicated.

  Elliot didn’t reply, and Edie found the fact he was thinking about her, concentrating solely on her, made her incredibly self-conscious.

  There was a pregnant pause, filled with the muted acoustics from the next-door room: a flushing toilet and low hum of a television.

  Edie swallowed and cast around for something to say.

  ‘So you’ve never met your dad?’

  ‘Yeah I went to the prison, on Friday. It was a spooky experience. He looks like me, played by Catweazle. He did some crocodile tears and then we got down to business. What amount am I going to hand over for him not to do the story?’

  Edie grimaced. Finally in touch your father after all those years, and he tries to extort money from you. You could rationalise he was a desperate wreck, but as Edie knew, there was that shortfall between emotions and logic.

  ‘Did you consider it?’

  ‘I did, yeah.’ Elliot looked pained. ‘Once again, you must think I’m a proper dick.’

  Edie shook her head. ‘No, why?’

  Did he really care this much about what she thought about him? Or was it a Stanislavski-level acting trick, to make you feel like you were important?

  ‘It’s weak, isn’t it? Throwing money at the problem.’

  ‘Not at all. I’d pay for what’s happening to me to go away, if I could.’

  ‘So would I,’ Elliot said, looking directly into her eyes.

  Edie’s heart surged, but she didn’t know if he meant what was happening to her, or to him.

  ‘Anyway, again it was pointed out to me that if I give him money, he’ll only spend it and ask for more. Then when he eventually does the story, it’ll be called hush money and give his case even more weight. What a twat’s circus, eh?’ Elliot shook his head.

  Edie had never been more glad not to be famous. She felt awfully protective of Elliot all of a sudden, in the face of this hatchet job. He acted in things, he made people happy. And these were his just desserts, alongside his chicken BLT on granary? Elliot got another triangle of sandwich and offered one to Edie; she shook her head.

  ‘I’ve never done anything unprofessional like running from a set before. I couldn’t handle Archie screaming blue murder at me, I’d have either punched him or burst into tears, so I legged it … Got to get the difficult arsehole rep at some point, right?’

  Edie swelled with indignation for him.

  ‘Tell Archie about this. All of it. It’s coming out anyway. I hate that he thinks you’re being a self-indulgent ponce when anyone would’ve lost it if they’d had that phone call. You had good reason.’

  Elliot looked at Edie with an intense expression. ‘Thank you. I best call him sooner rather than later if he’s kicking off at blameless freelance writers. Sorry you got any of it.’

  Edie said it was no problem and had yet another wince at Elliot finding out what Archie had insinuated. Elliot’s phone started buzzing, the vibration pushing it round the side table.

  ‘Ah, speak of the devil and he FaceTimes you. Here’s Archie … I’ll call him back when I’ve finished my sandwich.’

  Elliot chewed and watched as his phone lit up and rang through to a voicemail alert.

  ‘I’ll leave you to deal with the Puce, then,’ Edie said, getting up, not wanting to outstay her welcome. ‘I hope things don’t get very grim. I mean, I hope he doesn’t use a swear word or anything.’

  Elliot laughed, brushed crumbs from his hands and got up to open the door. ‘God willing there will be no cursing.’ He beamed at her. ‘You do cheer me up.’

  ‘Ah …’ Edie did an ‘aw gee it’s nothing’ shrug and felt awkward in her sheepish delight.

  ‘Thanks for coming. You’re a really nice girl, you are. C’mere.’

  Elliot leaned over and pulled her into a hug. Edie submitted to it stiffly but as soon as she was in his arms, she didn’t want to let go. Elliot felt so solid. He smelled vaguely of coconut and warm male skin. Nngngngng.

  As they disentangled, he said: ‘Hey. Is Cardinal Woolly a cat?’

  Edie paused, then flinched at recognising the phrase.

  ‘Oh God … no …’ She knew what was coming next. ‘No. Wolsey. He was an advisor to Henry VIII.’

  ‘Ah, right. And there was me thinking you weren’t making much sense that night. And you have a question concerning balls? I do hope that’s about ping-pong.’

  Edie’s face was burning as she shook with laughter.

  ‘Oh, God, SORRY. It was a stupid joke between me and Nick.’

  Elliot frowned slightly.

  ‘Oh, you’re seeing someone?’

  ‘What?’ Edie said. ‘Nick? No? Only a friend.’

  ‘What was the joke?’

  ‘Oh, Elliot … don’t make me explain, please …’ Edie put her palms to her forehead.

  ‘Nup, I have to know now, sorry.’

  Edie closed her eyes and said: ‘Nick is preoccupied with the fashion for extreme male waxing. He wanted to know if actors do it.’

  She opened her eyes. Elliot was squinting.

  ‘You do know I do acting-acting, not porn, right?’

  Edie shrieked. ‘I wish I were dead!’

  ‘Wait. In Gun City, you think it’s “guns” as in my arms?’ Edie squealed some more as Elliot flexed a bicep. ‘Bom chicka wow wow, etc. Manscaping, Edie, seriously. Maybe I’ll do a book with Jan instead, she’d be more respectful of my privacy.’

  ‘I will never drink again,’ Edie said.

  ‘Apart from that gin you just washed down.’ If possible, her cheeks blushed even brighter, from the intimate teasing as much as the shame of asking about the state of his scrotum.

  ‘Edie,’ Elliot said, as the door opened, ‘Thanks for tonight. I mean it.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Edie said. ‘I wish I had an answer for you.’

  ‘It’s enough to listen.’

  Edie nodded.

  As she walked down the corridor, Edie remembered Elliot’s arms around her, she wished the pleasure being hers wasn’t quite so true. Why did he pick her up on the mention of Nick, so fast? Why did he once pick her up, literally? Was that as significant as Archie had said? Why did the ‘women in make-up’ know her name, and her name alone?

  Don’t ask yourself these silly, mad, wildly hopeful questions, Edie Thompson, she cautioned herself. Only a fool breaks their own heart.

  Especially twice.

  These thoughts were enough to make Edie miss the fifty-something, henna-red-haired woman who passed her, shrewd eyes flicking to Edie and away again.

  ‘Excuse me,’ the woman said, pausing, in a sandpaper-rough, Capstan-Full-Strength voice. ‘I’ve heard a rumour that Elliot Owen’s staying here. Have you seen him?’

  Edie hesitated before she said: ‘No.’

  She instinctively knew this wasn’t a common-or-garden autograph hunter. The woman continued down the corridor. Edie swivelled on her heel and before she’d assessed the wisdom of saying the word, blurted: />
  ‘Jan?’

  45

  The woman turned back, momentarily frowning, and then her heavily made-up face broke into an expression of caustic delight. She had drawn round the outer edge of her lips with dark liner, giving her the appearance of an evil clown.

  ‘Well now. And you are?’

  Edie hadn’t thought like a poker player, not a bit. She’d simply thrown her whole hand down on the table. All in.

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  Jan smirked even more and Edie felt the blunt stupidity of what she’d done. Had she passed Jan without comment, and texted Elliot a warning, she might have saved this. As it was, of course, she’d simply confirmed beyond all doubt that Jan had the right place.

  Edie had no next move. She couldn’t walk off, Jan was very nearly level with Elliot’s door. If she knocked, Elliot might think it was Edie, and open it. Did he know what Jan looked like? She guessed probably, but Edie had heard of this woman, and yet had no visual ID until now. It couldn’t be assumed. Perhaps Jan was going to pose as someone else, blather her way into Elliot telling her something …

  ‘What you’re doing is wrong,’ Edie said, tremulous.

  ‘And what’s that?’ Jan said.

  ‘Interfering with someone else’s life in ways you have no right to.’

  Jan snorted.

  ‘I have every right. It’s a free country. Are you going to complain to every journalist who’s written about him? Get your Basildon Bond out and a fountain pen. Why oh why oh why …’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they’re not …’ Edie could say this, right? Oh God, fail to prepare, prepare to fail ‘… Visiting prisons and pulling birth certificates and causing distress to make themselves a few quid.’

  ‘What you’re describing is thorough journalism. The information is there for anyone who wants to report it. Information is a natural resource. I find things out, I don’t make anything up.’

  ‘Don’t you think people have the right to a private life?’

  ‘I’ve not put cameras in his shower stall, sweetheart.’

  ‘You left his gran in tears.’

  ‘Uh, no.’ Jan held up a forefinger. ‘She was A-OK when I left her. Not my fault if other people upset her, after the fact.’

  Edie almost gasped. ‘That’s an incredible mental contortion.’

  ‘You’re the girlfriend, I take it?’

  ‘No,’ Edie said, sharply. ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘Mmm. What about the rumour he’s done a Lord Lucan, can you help me there?’

  ‘No.’

  Before it could become clear that Edie was not going to answer questions but curiously, not going to leave either, Elliot appeared in the corridor behind them.

  ‘Lord Lucan. I’ve murdered a nanny?’ he said, pushing his hands into his jean pockets. ‘Ey up. Made a friend?’ he addressed Edie.

  She wanted to screech RUN! which was somewhat ridiculous.

  ‘I was telling Jan to leave you alone,’ Edie said.

  ‘Lovely new girl you have here, very spirited. What’s her name?’ Jan said to Elliot, sweetly.

  ‘She’s my biographer, and she’s of no interest to you,’ Elliot said.

  ‘But considerable interest to you. What’s she biographing in your hotel room at this hour, exactly?’

  ‘Oh, you are a rascal,’ Elliot said. ‘If you’re not staying at this hotel, I think the manager can throw you out.’

  ‘Ah, but I am,’ Jan said. ‘Checked in just now.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Elliot said.

  ‘I haven’t used my real name, my love. And neither did you. “Donald Twain”, you famous people can’t resist showing off, can you? It always finds you out.’

  Elliot looked startled for the first time and Jan visibly gloated.

  ‘Your ex – ’ Jan glanced at Edie ‘I assume ex? – told InStyle magazine you were always Donald Twain and Dolly Grip in hotels. Research is everything.’ Jan looked to Edie. ‘You’ll find that out, I’m sure.’

  ‘Good on Heather,’ Elliot said, with an expansive feigned smile.

  ‘Shouldn’t you call in at work? They’re searching high and low for you, I heard.’

  ‘You heard wrong.’

  ‘I heard you were hiding at this hotel, and that wasn’t wrong, was it? Don’t you have a place to stay in the city?’

  Elliot sighed, and turned his head to look up at the ceiling lights. ‘What a life.’

  ‘I make a living,’ Jan said.

  ‘I meant mine.’

  ‘Oh sure. Crying into your piles of banknotes every night.’

  Elliot looked at Edie and wore a look that was half disbelief, half laughing, and she returned it, shaking her head.

  ‘Edie, forgive my manners. I should’ve offered to call you a taxi,’ Elliot said. ‘Want to wait in there?’

  He opened the door and gestured at his room and Edie gratefully stepped past him and under his arm.

  ‘Edie!’ Jan cackled. ‘She has a name.’

  Elliot sagged at his mistake.

  ‘May the best book win!’ Jan sing-songed at Edie. ‘I know which I’d rather read. The one with all the colour, or the boring whitewash by a fawning schoolgirl with a crush.’

  Edie whipped round, face hot with embarrassment, ready to fire back. But Elliot slipped his arm round her and bundled her backwards into the room. He let go of Edie and slammed the door.

  He picked up a remote control from the bed, turned the television on, and spoke in a low voice.

  ‘She’s doing that deliberately, to make you react like that. They get more from you in hot blood. Standard paparazzi thing too, they goad you for better pictures.’

  ‘But, none of it’s true,’ Edie said.

  Elliot shot her a look. ‘I know.’

  However, as Elliot rang the cab in a now-strained atmosphere, Edie thought maybe Jan was right. She found things out, but she didn’t make things up.

  46

  ‘I smell bacon.’

  Meg sniffed the air in the scrubby oblong of their back garden. She was wearing a muddy-coloured pinafore dress over jeans, and double-strap silver glitter Birkenstocks. Her hair was even more vertical than usual, bundled into a cantaloupe-sized bundle of whitened dreadlocks that sat directly atop her head.

  ‘The filth?’ Edie said, from her vantage point on her dad’s old sun lounger, biting into slices of soft brown Hovis. ‘Margot next door calls them the Dibble.’

  Alright, she was being gratuitously provocative by referring to Margot as well, but Edie was officially sick and tired of Meg’s reign of terror. The latest encounter with Elliot reminded her not to sweat the sibling small stuff.

  And the thing was, Meg had blown her cover. She’d been sweet and biddable with Hannah and Nick in the pub on Edie’s birthday. It was a reminder of the relationship she and Edie could have. Her friends hadn’t weighed and measured every word out of their mouths around Meg, they’d strode fearlessly into the lion’s enclosure and been themselves. In return, Meg had chatted away amiably, laughed at their jokes, offered things about herself. That night in the pub, Edie had got to see the Meg that other people were given, even people who were tainted by liking Edie.

  And Edie losing her rag with her dad for enabling Meg had focused her: time to stop treading on eggshells from the eggs they weren’t allowed to eat, and see how far that got her.

  ‘IS that bacon?’ Meg demanded.

  ‘Yuh-huh,’ Edie nodded, through a delicious illicit mouthful. She’d got the fat to crisp up in a curly brown frill, and smeared the bread with HP sauce. If she was going to pay for this, she was going to get it right.

  ‘You know that’s not allowed. I find bacon in particular very triggering.’

  ‘Triggering how? You fancy some yourself? There’s a few rashers left.’

  ‘Triggering because I made my decision to go vegan when I heard the pigs being murdered at the abattoir in Spalding o
n that school trip.’

  Veggie at that time, not vegan, but Edie didn’t pick her up on the slight historical amendment. She had bigger pigs to fry.

  ‘Yeah I’ve been thinking about this. Thing is, why do you get to say what goes? Why is your choice more valid than mine? Maybe I find chickpeas triggering, after the bad shits one time.’

  Meg’s face became stormy.

  ‘That’s bullshit. Chickpeas didn’t die so you could have elevenses, for one thing. There’s no moral equivalence, so don’t start.’

  Edie finished her half of sandwich and brushed her hands on her legs.

  ‘Well, here’s the bottom line. I asked Dad if I could have bacon, and he said yes. It’s his house. His house, his rules.’

  ‘He agreed with the no-meat policy, before you came back.’

  ‘I wouldn’t confuse “not being arsed to have the argument with you” for agreeing.’

  ‘You are SO up yourself, aren’t you,’ Meg spat. ‘You are so much better than everyone else, so special, you’re “I’m so smart with my smart comebacks” Edie.’

  ‘That’s right, descend to the reasonless abuse section of the conversation, because you don’t have a comeback,’ Edie said, temper rising sharply.

  ‘I was here before you!’ Meg near-shouted.

  ‘Yes, here, not paying rent and bumming fags off Dad,’ Edie said. She’d unplugged the grenade and was preparing to lob it. This particular row had been on the way, ever since she returned. ‘I give Dad money. That, right there, is why this bacon sandwich,’ she picked up the offending remaining oblong of bread, ‘has more right to be here than you do.’

  ‘I don’t have any money!’

  ‘Because you don’t have a job. It’s not rocket surgery.’

  ‘I was made redundant!’

  ‘When, in 1981?’

  ‘You are a horrible bitch! I can’t wait until you sod off back to London and leave us in peace, we’re much happier without you!’ Meg screamed.

  Edie responded by taking a large bite out of her sandwich and doing a thumbs up. Meg stormed off back into the house. It wasn’t ideal, but Edie had to test the theory that only by standing up to Meg would she vanquish her in this never- ending battle.