‘It makes me wonder what my one-line summary would be though,’ Edie said, slightly glumly.
‘Foul mouth, great tits,’ Nick said. ‘Happy to help.’
As they flipped channels, they passed an old episode of Blood & Gold. Prince Wulfroarer, who looked exactly like this other guy Edie knew, moving in for a kiss with his servant wench beloved, Malleflead. Edie was suddenly rapt, watching their lips meet on the battlefield and swirling with conflicting feelings: jealousy, desire, and oddly, pride. There was someone she’d met, being someone else, on telly. Nice one, Elliot.
‘He’ll pay for that, in blood or gold,’ Nick said.
‘It was gold, then blood,’ Edie said. ‘Never trust a word out of Count Bragstard’s mouth.’
‘Oh ta, spoiler queen!’ Hannah said. ‘I was going to do a Blood & Gold marathon once I’d finished Breaking Bad.’
‘Statute of limitations,’ Nick said. ‘Wulfroarer got killed off ages ago. Hang on, and if he hadn’t been killed off, how would Elliot Owen be working here? Are you going to shout SPOILER KING at him if you see him in the street?’
Hannah rolled her eyes.
‘You still getting on with him, Edith? It’s nice to hear he’s nice,’ Hannah said. ‘Oh, you know the secret you wouldn’t tell us? He isn’t gay, is he?’
‘No! I asked him if he was. It went badly, and we established he wasn’t.’
Nick gurgled with laughter.
‘Loving imagining how you subtly teased it out of him. Did you ask if he was the kind of man who “finds Judy Garland fabulous”?’
‘Shuttup!’ Edie moaned. ‘Last time I saw him, he got me to rehearse a sexy scene with him and I went full Downton Abbey dowager aunt. Mortifying.’
Hannah ate a grape and made a thoughtful face.
‘Could those two things not be connected?’
‘What?’
‘You thinking he was gay, and him being very keen to prove his hetero-ness not long after.’
Oh. Actually, Edie had never considered that might’ve been the trigger. She remembered Elliot saying something about ‘wounded masculine pride at not coming across the way he thought he was’. Perhaps that was it. She thought it was more likely than him suddenly discovering he had an Edie peccadillo.
‘He was flirting with you?’ Hannah said.
‘Yeah, a bit. Purely to wind me up.’
‘Why couldn’t he flirt because he fancies you?’
‘Because he’s Elliot Owen! And I’m me.’
‘You’re very attractive.’
‘I concur,’ Nick said.
‘That’s very nice of you both, but he dates stratospherically gorgeous famous people.’
Hannah raised an eyebrow. ‘And flirts with you.’
A pause, where Edie couldn’t find an answer.
‘In sort of related news, I’ve started seeing my fling from that training course. You know, the person I slept with, when I ended it with Pete?’ Hannah said.
‘Wow,’ Edie said. ‘That’s great. Where does he live?’
‘She lives in Yorkshire. Leeds.’
A pause where Edie and Nick looked at each other.
‘Sorry, who …?’
‘She is a she. I’m seeing a woman,’ Hannah said.
A hush fell briefly, broken by Nick saying: ‘This is the hottest thing to ever happen.’
Hannah threw a grape at him and started laughing while Edie said: ‘Hannah, this is amazing news!’
‘I’d been holding off telling you because I didn’t know if the fling was a thing. I’d never been attracted to a woman before and I didn’t know if it was a one-off. You know, too much pink wine girl gayness. And I suppose I still don’t know if it’s a one-off because it’s only Chloe I like, in that way.’
Pause. ‘Also Pete’s parents have been real shits about the split and I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of saying “Our poor son ditched by the midlife lesbian”.’
‘My life sucks even more than I thought,’ Nick said. ‘Girl- on-girl action, flirting with famous actors. Hey, that’s a thought –’ he turned to Edie. ‘Reckon you could get me an interview with Elliot, on the show?’
‘Er. I’ll ask. I get the impression his publicity schedule is locked down at very high levels.’
‘Cheers. It would be like Viagra for the listening figures.’
Edie recalled Archie saying Edie could get Elliot to do things no one else could, that theirs was a special relationship. She had to shake this sort of thinking off, it was merely the ravings of a man-mental.
‘Edith’s moving back to Nottingham. I’m seeing a woman. We’re having a truly surprising news day,’ Hannah said. ‘What next? Maybe you’ll see the light and renew your vows with Alice, Nick?’
Nick stood up to go to the loo.
‘I would rather lick the perineum of Piers Morgan.’
53
Edie wanted to ask Elliot what the deal was with Fraser, but every time she drafted an inquiry, she worried it looked prurient. If Elliot wanted to discuss it with her, he surely would. Then an aimless Saturday afternoon was unexpectedly punctuated by a text from the irrepressible younger Owen brother himself.
Edie! Still coming tonight, did Elliot remind you? We’re going Boilermaker, I’ve put you on our guest list, it’s in my name. PS I’m on 3% battery here so pardon my whoops if this conversation stops very suddenly. Fraz x
Thank you! What time? Sorry for using up some of the 3%. Ex
Silence. She could text Elliot, of course. Should she? She wasn’t sure he knew she was going. Might be useful pretext to warn him, so she didn’t have to see his look of surprise. After all, he hadn’t mentioned it.
Hi Elliot. Just wondered if there was a start time tonight? Fraser was in the middle of giving me the plans when his phone battery died. Cheers. Ex PS presume you’ve not had The Talk yet
Her phone rang. Elliot. She had a ripple of discomfort that he’d reacted so fast. That was either a great sign, or not a great sign.
‘Edie, hi! It’s me. Er. You’re coming tonight?’
His tone revealed: Not A Great Sign.
‘Yes. Fraser invited me. Sorry, I thought you knew?’
Or at least I hoped you’d pretend you knew.
‘No, Fraser didn’t mention it.’ Elliot hesitated. ‘We’ve not had the chat yet, no. He’s here with his wolf pack and I can’t get a moment alone with him so far.’
‘Oh.’
‘He’s got your number?’ Elliot sounded edgy.
‘We swapped numbers when we met, he said he wanted me to come to this.’
‘Ah! OK. Sure.’
Ouch. Edie could tell Elliot didn’t like this. She could hear his brain ticking over with the ticking off he was going to give Fraser. It’d be nice if you’d checked with me … we have to work together, I’d rather not feel reminded of work when I’m out …
‘Unless I’m intruding …’ Edie could hardly suddenly find she was busy, when she’d been midway through organising her attendance with Fraser.
‘Not at all. You’re completely welcome. It’d be great to see you.’
Arrrgh. Edie knew this was the polite awkwardness of Elliot now having to pretend he was fine with it and Edie trying to give him an out and Elliot not taking it because courtesy dictated he didn’t, however much he wanted to.
‘If you’re sure?’
‘Yes of course. Uhm, eight o’clock or so start?’
‘Great.’
The trap shut and they were locked in it together. Edie had committed herself to going when she now wanted to pull out, and Elliot had committed himself to pretending he wanted her to go, when he was obviously going to call Fraser as soon as his phone was working again, and blast him about not sticking random copywriters on his guest lists.
Edie sat herself in front of her bedroom mirror and thought: You have to try to look nice tonight. No more avoiding looking at yourself, and dressing to disappear, ever since those people on the internet called you a tar
t. She couldn’t go out on the tiles with the Owens and feel like she’d attract ‘who invited Whistler’s Mother’ curiosity.
She had a shower, dried her hair and pushed it back from her face with a towelling headband, spending proper care and attention over her make-up. Edie told herself she wasn’t larding it on, she was turning into a bewitching creature made of eyes and cheekbones.
Very attractive, that’s what your best friends thought, said the angel on her shoulder. Hah, yeah – your best friends! Strangers who owe you nothing say you’re waaay too heavy on the blusher and top heavy, said the devil.
Unfortunately, her hair had heard she needed it to play ball tonight, and decided to look lank, stringy and generally what her father called ‘peely wally’.
In desperation, Edie ran some mousse through it, made two plaits and Kirby-gripped them to the crown of her head. She feared the look was slightly ‘Princess Leia’s let herself go’ but there was no time left to get a proper blow-dry.
She chose a dress she’d been saving for a special day that had never arrived. A black patterned halter neck, it pulled tight under her bust and flowed over her hips, and made Edie feel neat of figure. It had that pleasing effect of putting skin on show without making her feel uncomfortably exposed.
God, she needed some Dutch courage though. Her pink champagne from her birthday was in the fridge downstairs. Edie popped it and sat at the breakfast bar, sipping it warily.
‘Wowee, someone looks all dressed up with somewhere to go!’ her dad came in. ‘What a beautiful daughter I have.’
‘Dad,’ Edie said, in that obligatory embarrassed adolescent voice. ‘But. Thanks.’
‘What’s the occasion?’
Edie flinched slightly that her extra effort was so obvious, then considered this was pathetic when she had gone to extra effort. As if her dad saying, ‘Oh are you off to do some gardening?’ was the desired image.
‘I’m going for a drink with Elliot Owen and his brother.’
‘Goodness, high society. Have fun. Tell them I am open to any calls asking for my daughter’s hand in marriage.’
Edie winced and mumbled it was hardly likely. Was it the right time to tell her dad about moving back to the city? She thought not: she hadn’t worked out the details and wanted to have a few more answers.
Meg loafed in and did a double take at Edie’s appearance.
‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m going out,’ Edie said.
‘On the game?’
54
It was easy to see how being famous could bend your ego out of shape and blow it up big, especially if your ego was of healthy size and made of very inflatable materials to start with.
This bar was usually one with a queue, but there was no queue if you were Elliot Owen. The simple practicalities of him not being able to inhabit confined spaces with members of the public meant first-class lounge treatment all the way.
The concept of this bar was a speakeasy, concealed behind a boiler showroom’s utilitarian frontage. There were sample models nailed to the walls in the brightly lit, spartan reception, where people milled and kicked their heels until there was space free for a table in the hidden bar beyond.
Edie gave Fraser’s name to the bored doorman behind the desk. He picked up a walkie-talkie and repeated her name into it. A crackle of static, a response and he nodded: ‘Go on.’
Edie found herself in what appeared to be a store cupboard. What the …? She worked out the door was a false wall, with a broom hung on it. Edie pushed on the dummy sink and she was into the dark and noisy main room, with a strong smell of incense. It was fair to say that Nottingham had changed a bit since Edie was drinking Snakey Bs in its more cobwebby historic pubs.
It was table service only, dotted with pot plants, and felt slightly like someone had hit the lights and installed a disco in a garden centre. She was pointed to Elliot’s group. They had two large tables to the right of the bar that ran the length of the far wall, and what seemed to be an exclusion zone of two other empty tables in front that weren’t in use but acted as a barrier from the civilians.
The crowd was intimidating. The boys were tall, well-dressed, active-looking types: private school Slytherins. The sort Edie would normally run a mile from. She took a moment to spot Elliot. He was seated in the darkest corner, a black sweater and his black hair rendering him a shadow, with people protectively and possessively clustered around him.
And naturally, they were thronged by beautiful women. They were punky, stylish and arty looking: shattered ombre bobs and backcombed side plaits, leather skirts and backless dresses. One Spanish-looking girl was in a crop top and jeans, exposing an incredible sculpted midriff. It reminded Edie that some figures were the rollover ball in the genetic lottery and no amount of hours in the gym were ever giving you a body moulded from rubber like that.
Yep. Thoroughly intimidating. Edie approached the table doing an apologetic-for-existing face and feeling about as sexy as a tortoise in a pitta bread. She deliberately avoided meeting Elliot’s eyes, and homed in on Fraser instead: the one who’d genuinely wanted her here.
As soon as Fraser spotted her, he broke from the group. He made a fuss of finding her a seat opposite him, pushing a menu into her hands and waving a waiter over. That was that: she was being looked after.
Edie went from, ‘Oh God, why the hell am I here’ to ‘nicely buzzed, laughing and possibly flirting back’ in fifteen minutes flat, with the help of a Negroni with a huge ball of ice in it, as recommended by her attentive companion. Yep, the Owen boys had nice manners.
Though she wasn’t so naïve to not realise she might be getting special service, it was a surprise: Edie had assumed garrulous Fraser’s previous flirting was simply because she was available to be flirted with. In the company of gorgeous women ten years her junior, she didn’t expect to rate much more than a friendly hello.
Nevertheless, Fraser was taking Instagrams of the glow-in-the-dark cocktails and showering her with his undivided attention.
‘Try mine!’ He looked intently and somewhat lasciviously at Edie as she nipped the straw between her teeth and sucked. When Fraser didn’t know she was looking, she saw his gaze sweep along her collarbones and down her bare arms. It had been a while since Edie had felt like someone fancied her, and it was welcome. Their senses of humour matched well enough to make them good chemistry for an evening out. She sensed Fraser wasn’t exactly deep but that was OK, not everyone had to be.
After one particularly raucous bout of laughter, she glanced over at Elliot. He was staring at them with consternation that he quickly tried to conceal. Edie wanted to say to him: Relax, I’m not going to drop you in it and say anything when inebriated. Though his discomfort could also be because she’d ducked the red rope. She’d infiltrated a social occasion, without checking with him first. Not cool.
Elliot put a palm up in greeting, having been caught looking vaguely aghast, and Edie waved back. Elliot waved her over. There was a seat temporarily vacated in front of him. As she sat down he said:
‘Is my brother being lewd?’
‘Lewd,’ she laughed. ‘No. Or ribald. Despite the wenches and vittles.’
Elliot grinned.
‘Got to have vittles. What do you think to the bar?’
‘Fun,’ Edie said.
‘The city’s changed a bit since our youth, eh?’
‘Yes, I was just thinking that! Well, my youth more than yours. You youthful sod.’
Elliot said: ‘I’m in no way being cheesy but aren’t you around my age? I thought you were thirty, max.’
‘Thirty-six,’ Edie said, her vanity a little sorry to have to disabuse him. She wasn’t going to go the Margot route though. Lying was a bad scene.
She thought he might do a poorly concealed ‘over the hill’ reel back but he said: ‘Good genes.’ Then she saw that look cross his face. Oh God, I said good genes and her mum killed herself at that age.
‘Cheers, that’s very good to he
ar!’ she said, aiming for enough enthusiasm that he’d realise that it wasn’t a faux pas.
Edie looked around and said, ‘Whose chair have I stolen? Do they want it back?’
‘Don’t move,’ Elliot stage-hissed, a hand on her arm, ‘These are Fraser’s friends. I like having some adult company.’
Edie beamed. That compliment landed.
They went on a Nottingham history tour, in conversation: the sweaty ceiling that dripped on the audience at gigs in Rock City, first illicit pints in the Old Angel, meeting friends at the Left Lion, buying Gothy teenage nonsense in Ice Nine.
Edie realised that she and the opinionated, articulate and sensitive Elliot would’ve been friends at school, if fate had thrown them together.
And a miraculous thing occurred, while they were friendly-arguing over the precise location of a long-gone bar in the Lace Market. She realised Elliot had become Elliot her friend, first, and Elliot the famous person, second. She saw what Fraser meant. The celebrity had become someone else, an assumed identity, not the man she knew.
‘This music,’ Elliot said, at one point, after INXS’s ‘Never Tear Us Apart’ segued into the Simple Minds one from the John Hughes film, ‘is exactly judged to make thirty-ish people feel nostalgic isn’t it?’
‘Saudade,’ Edie said.
‘What?’ Elliot half-shouted over the din, not unreasonably.
‘A Portuguese word that has no direct translation, it means “a profound longing for something or someone that is absent and might never return”. Sort of turbo-charged, ultra-poignant nostalgia. “The love that remains after someone is gone.”’
‘Wow. And how do you say it?’
‘Saw-Dadi.’
Elliot repeated it. ‘I like that a lot.’
His eyes glittered in the darkness of the bar. Edie had an overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss him on that incredible mouth. She couldn’t hide from it or dodge it any longer; yes, she had the crush that everyone had. And not only that, she had it pretty bad. If feelings for Elliot helped switch her back on after the Jack debacle though, was it a problem? After all, nothing was going to come of it.
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