Who's That Girl?

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Who's That Girl? Page 32

by Mhairi McFarlane


  ‘The thing is, I’m incredibly grateful for the second chance,’ Edie said. ‘But I’m going to stay in Nottingham. I’ve liked being home. Well, not necessarily living on top of my dad and sister, but the city. I have my best friends there.’

  Richard nodded.

  ‘This doesn’t change anything. My offer was going to be that you could work remotely. Copywriting can be done anywhere. When there’s a client meeting, come down. We meet them off site, no need to be in the office.’

  ‘… Are you serious?’

  ‘Yes. I know you’re diligent. Apart from when you’re playing footsie with idiots like Jack Marshall. Or giving hell to preening actors in public. Plus you won’t badger me for a pay rise for a while, you’ll be so broken with gratitude and noticing how much further your money goes.’

  Edie laughed, slightly incredulously.

  ‘Wow. Thank you so much, Richard. This day’s going dramatically better than expected.’

  She not only stayed on the book, she could work for Ad Hoc from Nottingham? Guaranteed income. Work she enjoyed. Today, love won.

  As Richard finished his pint, he pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket.

  ‘I’ve waited until now to show you this as I don’t want you to think it influenced my decision. I’d already let Charlotte and Louis go and decided to make you an offer when I got this. You can do whatever you like with it. As far as I’m concerned, I already thought he was an arch tosser. I’ll be in touch when you’ve delivered the book to talk about how things work. OK?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks, Richard.’

  ‘Take care,’ Richard said, and put a hand on her shoulder.

  After he’d left, Edie unfolded the paper and read. It was a print out of an email.

  From: Martha Hughes

  This is a funny one, sorry for the unsolicited approach. I’m writing to you about Edie Thompson. I read the story in the Mail about how she was put on leave from your agency after being ‘caught’ with your employee Jack Marshall on his wedding day. I wasn’t clear if she’d been sacked, as well as him? This is why I’m getting in touch, because if she is going to be sacked, I feel I have to say something. The story gave me déjà vu. I worked with Jack four years ago at another creative agency. He was in a long-distance relationship with someone else then, but I had no idea. He somehow managed to never mention it over the course of a lot of lunches on expenses and drinks after work. I was in an unhappy relationship. We got very close – not physical – and he was a shoulder to cry on for me during a difficult time. Eventually he mentioned the girlfriend, Stephanie, in Leeds but by then I was in too deep to keep my distance. The girlfriend took a half-day one Friday, and turned up earlier to meet him than expected. She caught Jack & I out for a drink, just the two of us. A lot of screaming ensued, and I ended up feeling the villain of the piece. When it got round the office, everyone assumed we were having an affair. It contributed to my decision to leave about three months down the line. Even though I hadn’t done anything, except perhaps not step back far enough when I should have. Reading about the wedding, I thought: he’s done it again. The utter twat (pardon me) has led one woman on, while seeing another. It’s his ‘thing’. I don’t know this Edie and for all I know she’s been right round the office, and this testimony is neither here nor there. But I thought you should know.

  When Edie finished reading, her eyes were shiny with emotion. She’d spent so long thinking she was to blame for what happened with Jack, and there were plenty of people willing to agree with her.

  She’d been too weak, made too many mistakes and felt too much self-loathing, to truly believe it was on him. In her darkest moments, she even thought she’d unwittingly seduced Jack, she’d messed with his equilibrium, and caused it all.

  Now here was Martha, waving a wand like a Fairy Godmother. She had a power Edie didn’t know anyone possessed. She could truly make her believe this wasn’t her fault. He pursued you. He pushed this. This is what he does. You’re not a terrible person.

  Stupidly, it had never ever occurred to Edie that Jack had done it before. The whole trick was based on believing they had a unique special connection. But of course they didn’t, of course this was his MO.

  Thinking about it, Edie thought Jack might’ve mentioned a Martha. She was a dear friend who was lost to him as she stayed with a bad, insensitive guy and Jack had tried to help her but she wouldn’t leave him and why do great women settle for such useless guys, Edie? It’s such a shame, he’d said to her once, during a long rainy day’s chatter. She’d thought Cor, you’re so caring.

  Edie felt as if a great weight was off her shoulders, she was elated, even giddy. And she felt strong enough for vengeance.

  Not quite knowing why, Edie checked Ian Connor’s profile again on Twitter. He’d shared the links to the Mirror and Mail stories with the caption: ‘A slut never changes its spots.’

  But, wait. The most recent tweet was moaning about the wait on his lunch. And it was tagged with the location. Ian Connor, if social media was to be believed, was sat in a pub about ten minutes’ drive away, right now.

  Seriously @TheShipTavern how hard can it be to heat through a lasagne? Have you gone to Italy for it lol. #wearewaiting

  Her heart started thumping. A road forked in front of Edie. Put coat on, head back to train, avoid conflict, and almost certainly never find out who Ian Connor was. The infinitely easier option.

  Or, go face to face with her harshest and most senseless critic of all. She thought of what Richard said about behaving like an arse. This wasn’t arsery, though. This was the only way she’d ever have peace. It was her one chance of closure.

  It was time to find out what a keyboard warrior did when you looked him in the eye and invited him to say that to your face.

  62

  Edie stepped out of the Hackney and wondered if this was quite mad. She breathed deeply once, twice, put her head down and pushed her way into The Ship. She glanced in terror at every anonymous male, momentarily taking any look in return as proof they were The One.

  Then they went back to their conversations and she realised that most men met your gaze if you prowled around, goggling at them. Nevertheless, she had to keep searching for tell-tale reactions – Ian Connor knew what she looked like: he’d shared those newspaper stories.

  As Edie rounded the bar, she almost yelped in surprise. At a table, sat Louis, Charlotte and Lucie Maguire, the fourth chair – Ian’s chair, presumably? – empty.

  Louis saw her first and, momentarily, it was a toss-up as to who was more shocked.

  ‘Edie, what are you doing here?!’ Louis said, in a strained impersonation of his usual sing-songy, sarcastic voice.

  Edie forced herself to recover, even though she could hear her heartbeat in her eardrums.

  ‘I’m looking for Ian Connor?’

  Charlotte, Louis and Lucie stared dumbly at Edie, as if she was an apparition risen from a grave and pointing a bony finger.

  ‘Shit Terminator impression,’ said one of the suits from the next table. ‘It’s John Connor.’

  They ignored the interruption.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Louis said, eventually, trying to sling his arm over the back of his chair, casually. He looked as if he’d been caught with someone’s husband. Edie knew how that felt.

  ‘According to Twitter, “Ian Connor” is waiting here for food. You must know Ian Connor because he knows things about me that no one else does. Is he with you?’

  ‘No? I’ve never heard of him!’ Louis said, with feeling. There was a relief to it that made Edie think it was the truth.

  Charlotte, in Breton top, hair in a neat bun, stared at Edie with revulsion.

  ‘We don’t know who you’re talking about.’

  Hmm, less confident. If Jack had indeed asked Charlotte about the identity of Ian Connor, she had some idea of what Edie was talking about.

  Behind them, a barmaid juggling plates was angling to get past Edie.

  ‘Sorry for
your wait. I’ve got meatballs, the Thai curry and a lasagne?’ she said.

  Edie watched, saucer-eyed, as Louis put his hand up to claim the meatballs, Charlotte had a plate of slop the colour of an avocado bathroom suite put in front of her, and Lucie accepted the lasagne.

  ‘Ian Connor ordered the lasagne too,’ Edie said.

  All eyes moved to the incriminating steaming china dish in front of Lucie, a boat of lava-bubbling browned cheese.

  Edie looked at the seat next to Lucie. There was no coat, bag, glass or place setting. There was no one with them.

  ‘You’re Ian Connor?’ she said to Lucie.

  Lucie was rigid and pale. Edie didn’t usually despise appearances, but she’d make an exception in Lucie’s case. She was as unappealing physically as she was spiritually: beady ostrich eyes and thin lips under her blonded Toni & Guy salon hair.

  ‘You have a sock-puppet Twitter account, that was set up to have a go at me? In the name of Ian Connor?’

  Lucie cleared her throat. ‘It’s not for you. It’s a private account. What’s it to do with you?’

  ‘When someone’s giving me abuse online, it’s my business. And it’s not private; you haven’t locked it, or I wouldn’t be here.’

  As her anger rose, Edie felt her fear disappear, evaporate like water on a brisk boil. These people only had the power you gave them. In person, they were small. They were scared.

  ‘As Ian Connor, you posted the comment on that Facebook page, saying that my mother killed herself out of the shame of having given birth to me.’

  Now Louis and Charlotte were staring at Lucie, who had turned as red as the setting sun.

  ‘My mum committed suicide when I was nine. I don’t talk about it, no one I worked with knew. It was a secret. You took that information from her’ – she looked to Charlotte, who like hell hadn’t known that Lucie was Ian – ‘and you used it to make a joke online?’

  The suits at the next table had downed their cutlery to watch the scene, slack-mouthed.

  ‘I don’t remember everything that was on there,’ Lucie said. ‘You’ve got a nerve, coming in here, after what you did to Char—’

  ‘No,’ Edie said, cutting across her.‘Don’t hide behind what happened between us. You mocked someone for losing their mother, in the most horrendous way. Next time you think you’re in the moral majority, Lucie, judging the rest of us, remember you’re among the very worst. You’re a coward and a bully. You have children, don’t you? I was nine when I lost my mum, my sister was five. How would you feel if you died and someone took the piss out of your kids for it?’

  She paused.

  ‘She was called Isla, by the way. That was my mum’s name. She was thirty-six, the same age as I am now. She was on Citalopram and Amitryptyline. She jumped off a bridge and drowned. When they dredged her body, it had got tangled up in a lock. My dad had to identify her by her wedding rings. Does it still seem as funny to you? Tell me when the punchline arrives.’

  ‘You got off with her husband!’ Lucie shrieked. ‘Don’t play the victim!’

  ‘Yes, I kissed her husband,’ Edie said, ‘for about three seconds, when he all but forced himself on me. It doesn’t make me non-human, does it? Quite the opposite.’

  ‘You never said sorry,’ Lucie said, but she was playing with her napkin now, lips pursed, face downcast. She’d lost and she knew it. What she’d done was abhorrent; her only protection had been her anonymity.

  ‘Yes I did. I said sorry to Charlotte. She deserved my apology, I didn’t owe you anything.’

  There was a smattering of admiring applause from the next table.

  Edie drew breath. She was on a roll. She was powerful, unassailable and had completely lain waste to their rapidly cooling lunch. She had a moment of divine inspiration. She removed the print-out from her pocket and tore away the top third, keeping Martha’s name and email address for herself.

  ‘Also, Charlotte. What happened on your wedding day was vile. It still didn’t give you the right to do what you did to me, afterwards. You didn’t treat Jack the same way – why not? Did you honestly think it was my idea, is that what he told you? You might be interested in this. It was emailed to Richard.’

  She put the piece of paper down in front of her.

  ‘Ta-ta, everyone. Enjoy your food.’

  Edie turned and strode out of the pub.

  ‘Edie! Edie?’

  In the street outside, Louis chased her down. It was curious that he’d try, in front of Lucie and Charlotte. Maybe he had a very late-dawning attack of conscience. Maybe Lucie was not going to be able to throw her weight around for a while. Maybe he was sodded if he was going to lose the ‘famous actor’s girl’ as a friend.

  ‘Edie!’

  He seemed surprised she’d stopped, and for a moment had no follow-up.

  ‘I’m so sorry, darling. Honestly I am.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For not telling them to stop. It was like school, you know. If you didn’t join in, you were going to get it too.’

  ‘Yeah, terrifying,’ Edie said. ‘Forcing you to have lunch with them. Cramming meatballs down you. Monsters. Oh, and making you put that petition round. At gunpoint, I guess?’

  ‘Seriously, babe! If I hadn’t gone along with that stupid petition, my life would not have been worth living. Charlie knew we were friends and made me swear an oath. I didn’t even know if you were coming back. It was the easy way out.’

  ‘It was coercion? Pure survival techniques, and nothing else?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘In that case, how did they get the Facebook page’s picture of me? It was the one of us together at the wedding, you took it? You’d been cropped out.’

  ‘Uh …’ Louis looked perplexed. ‘The wedding …? That was on my Instagram. It was public. They must’ve scraped it.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. You deleted that picture on the night of the wedding. I know, I checked. As soon as the Get Edie campaign started, you put distance between us. Yet you carried on acting like you were my friend, to get the gossip, to be on everyone’s side and no one’s side. In some ways you’re worse than Lucie.’

  Louis looked like he was regretting following her out now.

  ‘… And when they set up a nasty page to take me down, you said Oh hey yeah I’ve got a photo of her.’

  Louis didn’t deny it.

  Edie shouldered her bag. ‘You know, I pity you, Louis. At least when I don’t like myself, I still know who I am. You have a face for every occasion. When you’re on your own, you must disappear. Who are you, when no one’s looking?’

  Edie left Louis stood there, trying to find an answer that’d get him off the hook, and walked away.

  All these wasted years spent trying to get inconsequential people to like her. She never asked herself why she should like them.

  63

  Elliot had left Edie for another woman. According to the latest headlines, the love-cheat rat rotter had moved on to rumping his co-star, Greta Alan, and just like that, the press seemed to suffer collective and convenient memory loss about the woman he was supposedly sleeping with last week.

  Pictures from Gun City had surfaced that appeared to prove the ‘budding romance’: they weren’t filming (rehearsing, surely? Greta was in the Uggs, not the Louboutins) and had been ‘snapped in a clinch’. Greta’s arms were round Elliot, under his detective’s leather jacket, and she was gazing up adoringly into his eyes.

  Another anonymous on-set source was ready to confirm the relationship, in the same febrile tones they’d used to describe the fling with Edie. Apparently everyone noticed their incredible chemistry from day one and Elliot has been showing the American beauty the sights in his home city (nudge nudge) and they didn’t need much encouragement to dive into their love scenes together (wink wink).

  Edie was nowhere to be found in these stories about Greta, bar one passing reference to ‘rumoured involvement with his biographer, which reps for Owen denied’. She could see why – i
t was quite hard to explain how this stud had a tempestuous affair with Edie if he’d actually been wooing Greta. She sensed the media was much happier pairing Elliot with another famous person, especially when there was winsome imagery to go with the tale, and thus Edie was yesterday’s chopped liver.

  Edie knew she should feel relieved that her spell as Elliot’s imaginary paramour was over, and she did. She also felt something else quite strongly too. But Elliot couldn’t stand Greta, right? And if it had all been invention with Edie, this was more of the same?

  She read and re-read the quotes and extrapolated the facts. ‘Incredible chemistry’ – actors. ‘Showing her the sights’ – actors acting in a show set in the city Elliot was from. ‘Didn’t need much encouragement’ – actors. With the sum of the corroboration to this story, you could in fact only caption Elliot and Greta’s ‘clinch’ as Two People Depicted Doing Job.

  Nevertheless, Edie went back and forth over everything Elliot had said to her about Greta. He’d been privately scathing: but was he overcompensating? Why were they positioned like that, if not on camera? Edie had played Orla, too. Only she didn’t get to act the part where they smushed faces and groins outside a lift. She twinged and ached, slightly, at the thought of it happening, even in make believe.

  How did Edie feel about Elliot now? Friend, foe, ‘other’? Unfortunately, she was staring mournfully at the tabloid fictions that did strange things to her stomach, when the man himself called her. Edie banged her laptop shut and took a second to compose herself, standing up from her desk to take the call, as if that was more businesslike.

  ‘Hi, Edie. It’s me.’ Elliot’s tone was resigned, no longer upbeat, none of the old bounce. ‘How are you?’

 

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