Who's That Girl?

by Mhairi McFarlane

  ‘… What album is this?’

  ‘Er,’ Elliot paused, pupils dark. ‘Pablo Honey, isn’t it? Why?’

  ‘I thought maybe you’d bought The Best of Radiohead and this encounter,’ she gestured between them, ‘… would have to be cancelled.’

  ‘Muso snob,’ Elliot said, getting it, playing along. ‘You wouldn’t cancel it, you’re well into it. Even if you found out my favourite song to have sex to was ‘Two Princes’ by the Spin Doctors, you’d still be saying Give it to me, Elliot.’

  Edie laughed and didn’t quite cope with the word ‘sex’ in proximity to the actual having of it and blushed scarlet.

  Elliot laughed at her and kissed her harder and mumbled: ‘I like you far too much. I like you so bloody much.’

  They were on the stairs, Edie enjoying the weight of Elliot pressing down against her, while hoping they would make it to the bedroom, because she was far too mid-thirties for stair sex.

  ‘Is this hugely disrespectful, on the day of a funeral?’ Elliot said, in a very brief pause for breath.

  ‘It’s what Margot would’ve wanted,’ Edie said.

  In the moment where the music soared and Edie was looking up at the Owen residence hallway lampshade as Elliot kissed her neck, she thought she would live every last minute of her life – the good and the bad – for a second time, because it would bring her here again.

  69

  Edie’s childhood bedroom had a plastic starlight canopy, Elliot’s had a skylight through which you could see real stars.

  They lay in each other’s arms and misidentified the Plough, Sirius and Orion’s Belt.

  Edie liked the way that every time they pointed out a different part of the constellation above, they adjusted the position of their bodies against each other. The amateur astrology was something of an excuse.

  ‘So now we’ve done it, I could do a kiss and tell?’ Edie said.

  ‘Yeah, knock yourself out,’ Elliot said, rearranging the pillows behind their heads. ‘You might want to wait to see if I properly break America, it’d be worth more after that. Are you thinking one of those Sunday Sport, “he went on as long as a docker’s tea break”, or Sun “incredible stud took me to O Town” things?’

  ‘I dunno. Where do I stand legally if I’m making it up?’

  Elliot burst out laughing. ‘You weren’t complaining, from what I could tell.’

  Edie grinned and flushed.

  ‘Could we have done this weeks ago?’ she said, thinking about how little time she had left with Elliot. Don’t think about it … ‘I was so hoping for something to happen, that night in the bar.’

  ‘That night when you were flirting with my brother, kept trying to swap chairs to get away from me and then shouted you hated me? Why didn’t I take those heavy hints?’

  Edie laughed.

  ‘You know, “I don’t give two shits about you, Elliot.” I heard a subtext there that wasn’t I’m falling like a ton of bricks for you too.’

  Edie winced and laughed and inhaled the warmth of him next to her and couldn’t quite believe it. They were together.

  ‘I thought you could see it in my eyes. Like Garratt and Orla.’

  ‘Trust me, you’re not easy to read.’

  Edie remembered Louis saying something similar at the wedding, a lifetime ago.

  ‘Also I’ve a suspicion Archie made all that shit up.’

  ‘Haha. Point of order, I never flirted with Fraser, as such. Not my type,’ Edie said.

  ‘You never denied liking him, that whole fight. Afterwards, I thought you must be into him. I nearly said, when we were in the street, I’m absolutely crazy about you and the thought of you with my brother is the level end, but we had an audience. I draw the line at getting knocked back when someone’s going to turn it into a Vine.’

  ‘But you’re you. Why didn’t you say, long before that, “Bitch, I’m Elliot Owen, hop on it already”?’

  ‘Oh yeah because that behaviour’s really going to impress anyone worth impressing.’

  ‘You must’ve known you were in with a good chance, though.’

  Elliot turned to her. ‘And some bloke ruined his wedding day for one kiss with you. I can see his point.’

  Elliot kissed her again and Edie kissed him back and he had a palm on the curve of her bare hip, which made Edie feel like she had wasted too much of her life not feeling like this.

  It was all quite quickly going to turn into a repeat performance, apart from the unmistakable bang of the front door downstairs.

  Elliot sat bolt upright and listened to the drift of voices. ‘My parents!’ he hissed. ‘Fuck!’

  ‘They’re not on a cruise?!’ Edie hissed back, feeling every inch of her nakedness.

  ‘Yes, they’re meant to be back tomorrow lunch. Fuuuuccccck.’

  He leapt out of bed and Edie was disappointed that instead of enjoying an Elliot Owen nude scene with an audience of one person, she was scrabbling desperately to find where Elliot had thrown her bra, and pull her dress over her head.

  ‘Will they mind?’ Edie said, in a hoarse whisper as she hopped around, dragging her pants and tights on underneath her dress, as Elliot’s head disappeared into his T-shirt. ‘They’re not devout Christians, or anything?’

  Elliot grinned. ‘Nah. Not quite how I wanted to introduce you, that’s all.’

  They thundered down the stairs together, Edie behind Elliot, her heart banging like a gong, to see his parents stood looking up at them. Thank God, Edie thought, they hadn’t done it on the stairs.

  ‘Hello, Elliot!’ His mum spied Edie. ‘Oh! Now here’s a surprise. You have company.’

  She had silver hair in a sharp bob, Elliot’s dad with the look of a retired barrister or cricket commentator.

  ‘Hi, Mum, Dad.’ He stepped forward gave each of them a hug, ‘Uh, this is Edie.’

  ‘Hello,’ Edie said. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  She extended an arm to shake their hands.

  ‘Well, now,’ his mum said. They looked from Edie to Elliot, taking in their matching rumpled hair and flush, and smiled broadly.

  ‘Edie’s ghost-writing the autobiography,’ Elliot said, for something to say.

  This statement was the cause of some laughing from his dad that he turned into a small throaty cough.

  ‘Elliot, we did call you to say we got an earlier connecting flight,’ his mum said. ‘But, most unlike you, you’ve not been answering your phone for the last few hours. How odd.’

  ‘Oh yeah, it’s in the kitchen somewhere,’ he said, with a sheepish smile and a hand on the back of his head.

  ‘We did want to warn you, so as not to disturb you at an awkward moment …’

  ‘But as this nice young lady is merely ghost-writing your autobiography, that’s put that suspicion firmly to bed,’ his dad concluded.

  Edie laughed out loud, before she could ponder if it was the right response. Fortunately it seemed it was and then everyone laughed.

  ‘I’m going to get going, let you unpack and catch up with your son,’ Edie said. She politely declined efforts to get her to stay, and the taxi beeped within minutes of discussing their foreign travels.

  ‘I’ll walk you out,’ Elliot said.

  As soon as Elliot had pulled the door on the latch he turned, grabbed Edie’s shoulders, spun her round and kissed her deeply.

  ‘Snogging in the garden, I feel like we’re sixteen,’ he said. ‘Can I see you tomorrow? Can I see you constantly? Can I see you with no clothes on again?’

  ‘Yes, yes, and no, I’m always clothed after the first time,’ Edie said. She dawdled. Her heart felt so full. ‘Elliot, thank you.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For everything. Today was a sad day, and the best night of my life.’

  ‘Oh God, you ridiculous person. As if you owe me thanks.’ He paused. ‘Wait, I’ve just thought, it’s the wrap party tomorrow. Would you come with me?’

  ‘Er. Yes. Can non-Gun City people go?’

 
; ‘Yes, we can bring dates.’

  ‘OK, sure,’ Edie said. Date. DATE.

  He kissed her again and only a call from inside the house about whether Elliot wanted a cup of tea made them break apart.

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ Edie said, and walked to her taxi, completely unaware of her surroundings, lightheaded and love-drunk.

  The driver had the radio on and as the lights of the darkening city flashed past, Edie was sure she’d never felt so electric and alive and sure that the John Grant song ‘Outer Space’ was written about the two of them.

  On the journey, her phone buzzed with a text, and she pulled her phone out with a loopy grin on her face.

  E.T.! Big stuff for a text, but I got your answerphone when I called you. So, me & Charlotte have split up. And you were one of the reasons. (Not that I blame you.) (My feelings for you are not, and have never been, your fault.) I need to see you and talk about things, all of it, once and for all. I’m in your neck of the woods tomorrow, at my uncle’s in Leicestershire. Can I meet you? Maybe late afternoon/early evening? Let me know. Jack x

  The grin slipped from her face. Sometimes you had to confront the complete crapness of someone you’d convinced yourself was wholly sensational, and accept your judgment had too been awful.

  The tone of Jack’s text nauseated her. HEY THERE. SO I’M ON THE MARKET. LET’S PENCIL IN FACE 2 FACE TIME SOONEST FOR ME TO OUTLINE THE EXCITING OPPORTUNITY THAT THIS REPRESENTS FOR YOU.

  She’d had more subtle wooing on double-glazing flyers. He was one audacious bastard. She didn’t answer. She didn’t delete it, either.

  70

  The initial stages of seeing someone new were fraught with uncertainty and pitfalls as well as excitement, Edie had forgotten that: it was like wobbling down the street on a Christmas Day bicycle.

  Tiny, daft things: would they hold hands? Yes, Elliot was a hand holder, and grasped for Edie’s as they set off from the Park Plaza – which afforded more privacy than the parental home, now – to the Gun City wrap party, round the corner. There had been a brief interlude for reconnaissance when the hotel manager checked there were no photographers around outside, and then they set off together.

  ‘There might still be some,’ Elliot said. ‘We can go in separately, if you want?’

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ Edie said, slightly shamefacedly, hanging back. She really didn’t want to be in the Mail Online again if she didn’t have to be, however much she liked being Elliot’s plus one.

  ‘Is it in the upstairs bit?’ Edie said, as they parted, her stomach thrashing like a fish on dry land. It wasn’t an ideal first date, being on show, like this.

  Elliot side-eyed her, with an expression that suggested he couldn’t tell if she was joking.

  ‘The whole place, I think?’

  Of course the whole place. Otherwise the downstairs would be overwhelmed with people craning their necks upwards to see the partygoers, and specifically, the fantasy prince. Edie was painfully conscious she should feel glee, and pride, and all sorts of ignoble triumph at being the woman on the arm of the man of the hour. She felt turbulent and conspicuous instead. First dates with someone you were mad about were plenty challenging enough, without being with a celebrity.

  They dropped hands and Elliot walked on without her.

  The party was in the Malt Cross, a Grade Two-listed Victorian music hall with wrought-iron balustrades, a vaulted glass ceiling and bunting criss-crossing the space above their heads. Her name was ticked off a list, and Edie wondered if she was going to have to introduce herself? As Elliot’s what? She could get away with the writer, she guessed. Edie felt as if her real self was on a plane, a time zone behind her, yet to catch up with these events.

  As she walked in, Elliot was waiting for her inside the doorway, eyes shining. ‘Drink?’ he said.

  Someone with a tray of flutes was already zooming towards them and he handed Edie one. Within seconds, people had descended upon them, cooing with excitement at Elliot’s arrival, their eyes combing over Edie with unconcealed fascination.

  ‘Hi …’ said Elliot, glancing back towards her. He tried to stay by her side and involve her in conversation, but the social currents were too strong, he was washed away, into some important-seeming group where Edie didn’t want to follow. She wasn’t going to do some awful clingy-sidekick thing. She adjusted a favourite black prom dress and thought maybe she should break out of black all the time. Edie could have gone shopping but she was far too busy with better pastimes than shopping, at the moment. (‘Can I get away with wearing an old dress?’ she’d texted Hannah and Nick. ‘From all you say it sounds like you could wear kebab-wrap paper you’d found in the coach station toilets and he’d be into it,’ Nick had replied.)

  She sipped her drink and enjoyed the surroundings. She wasn’t alone for long: someone called Gail who worked in props sidled up to her. She responded politely but increasingly sensed she wasn’t just interesting, in of herself.

  ‘You’re here with Elliot?’ Gail said eventually, after cursory small-talk preamble.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re with him?’

  Elliot and Edie had discussed this, if she was asked outright whether they were seeing each other. ‘There’s been so many lies told, I’m shagged if I’m going to add to them,’ Elliot had said. ‘I want people to know we’re together.’ Edie wasn’t going to argue with that. She was his plus one tonight, with no ambiguity.

  ‘Yes …?’

  ‘As in, you’re dating?’

  ‘… Yes.’

  ‘How did you meet?’

  ‘I’m writing his autobiography.’

  Gail scrutinised her face, and her clothes, and Edie sensed she was having conversations in two time frames: the present, and the one in the future, the reportage. She seemed completely normal really … I asked her about how they met … about five foot four, no, not thin as such …

  Edie excused herself to the loo and felt herself trailing the gaze of various curious onlookers across the room. People didn’t cherish the invisibility cloak of anonymity until it was forcibly ripped away from them.

  And the thing was, no one wanted to ask her about her work. She was simply there to be judged as worthy, or not, of being Elliot’s accessory. A single-issue campaign. This is how it will be, a voice whispered. If you and he become a ‘we.’

  There was a little kerfuffle near the doorway and Greta entered, shimmering copper-coloured hair piled on her head in a shape that Edie could only think of as ‘Mr Whippy ice-cream cone’. She was in a diaphanous grey jersey dress that revealed glimmers of lacy underwear. She wafted straight over to Elliot’s side, draped a pale reed of an arm around him, leaned up to whisper something in his ear. Elliot was right, she was tactile in a way that could look like seduction.

  Edie had heard Elliot talk about Greta often enough to know there was no love lost: on his side, at least. Yet this otherworldly beauty, climbing him as if he was a tree, Edie seeing Elliot lean in and smile, say things in return that made Greta throw a swan-like throat back to laugh, while clutching her décolleté: it wasn’t easy to be secure. Edie grabbed another drink from a passing tray.

  ‘If it isn’t the autobiographer!’

  She turned to see Archie Puce, garden gnome circled with a gift wrapping bow tucked under one arm, staring evilly and delightedly at her.

  ‘Your work ethic makes Stakhanovites look like stoned students! Will you never give yourself an evening off the close scrutiny of your literary subject?’

  ‘Hello, Archie,’ Edie said, surprised to find herself glad of the distraction. ‘I’m not working. I’m here as Elliot’s guest.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Archie said, giving Edie what she guessed he thought was a beaming smile, which made him look like a Skeksis from The Dark Crystal. ‘If you ever decide to follow your amour into his profession, I see real potential. Your wounded innocence when I accused you two of copulating was an accomplished performance.’

  ‘I wasn’t lying, we wer
en’t seeing each other then.’

  ‘Of course not. Apologies for my confrontational style when my show was going over budget while he was getting his end away, but it’s called showbusiness not show-friendship, sugar tits. Oh for fuck’s sake, how hard can it be to make a decent margarita? People in this godforsaken backwater can’t crush ice, apparently. No! No! Is that SPRITE, you depraved animal?’

  Archie had been drawn by the activity at the bar and Edie was off the hook. She also fancied updating the latest version of the book with Archie’s off-the-record verdict on Nottingham.

  She decided to attack the buffet before the next hostile could approach her.

  Unfortunately, the next person was the doorman, who tapped her on the shoulder right as she shoved a prawn canapéinto her mouth.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘there’s a “Jack Marshall” outside, for you.’

  Edie chewed and absorbed the shock.

  ‘… He’s not on the list. Do you want him let in?’

  Did she want him let in? She had that power? This was the status of being with Elliot.

  ‘No!’ Edie said, swallowing. The bouncer nodded and pressed his earpiece, turned on his heel. Edie’s heart pounded. What the hell? How had Jack found her here? The only people who knew she was here, present company apart, were her dad and Meg. Jack must’ve called the house. But he only had her mobile? Oh God, he’d called at the house, hadn’t he? The wedding invite had been sent there, last Christmastime, so he had the address on file somewhere.

  The bouncer found her again, face impassive. By now, Edie was in a light glossy sweat.

  ‘He asked me to give you this.’ He handed Edie a slip of paper and retreated. She unfolded it.

  Edie. Sorry for turning up at your office party like a giant stalker, it was a last resort. I really want to see you to talk about everything that’s happened and put it behind us. No pressure or offence taken if you’re too busy right now, or ever, but I’ll be at the deli-bar (Delilahs?) for the next hour if you can give me a minute to explain. J x