You Belong With Me

chapter007

Sometimes, being with Elliot was like doubling as his security detail, making sure premises were safe for him to enter.

Instead of sweeping for explosive devices, they were scanning for excitable girls who were several proseccos to the good, liable to shriek and produce phones, start collecting raw footage like amateur documentary makers. Or gangs of lads who behaved like trophy hunters, the selfie their scalp: told you it was him.

Usual British uptightness vanished: encountering a famous person was, in the twenty-first century, a combination of living totally in the moment and for many other moments, simultaneously. The embarrassment or pushiness didn’t really matter as long as you came away with proof it had happened.

It wasn’t that Elliot was in any physical danger – though Edie belatedly remembered stalkers were a thing, and he was at the level to acquire one. It was more the time-swallowing, overwhelming scrum that developed if someone recognised him in an enclosed space. Having said yes to one person, you had to say yes to everyone, and the ensuing fuss could obliterate the intended occasion.

‘I have to remember that the twentieth person who asks for a picture isn’t responsible for the nineteen other requests. You can’t short-change or blame anyone if you feel hassled and leave them with a bad memory,’ Elliot had said to her once. ‘It was implicit in the deal when I got the call to tell me I had the role.’

Therefore, they’d come to a neighbourhood Italian where the owners knew the Owen family of old and gave them the table furthest from other diners, and the staff knew not to ask for autographs. It still required Elliot’s parents and Edie to go in ahead, secure their position and only then, usher Elliot in.

While they were trying to catch the owner’s eye, Elliot’s dad, Bob, said: ‘If only we’d known letting him go to drama club when he was twelve would lead here, eh?’

Edie grinned.

‘I do worry the latest escapade is going to make it worse,’ Elliot’s mum said quietly. ‘The Void. I confess I’m not very interested in the jumping off buildings in a tornado sort of films. Do you enjoy them, Edie?’

‘Don’t put her on the spot, Deborah!’ Bob said.

‘It isn’t any spot – Edie’s allowed her preferences, whatever our son has been up to.’

‘I think I’m Team Deborah on the building-jumping, though I did enjoy the Bournes,’ Edie said.

‘Oh yes, was that the young man who couldn’t remember who he was?’ Bob said. ‘Some hair-raising driving in Paris in a hatchback? Very well made, I thought.’

‘That’s him.’

Edie knew Elliot’s parents were bringing her into their confidence with this candour on purpose. It was signalling she was inner circle, and she appreciated it.

His parents were a vision of elegant sixty-something, middle-class solidity. They were so at ease with themselves and each other: Bob, white-haired, benign yet carrying authority; Deborah, serene and articulate with a sly sense of humour. She had a silver bob that ended in sloping points above a swan neck, and she was wearing a coat like a belted dressing gown, made of berry-coloured cashmere.

As they manoeuvred Elliot into the far corner of a table where he couldn’t easily be identified or easily photographed, Edie thought on the irrevocability of fame, of all the unintended consequences.

She’d wondered if tonight might be strained, if the timing had been thrown off by David in Cardiff’s fictions.

In fact, the exact opposite was the case; adversity made it shine brighter.

They didn’t discuss Elliot’s haloed career; instead, it was the urine that kept mysteriously appearing in a herb planter by the Owen front door.

‘Fraz insisted the wee was from’ – Elliot snapped a breadstick – “Either a passing tinker, a gentleman of the road” – I mean, it’s not an area known for vagrancy – “kids in high spirits” – or, my favourite hypothesis – “a fox”.’ Why would a fox be having a slash in that? I mean, it’s a wild animal? What’s it neatly urinating in a piece of whimsical pottery for?!’

Edie started laughing.

‘Then Fraz gets really creative and comes up with the theory that it’s someone who knows it’s my family home,’ Elliot said. ‘Cheeky little git. Anyway, long story short, Mum and Dad got Ring Video. Can you guess who the mystery planter filler has been identified as? In a M. Night Shyamalan-sized twist?’

Elliot’s father shook his head in headmasterly disapproval, making it even funnier to Edie.

‘Was it … Fraser?’ she gasped out.

Elliot clapped. ‘Now, Edie got there straight away. So why these two bought into the idea it was a targeted harassment campaign, I have NO IDEA … I know not all my work has been McKellen’s Lear at Stratford standard, but suggesting I’d attract doorway pissers is a bit much.’

They all corpsed at this, Elliot rolled his eyes, and Edie felt such ease with them.

His parents politely asked after her family and her work, and she told them about her promotion running an office.

‘You didn’t mention that?’ Elliot said, looking mildly perplexed amid the chorus of congratulations.

‘I’ve not had a chance – it was only yesterday I got the call,’ she said.

‘Well done,’ Elliot said, a little blankly.

Edie knew what he was thinking: it wouldn’t suit skipping off for three weeks on the West Coast anytime soon. She was hardly going to look that gift horse in the mouth and say errrmmm, I’ve got a boyfriend? like a Valley Girl.

She would’ve classed it a perfect evening until she went to the ladies and a young woman in a denim dress, hair up in a banana clip, loitered and pounced when she left the cubicle.

‘Excuse me, is that Elliot Owen you’re with?’

‘Er. Yeah?’ Edie didn’t know what else to say.

‘Could you ask your brother if I can have a picture with him?’

‘He’s having a quiet night tonight, but he might do one before he leaves – I’ll ask.’

Why did you assume I was his sister? WHY?circled round Edie’s head like breaking news ticker tape as she washed her hands.

Edie had seen her general appeal as a person decimated online after the Jack Marshall Incident, no wonder she had paranoia about unworthiness. The words of her tormentors were tattooed on her brain forever. She’d imagined their greatest hits etched on her headstone: Here Lies A Pig In A Ribbon. No One Did, Indeed, Ever Marry That.

Edie had under one minute, while the girl washed her hands alongside her, to decide on a gamble. If Denim Dress’s assumption was made for uncomplimentary reasons, it would be excruciating for both of them. If Edie didn’t ask, it would live on rent free in her head.

Before she hit the button on the hand-dryer, Edie said: ‘Sorry. Can I ask – Elliot’s not my brother. Why did you think he was my brother?’

The girl froze in surprise. ‘You’ve got the same colour hair? You look like each other.’

She said it easily enough and with a confused expression that told Edie it was the truth. She looked like she shared DNA with him?! Fortune favours the brave.

‘Ahhh. Thank you!’ Edie pushed her hands under the jet blast of the Dyson.

She organised a quick photo for Denim Dress before they left, Edie beaming and full of ravioli and goodwill.