chapter043
Edie had an unhelpful superstition that any day of travel that began badly would continue the theme. It would be start to finish ‘tomfuckery’, to borrow a Nick word. (‘Like tomfoolery, but darker. The way Pennywise the clown in the sewer is not a children’s entertainer. You do not enjoy tomfuckery.’)
After a fidgety-sleepless night, her American trip started with her taxi rolling up forty-five minutes late. Every traffic jam they encountered en route saw Edie nervously recalculating her chances of making the departure, instead of enjoying her podcast.
She fielded a nerve-jangling rant at Heathrow from a fuming client who’d been stood up after their mis-diary of a meeting, initially refusing to accept it was their error. Then a child cannoned into her leg in the queue for the gate. The small boy deposited a strawberry milkshake down her leg, with the frankly self-absorbed expression of regret, given she was in Wolford tights, ‘Oh no, I’ve frowed my eat.’
Edie knew LHR to JFK today was pure tomfuckery territory.
By the time Edie was seated next to a fractious family of five who had apparently not encountered a social taboo they recognised – arguing, clothing removal, personal information repeated in public zone, breaking wind, sodcasting entire Micky Flanagan routines, egg mayo butties in their carry on – she limply accepted it as her due.
‘They’re from Braintree,’ said the bespectacled man next to her, by way of full and entire explanation.
By the time she was passing immigration, Edie was utterly spent. She had the very specific, shop-soiled clamminess of long-haul travel, complete with bone-tiredness, shadowed eyes, and furry mouth. She feared she had the aroma of a vet’s thermometer and absolutely wasn’t fit for presentation, let alone a whirlwind evening out on the tiles in the city that never sleeps.
As the car that Elliot sent to collect her approached the glittering iconic cityscape, Edie knew she should feel euphoric. As it was, among other woes, she was annoyed at herself for not feeling euphoric – what sort of privileged nause turned this experience into a negative?
But not only did Edie feel like a used dishrag – she was having a very ill-timed prolapse of confidence. How much her physical and mental state were feeding off each other, she couldn’t tell. She was overawed. Her partner was so successful that he was famous here, too; it fair blew the mind after she’d sat on a jumbo jet for eight hours. Edie even wondered if she’d delayed visiting him in the States so that she could cosplay Elliot being a boy next door, keeping him carefully out of context.
The disorientation continued as she was deposited outside a forbidding security-fortress apartment block, her driver getting out to jab the relevant buzzer.
Edie shouldered her bag and dragged her case into a private elevator that took her to the second floor, where she found the relevant door. Oh God, were those multiple voices she could hear on the other side? Oh, fuck this forever.
It was flung open by Elliot, who was in a white t-shirt and, naturally, looking as fresh as a springtime crocus. The room beyond was Manhattan loft as it existed in the mind’s eye: a cavernous box shape, broken up by curved red sofas, free-standing lamps, and splashes of modern art. High windows ran down the left-hand side.
‘You found it! This is my girlfriend! Edie, this is Jim and Dulcie. They’re in the apartment across the hall,’ Elliot said. Two unfeasibly tall, toothy, and Ralph Lauren-clad Americans stared down at her. Edie smiled an over compensatory smile that could induce jaw ache, muttering effusive greetings.
As soon as small talk resumed, she mumbled justgoingtodropmythings and Elliot pointed her to a doorway. ‘Bathroom there, bedroom the one after.’
Edie dashed off with her trolley case, trying a handle and finding herself in a subway-tiled bathroom the size of the ground floor of her entire house, where she locked the door with its heavy key.
Actually, maybe Jim and Dulcie (was that really a name you could have?) were a blessing in disguise. They’d afforded Edie valuable time at this double basin to improve on the rock bottom she was at: toothbrushing, make-up repair, greasy hair thrown up into ponytail, more perfume. She looked longingly at a walk-in shower that could fit the entire Braintree family in at once and at the freestanding slipper bath. Actually, she could do a clothes change. Edie hurriedly shed her begrimed travel apparel for a creased alternative. She wasn’t exactly fresh, but she was improved.
‘Find everything all right?’ Elliot said, as she emerged.
‘Yep. Have they gone?’ she whispered.
‘Yes, argh,’ Elliot whispered back. ‘Not ones to take a hint.’
Elliot moved to kiss her, and Edie stepped backwards.
‘Are you OK? Getting here not too arduous?’ he said.
She’d intended to style it out, and yet her chest suddenly concaved.
‘I’m so sorry – I’m knackered. My flight was awful, and I feel like absolute death. You deserve better. You’re also not helping, looking like this much of a contrast.’
Elliot laughed. ‘Did you go Business or First?’
‘Premium Economy,’ Edie said.
‘Oh, you principled chump,’ Elliot said, grinning, pushing a wisp from her ponytail back over her ear. ‘When you do this often, do it right. Want me to cancel the dinner reservation and get takeout instead?’
‘Could we?’ Edie said. ‘Would that be OK?’ She felt the best she had all day. ‘I’m sorry to be such a let-down,’ she said. ‘When I think of all the times you’ve come out with me straight from this journey like you’ve hopped off a bus. I’m resembling a rattly pensioner …’
‘Edie Thompson,’ Elliot said. ‘It’s not a performance review. You’re here. That’s all that matters. Have a wine and stop worrying. It took me years to get used to the transatlantic twatting about. Give me that …’
He indicated her luggage, taking the handle and rolling it into a bedroom glimpsed beyond. There was a low divan the size of a boxing ring, and Edie wasn’t ready to contemplate it.
‘It’s not you who needs to grovel, it’s me,’ Elliot said, once they were arranged on the couch, the DoorDash app on Elliot’s phone blipping with imminent Thai food.
‘Oh?’ Edie sipped. He was right about the remedy. Two inches of Malbec and Edie felt remarkably more in sync with her surroundings. Woohoo, New York, baby.
‘Believe it or not, Fraser’s here. Planned the trip ages ago, with Iggy. He wasn’t even seeing Molly at the time. However, Molly’s third-wheeling anyway to select bridesmaids’ necklaces from Tiffany’s, or something. Is it a massive intrusion if we meet them for dinner tomorrow night?’
‘Hahaha – what? Are they following us around the world?’
‘I’m starting to feel claustrophobic, to be honest, which is no mean feat given the geography involved.’
‘Think of it as homely!’
‘Aye, right. There’s the lurking worry that this tracking of my movements is connected to story-selling. I forced myself to be rational: Fraser booked this when drunk, six months back. There’s no grand plan … except …’
Edie got there: ‘… Except Molly is a late addition?’
‘Yes.’
They exchanged a look. Neither of them said anything more. It was increasingly unpleasant to harbour these doubts and increasingly impossible not to.
‘You’ve not talked to him about the leaks?’
‘No, unsurprisingly the stag didn’t afford any opportunities. Tomorrow night isn’t the time – I’m going to have to call him once he’s back in the UK, I think. I would’ve preferred face to face, but it’s not practical. Sure you don’t mind? I have no qualms about saying no if needs be,’ Elliot said.
‘I like the idea! It’d be good to meet Molly properly before the wedding. And it’s comforting seeing familiar faces so far from home.’
‘How are you so sweet and forbearing? I need to be more like that.’
‘I’m not sure I am really – it’s within certain limits. If you’d said sorry, they’re squeezing in at mine, it’s airbeds, and we’re all in one room, I might lose my Elliot-sharing chill.’
‘Oh, I see. All you want me for is sex. There’s something else I wanted to say to you, actually,’ Elliot said.
Edie looked alarmed, hoping experimentation wasn’t about to be tabled. ‘Unrelated, I hope?’
‘Hahaha. I’ve got this airbed … No, unrelated – regarding the horrible Sunday papers bullshit last week. I know this isn’t the way you think, whatsoever, but for my own honour, I have to say – that story wouldn’t have run if we weren’t seeing each other. It’s indirectly my fault. If you wanted to stop seeing me to stop stories like that, I’d understand. I’d hate it, and it’d break my heart, but I wouldn’t blame you either. I can give you a lot, but I can’t give you a peaceful life. I get a lot of perks in return for that shit, and you only get me.’
‘The greatest perk of all,’ Edie said.
‘I mean it.’
‘I know you do, and I love you for it,’ Edie said. ‘Firstly, it’s nowhere near enough to put me off – it didn’t even occur to me it was an Elliot drug side effect. Secondly, if you think I’m putting Jack fucking Marshall down as cause of death on our death certificate, you’re high.’
Elliot laughed. Edie wound herself round him, head on his t-shirt, and listened to his heart beating. It was probably the most generous heart she’d ever known.
Generosity she depended upon when she drank three wines, ate a pile of larb, and passed out like she’d been put under general anaesthetic at quarter past ten Eastern Standard Time.