Chapter 8
Francesca is back at work from maternity leave, so I need to relive What Happened In June all over again and absorb yet more sympathy that I’m in no mood to receive. Except it doesn’t quite fold out that way.
‘I mean, babies are hard work,’ she says.
She has a framed picture of Her Three and a conspicuously yellow breast pump sitting out on the desk.
‘And you know what? It’s a boring life. It’s a tough life.
The days are long and the years are short.
It’s the least sexy thing that’s ever happened to our marriage so …
well, you’ve got that going for you at least.’
As Francesca pumps, prepares to pump or talks about preparing to pump, things feel especially soul-shredding this morning.
Later on, at lunchtime, I get an unexpected treat in the form of a new magazine interview in Pager to promote Ted’s latest movie, Shock & Awe.
My heart swells at the accompanying image of him in a suit, skinny tie and trainers as he gives the camera the big And What.
But part of the article makes anxiety rise from the pit of my stomach.
Pager Magazine, 11 December 2010
Thanks to Shock & Awe, Levy’s career now finds itself in a particularly sweet spot.
Thanks to his keen nose for a troubled-guy role, the man with the boyish charm is turning heads.
As his profile climbs steadily, Levy is also fast becoming catnip for Toronto’s coterie of movie groupies – a development that seems to appal and thrill him in equal measure.
‘Talking to women has always been a little bit terrifying, so this is an interesting turn of events for someone like me, to put it mildly,’ Levy notes over oat lattes in Kensington Market. ‘I’ve never been what you might call an Olympic-level romantic.’
Canada’s latest unlikely sex symbol notes that while he is currently single, he is not necessarily on the lookout for a potential plus-one. ‘Work is all-encompassing right now,’ he claims, before admitting to a fondness for ‘blonde shiksa goddesses’.
I am uncomfortable with any talk of Ted Levy and sex symbol, although I admit to feeling gladdened that he is, at least, categorically single and not necessarily looking for anyone. Google tells me that shiksa describes a ‘a non-Jewish girl or woman’.
A phone notification tells me that Brigitte has posted some new photos to social media.
‘Legs or hot dogs?’ she asks her Twitter friends as the tops of her tanned, oiled knees appear to have accompanied her to a poolside that is decidedly sunnier and more tropical than East London.
Something about the entire picture uncorks a weird jealousy in me.
Brigitte is out there, living her best life on envy-inducing holidays.
Everyone on Facebook seems to be. I am sleepwalking.
Still. Suspended in an aspic of my own making.