Who’s That Girl?: A laugh-out-loud sparky romcom!. Mhairi McFarlane
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Edie caught Jack throwing the odd stray glance her way, and assumed he was simply getting the measure of his new workplace. Charlotte was a willowy goddess of the southern counties, it seemed unlikely he was admiring a Midlander who covered her greys with L’Oreal Liquorice and dressed like Velma from Scooby Doo.
One lunchtime, she was reading a Jon Ronson book and eating an apple at her desk and she caught Jack staring at her. She would’ve blushed, but Jack said quickly: ‘You frown really hard when you read, did you know that?’
‘Elvis used to slap Priscilla Presley when she frowned,’ Edie said.
‘What? Seriously?’
‘Yeah. He didn’t want her getting lines.’
‘Wow. What an arsehole. I’m giving away my copy of Live in Vegas now. You don’t need to worry, though.’
‘You’re not going to slap me?’ Edie grinned.
‘Hahahaha! No. No lines.’
Edie nodded and mumbled thanks and went back to her book. Had she been flirted with? She doubted it. But not long after, a passing client, Olly the wine merchant, had paid Edie particular attention, and again, she felt Jack’s gaze.
‘My little Edie! How are you?’ Olly said, clearly kippered by the lunchtime intake. ‘What a delightful blouse. You remind me terribly of my daughter, you know. Doesn’t she? Richard? The image of Vanessa.’
Her boss, Richard, hem-hawed the sort of agreement you gave someone who you had to agree with, for money.
Edie thanked him and hoped everyone else in the office knew she did nothing to invite his whisky-breathed attentions.
As Richard guided him away from her desk, her G-chat popped up on her screen. Jack.
‘Young lady, may I tell you, in a completely platonic way, how much I’d like to have sex with you?’
Edie boggled and then noticed the inverted commas. She almost guffawed out loud. Then, gratified, typed back:
Ahem, Olly’s a valued client. He’s family … *like the Wests were family* *seasick face*
Without knowing it, she was sunk. She had picked up the baton from Jack. The journey to ruin starts with a single step.
Jack
The only thing worse than his pick-up patter is his wine. Have you tried the Pinot Grigio? BLETCH
Edie
I think you’ll find my copy describes it as having a tingle of green plum acidity and a long melony finish, perfect for long afternoons in gardens that turn into evenings
Jack
Translation: a park-bench session wine, aromas of Listerine mixed with asparagus wee
Edie
The bouquet could be described as ‘insistent’.
Jack
I’ve actually looked it up for the lols. ‘A fruit forward blend of ripe, zesty flavours. Will transport you to Italian vineyards.’ Will transport you to A&E, more like.
If this sort of instant familiarity had come from a single male colleague, Edie would have treated it as clear flirting. Obviously. But Jack was Charlotte’s boyfriend and she was sat right there, though, so this couldn’t be flirting. It was G-chat, but not a G-chat-up.
They became messaging mates. Most mornings, Jack found some witticism to kick things off. He was catnip to someone with Edie’s quick wit, and he seemed entranced by her. He had an easy self-confidence, and ran on dryly humorous remarks and giant Americanos.
In the boredom of office life, the ping of a new message from Jack on her screen became inextricably associated with pleasure and reward. Edie was like a lab rat in a scientific experiment, pressing a lever that gave her a nut. To follow the analogy, sooner or later it’d give her an electric shock, and she’d prove the mechanics of addiction by keeping on pressing for another nut.
It was all a bit of fun.
Even when the conversation naturally strayed into slightly more serious, personal topics. Amid the anecdotes, the casual intimacy and larks, she found herself telling him things she hadn’t told anyone in London.
Edie found her spirits dip at home time on a Friday – a funny reversal – realising there’d be no more ‘special chemistry’ chatter until Monday.
Eventually, there were text-jokes from Jack at the weekend – saw this, thought of you – and favouriting of her tweets, and explosively she’d even occasionally get the notification he’d Liked an old photo of hers, buried in the archives on Facebook. Truly, the footprint on the windowsill of social media courting.
Jack would sometimes say in front of Charlotte, during the Friday night drinks, that he’d shamelessly distracted Edie at work. Charlotte tutted and chided Jack and apologised to Edie – and then Edie definitely felt a whisper of guilt.
But, why? For conversation that Jack was openly acknowledging in front of his girlfriend that he instigated? If it was anything untoward, it’d be secret, right?
There was enough plausible deniability to park a bus.
What Charlotte didn’t know, and Edie didn’t admit to herself, was that the devil was in the detail.
It was unlikely Charlotte would be blasé if she knew Jack got joke-or-is-it? jealous whenever Edie had been out on a date. ‘Oh my word, just imagining the stress of you as a girlfriend though …’ Jack would say. ‘Getting you to tone down the potty mouth when you meet the parents. You bringing them a gift of black pudding sausage.’
They both imagined this intangible ideal and happy-sighed and laughed, Edie pretending to be outraged by his ongoing teasing about her supposed northernness, when in fact it was thrilling he was contemplating her as his other half. There was such a tenderness to it.
Jack played the role of a best friend, confidante and, well, sort-of boyfriend. And she wanted him to.
Eventually, Edie realised she’d crossed an invisible line, without ever intending to. This mistake wasn’t one big decision, it was a series of smaller, unwitting choices.
She was never going to act as long as he was with Charlotte, though, so what did it matter? A crush added a sparkle to your day, it was a calorie-free, non-carcinogenic, cost-free joy.
Only, she found out it did have a cost, some four months after Jack first G-chatted her.
Jack hadn’t wanted a mortgage, and definitely not in commutersville. One lunch time, Charlotte popped a bottle of Moët and handed round fizzing plastic cups. ‘We’ve completed on our house!’
What? Jack never said? And he and Edie shared, well, pretty much everything, she thought.
It felt like a betrayal. She’d had, as her friend Hannah liked to say, her world view bitch-slapped by reality.
She messaged, as soon as Jack was back in his seat: ‘Didn’t see this coming?’
Ack, I know right! She wore me down & got her way in the end. Hold me and tell me it’s going to be OK, E.T. x
That was it? That was all she was going to get?
Edie’s strength of feeling over this development knocked her for six. She could have it out with Jack, push him on why he’d not mentioned it, but then, it wasn’t her business. It was prying into his life with Charlotte and implying she was owed personal information.