Who’s That Girl?: A laugh-out-loud sparky romcom!

She asked herself whether she should care what those people thought. She did, though. She couldn’t help it. Could she ask ano—

‘Ahem,’ her dad coughed, and nodded towards her phone, as Edie listlessly fiddled, eyes straying to it for the umpteenth time. ‘Something interesting?’

‘Hah no!’ Edie turned her phone over, with some effort, screen facing down. She wasn’t going to discuss Boy Trouble with her baffled father and hostile sister, and especially not when the story hinged on her own awful transgression. And Edie badly needed a space where everything was business as usual, even if that meant, ‘still not great’. ‘It’s nice in here,’ she said, with polite-fake enthusiasm.

Annie’s was in a grand, high-ceilinged old lace warehouse in the Lace Market, quite a glamorous room for fast food, filled with the clatter of shoes on stripped wood and the burble of background music vibrating on wrought-iron fittings. As Edie glanced round the table, her dad in a faded cable- knit jumper, Meg in her denim dungarees, she realised how long it was since the three of them had been anywhere together.

On her birthdays, she usually took them to the local pub and vigorously batted away her dad’s offers of meals, pretending she didn’t want the fuss, knowing he wasn’t well off enough and it would be too awkward for Edie to stand the bill on that occasion.

Three bottles of beer arrived and Edie felt the pressure, despite her low mood, to jolly it all along. She had suggested they go out, after all.

‘Good choice, Meg,’ she said, making them clink glasses, cheers.

Meg looked at her impassively, obviously figuring out what stripe of bullshit this was. Edie considered her enthusiasm might contaminate Annie’s, so quickly added: ‘Do you, er, come here often?’ She laughed at herself.

‘No, I can’t afford it. I’ve been once, when the home did a day out.’

Meg worked for three days a week at a holiday care home for the elderly, ill and extremely infirm. It was a noble and decent thing to do, but Meg thought her three-day-a-week work for very little money conferred sainthood upon her, and her saintliness came at a price she didn’t pay. She drew state benefits to which she wasn’t – in Edie’s view – strictly entitled, while her dad picked up the rest of the slack, financially. Edie had tried to nudge Meg to look for a full-time or better-paid job in the voluntary sector, but it was like trying to lion tame wearing Lady Gaga’s meat dress.

Thus I can’t afford it was imbued with her usual sanctimony and implied Edie had no idea, living high on the hog. It wasn’t an act of God that meant Edie had more money. It wasn’t a secret of the elite, the whole ‘working five days a week’ trick, was it?

‘Did they have a nice time?’ her dad asked Meg, pouring some more beer out of his bottle.

‘It was a bit of a ’mare. Roy came, you know the one with the bone tumours? He got brain freeze from drinking his root-beer float too fast and ate too many onion rings and started puking everywhere. The next table were totally out of order about it.’

From Meg, ‘totally out of order’ translated as anything from calling for Roy’s execution to ‘preferred to move out of the range of the spray’.

‘Maybe they didn’t realise he was poorly,’ their dad said.

‘Oh my God, of course someone’s poorly when they’re yakking chunks everywhere.’

‘I meant his cancer. Vomiting in public is quite a tearing up of the social contract.’ Edie’s dad gave her a wry look and she thought, Oh no you don’t, I’m not getting involved.

‘It was INVOLUNTARY, it’s not like he wanted to huey,’ Meg said, eyes blazing, and her dad clucked and soothed and said he was only kidding. Meg turned her gaze on Edie and Edie knew she was thinking, He’s only like this when you’re here.

Edie edgily checked her phone and saw she had a text message from Louis. Almost certainly something she should leave for later, but she didn’t have the restraint. She’d only fidget and fret about its contents otherwise.

Hola E. How’s home? OK BIG news … Jack & Charlotte are BACK TOGETHER. Can you believe it? X

Edie stared, put her phone back down with a bump, and gulped her beer. Yes, she could believe it. She realised now she’d half expected it. What did Louis say about Jack, he was a kind of smooth-talking Houdini? You could tie his hands and drop him in a tank and he’d be out by the end of the show.

Her reaction was stronger than she expected. Not because she still wanted Jack herself. Or, she didn’t think she did. This development made her inwardly howl with frustrated anger. They’d made it up. Jack had been forgiven. Once again, his misdemeanours had cost him nothing. (Well, unless you counted the wedding, but it sounded as if the bride’s family picked up that tab.) And kissing her had no more meaning than a moment’s confusion.

Jack’s timing in making peace with her wasn’t accidental. He must’ve known she’d hear about this, and hate him for it.

Wow. So all is forgiven? Ex

Not sure ALL. But he’s back in St Albans. Apparently he went up to Harrogate to see her parents and sisters to apologise. He’s mounted the full-scale I’m Sorry I Don’t Know What Came Over Me tour, we’ve not seen the like since Hugh Grant after the prostitute. (Not saying you’re a prostitute lol)

LOL OF COURSE NOT. Thanks, Louis. Always one to give the knife a quick twist. Edie could’ve cried, screamed, thrown her phone across the room. Her life had been trashed by Jack’s actions, but there would be no forgiveness or reconciliation for her.

‘What’re you having?’ said the friendly, buxom young waitress with the nose ring and magenta hair tied up in one of those Dig For Victory poster headscarves, pen poised above pad.

Edie could barely focus.

‘Uh. A cheeseburger, please,’ she said.

A pause while the waitress looked perplexed and said: ‘A plain burger, with cheese?’

‘Yes?’

‘Meat?’

‘Where?’

‘Do you want a meat burger rather than veggie or vegan?’

‘Oh. Yes.’

‘And for your sides?’

‘Just … chips?’

‘We do curly fries, Cajun wedges or just wedges?’

‘That’s fine,’ Edie said. ‘I mean, the fries are fine.’

‘Any sauces?’

Dear God, stop demanding things of me.

‘Just ketchup, thanks.’

‘Ketchup’s on the table.’

The waitress gestured with her pen.

‘Oh yes. Thanks.’

Her dad looked baffled and Meg frowned suspiciously at Edie, as if she might be doing the space cadet thing as London aloofness. They went on to give more detailed orders – ‘The Lemmy, vegan, plain wedges, American mustard side’ – that made Edie realise she hadn’t got into the spirit of the thing at all. She had ground to make up already.

‘And a portion of onion rings,’ she volunteered. ‘For the table.’

‘For the tapeworm,’ her dad said.

Don’t think about Jack, Edie instructed herself. He doesn’t deserve to be thought about.

15 (#ulink_32543b9b-e412-5033-9a43-414af925210b)