‘We’re not exactly in the best shape right now. I suspect he is having an affair with someone at work, but the worst part of it is that I’m not sure I even really care.’ It’s the first time I’ve said it to myself.
‘Still, must be nice to have someone there who’s got to be there for you at all times?’
‘Believe it or not, Violet, it can feel worse than the alternative.’
12
The very, very worst of mornings, as though an actual assault has happened. The mobile phone’s ping bounces off the walls, making Johnny tense in the bed next to me. Google news alerts me to a brand-new article, published on theToronto Standardwebsite only a few minutes prior.
Ted Levy spotted with blonde beauty as he conquers Hollywood
Canadian actor Ted Levy is now reportedly spending time with Alice Andre.
My stomach feels as though it’s trying to make a run for my arse. Things blur for a second, and then I can’t get the words into me fast enough. I am up and out of the bed with more energy than I’ve had in days.
The two were spotted emerging from Barney’s Beanery in LA after a relaxed lunch, during which onlookers described them as ‘never taking their eyes off each other’.
After previously sparking dating rumours with actors Frank Bustard and Marc Benjamin, the Swedish-Canadian model (29) proves she certainly has a type. Andre, lithe in a figure-hugging grey cashmere ensemble,walked arm in arm with her new paramour Levy (43), who kept it casual in black sweats and sneakers.
‘Alice is single and happy to be, although there’s always time for catching up with friends,’ a rep for Andre told theToronto Sun. Single or not, it looks like exciting times ahead for the beauty, who recently signed on as the face of Urban Decay cosmetics.
Everything about this makes me miserable as sin. I study every single inch of Alice Andre, zooming in on the photo. Her skin is the colour of a lightly toasted bagel; her blonde a shade that you could pay a hairdresser five figures to achieve and they’d still never manage to get it right. There’s her perfect, pianist-fingered hand clamped on the softness of Ted’s left hip. His hands, as familiar to me as my own by now, rest heavily on her bony shoulder. Truly, I’ve seen more body fat on a sparrow’s fucking ball-sack. She is all limbs, all fine-sand skin, all jewellery that I can hear jingle from across an ocean. She doesn’t know it yet, but Alice Andre is my brand-new enemy. I make a mental note to spend the afternoon at work finding out as much about her as I can.
I start to email Violet, but she beats me to it. ‘ALICE bastarding, fucking, shitting ANDREEEEEE,’ I can hear her shriek, even in textual form. ‘Cannot BELIEVE he would even go there with this actual skin & bone hag. What is WRONG with him. What wud they even hacvje in commmonnnnnn…’ She sounds like I feel. I imagine her fingers typing, flailing amid her hysteria.
‘IKR?’ I offer back, too sad to come up with anything else but keen to join her in her anguish. I too want to scream, but I hold on to it, tonguing it somewhere between my back teeth. I settle for mentally punching a cushioninstead. I make a note to stick my head inside the drum of the washing machine later on when Johnny goes to work and have a good old scream.
Not for the first time, I think about the moment I had with Ted in Victoria Park. Why couldn’t I have been more present at the time? Why didn’t I talk to him? Maybe none of this Alice stuff would have ever happened.
Alice Andre’s Twitter has no mention of Ted, or even Frank Bustard or Marc Benjamin. She does however tweet about her new collaboration with Urban Decay. My fingers are shaking as I retweet, typing over the tweet: ‘Face like a fucking dropped pavlova. Sort your crossed eyes out and maybe then you can sell me some mascara.’ The moment in which I feel terrible about this is troublingly fleeting. I’m secretly hoping that Ted might see this and appraise her perfect appearance anew.
Minutes later, a new message pops up from Violet. ‘Just saw what u wrote. Good job LOL,’ she types. ‘Ur right. She does look a little bit cross-eyed, I reckon.’
The meanness of my comment to Alice makes my face burn with embarrassment; equally, the impulse to delete it doesn’t exactly overpower. I don’t tell Violet about the thought that’s been bubbling in my head not just for the last five minutes, but for the weeks and months before that. I need to get myself to Toronto, and get hold of this man once and for all. Take the life that is rightfully mine before a walking pair of clavicles beats me to it.
Just then, I realize that the ‘Online Now!’ icon is ablaze on Ted Levy’s MySpace. He is looking at his home page at the exact same time as I am, somewhere. And for a brief moment, that gives me a stroke of peace.
Later on that day, in what feels like a fever dream, Imove the £12,000 ‘Just in Case We Need It for a Baby’ money from our barely touched rainy-day account on to a credit card. I book a one-way flight to Toronto for the end of October, and a week’s stay in a hotel near Kensington Market on Expedia. I then compose an email to Naomi before I can talk myself out of it.
Dear Naomi,
I’m having a good day today, for a change, and I hope you are too!
I don’t want to come across as too forward, but I am coming to Toronto for a few weeks, and would love to meet you while I am there. I think it would be lovely to put a face to the name. I already feel we are friends of sorts, in any case.
Maybe let me know if you are free for a coffee? I’ll be there at the end of October.
With every best wish,
Esther
As it always is, her reply is near enough immediate.
Wow, that is awesome news and a lovely surprise! Vacation or business? Coffee, or maybe something even stronger, sounds like a really great idea. I’m not working at the moment so I’m pretty free for anything. Hit me up with an email as soon as you land. Really can’t wait to meet you properly.
On the Tedettes’ page, I share my news. Well, part of it.
‘Guess who’s thinking of heading to Toronto at the end of the month?’ I write in a post.
