I’m quite enjoying this. ‘He is. He’s a well-known actor.’
‘Oh yeah, would I have heard of him?’
‘I don’t know,’ I tell him. ‘Ted Levy?’
‘Nah,’ he says. ‘Don’t know that one.’
‘You will do, one day. He’s pretty amazing at what he does.’
‘Amen to that, my love. Well, here’s to your fresh start.’
At the airport, as I tear into a croissant and latte at Costa, I compose an email to Johnny. Adrenaline is keeping me going, making all the decisions around here. I type:
You’ll have noticed by now that I’m not where I am meant to be. But in some ways, Johnny, I am exactly where I am meant to be.
We are not in good shape, and haven’t been for a while. And I don’t know what to do about it. I especially don’t know what to do about it while I’m there, living with you. I am not leaving my life outright, or leaving you, but I just need some time on my own. An indefinite amount, sorry. I need the space and I need to just do what I need to do for myself to feel like a normal human being again, and I have to do it alone, and without you on this leg of whatever journey this turns out to be. Please don’t try to find me, and please don’t reply to this email as I will only delete it without reading it first. I will be back in touch when I have made some kind of progress.
Knowing that the Tedettes are fully invested, I post a picture to the Facebook page of the airline screen at the gate, focusing on the word ‘Toronto’.
Within minutes, Maxi has responded. ‘OMG so unbelievably jealoussss,’ she writes. ‘If you meet and marry our boy you will absolutely have to invite me to da wedding!!!’
I am warmed by this vote of confidence.
Violet messages me privately. ‘I can’t believe you are doing this in actual real life,’ she writes. ‘Promise me you will keep me updated on everything that happens, good & bad. And if you find Alice Andre, give her a massive punch in the tits from me.’
13
There is a definite feel of ‘dream holiday’ to this flight to Toronto. Though it’s 11 a.m. on a chilly October morning, I order two glasses of champagne from the cabin crew member, whose eyebrow raise is only very momentary, as though I am bound for Club Tropicana. I feel lighter as the plane ascends into the air, and London somehow becomes a spread of tiny buildings from on high. The woman my age next to me reacts to the champagne-guzzling by shifting in her seat. I take a sideways glance at her. With her sharp dark fringe and Hawaiian-print shirt, she flips her way throughFrankiemagazine and has a slouchy vibe that I instinctively take to be North American.
‘You going to Toronto?’ I ask. I realize it’s a stupid question as it’s coming out of my mouth.
‘I am,’ she replies in a Canadian accent, apparently not really wanting to get into it.
‘Do you live there or…?’
‘I do.’
‘Yeah, I’m just moving there now. I’ve been in London for years and years and need the change.’ Why do I feel the need to make this person like me?
‘Oh, right on. London’s a fun city.’
‘If you have any recommendations on where I shouldgo when I get there, or cool things to do, sure hit me up.’
She nods in a way that is just about polite enough to not come across as totally non-responsive.
‘Were you on holidays in London? Or living there?’
‘My visa ran out there so…’
‘Ah, that’s a shame. Sorry to hear that! What a loss!’ I’m aiming for enthusiasm, but with half a glass of morning champagne on board, I say this with an almost pantomime-like anguish. It takes her aback and I can read the momentary panic on her face: five more hours of this. I should have kept my beak shut.
‘I’m moving there for a guy,’ I explain.
‘That’s cool,’ she says. Her eye catches my wedding ring, which I give a performative fiddle and then cover it with my right hand. She notices that all right.
‘It’s, eh, complicated though.’
‘Visa problems too?’
