I never wanted to say it to them, because I’ve sort of loved knowing something about Ted that they didn’t. I was determined to keep this bit of him to myself for as long as possible, and to hold it back from the Tedettes.
Right now, Naomi and I feel more fragile than I might like. I push out the itchy feeling that Naomi may not let me be here for much longer. Or at least, for as long as it takes to meet Ted.
‘I really don’t know if it’s a good idea to invade Naomi’s privacy, to be honest,’ I type back, still wanting to pull rank a little. ‘She is being so good to let me stay here, I really feel I should respect that, you know?’
‘Agreed.’
‘OK. Whatever you say, Esther.’
I message Layla, Molly and Maxi separately, keen to keep this big bit of information off the page’s main wall, and also unable to hold it to myself.
‘Naomi Levy tho!!! That is all kinds of wild!!’
‘U can’t tell us ANYTHINGGGG??? Christ on a clackerwhacker!’
‘Is she like him in any way???? Funny or smart or what??’
‘A little,’ I reply. ‘She’s very sweet.’
‘The eyes tho! Swoooonsies.’
‘Esther, you are one lucky MF. If it were me in that position, I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink. Maybe he has slept in your bed. Have you ever thought of that???’
‘I mean, she is his sister! Surely he has slept there???’
I decide not to tell them that I’m in Elizabeth’s old room, the room of a person suspended forever at ten years old, and that the last thing I see at night isn’t Ted Levy’s beautiful eyes, but the Harry Potter lampshade. The idea of being a more legitimate housemate, with my own room, is probably much more thrilling to them, so I leave them to it.
‘Have you been down to find him in Bathurst yet?’ Maxi asks.
‘Whooooa, hang on,’ Molly writes. ‘Dude tho! He was spotted in New York this afternoon. Says Twitter anyway.’
Ugh. I’m immediately annoyed that Molly has info on Ted that I don’t, even though I have been too busy this afternoon to do a quick social media check. I realize it’s been about four hours since I combed through Instagram to find mentions of #TedLevy, so I go to Twitter and search his name.
Sure enough, Twitter reveals some asshole has met him in a bodega in Park Slope in Brooklyn. I am immediately jealous of the entire borough. ‘Just literally bumped into my man Ted Levy on the way to dinner #coolstory #coolTrampsTshirt’. Was Ted on his way to dinner, or the guy? What is he doing in New York anyway? The Tramps?
I truly hate this feeling; this lack of control. This not knowing. The feeling that Ted is out in the world, completely unaware of me, or what we could, and should, have together.
Naomi rounds the door. ‘Wanna come for some sushi?’
But I don’t. I’m too depressed to pretend that I like raw fish and wasabi. I want to sit in and listen to the Tramps instead.
This doesn’t seem to knock a feather out of Naomi. Away she goes, leaving me feeling strangely deflated.
I’m clearly in the mood for some emotional self-flagellation, so I log on to Facebook and open my real profile. I ignore the hundreds of notifications and the seventy-five unread messages, and take a look at Carrie’s page instead.
She has posted a picture of Marianne, who must be a couple of months old by now. A proper person, the idea of which takes my breath away. She looks a lot like Carrie. I notice her rounded little toenails. A bald patch at the back of her head. I’m trying to figure out why it makes me all so immeasurably sad. Maybe it’s because I’m the one being left behind for a change.
Naomi arrives into the kitchen first thing in the morning, the front of her nightgown slightly damp.
‘Oh my,’ she exhales lightly. Her face is shining with tears. ‘Just… I’m trying to stay in it for a second longer.
‘Elizabeth came to visit me. I had a visitation dream. Oh my God, finally,’ she whispers, afraid to return to proper life and chase the moment away.
‘She ran straight into my arms and I picked her up,’ Naomi tells me, her eyes half closed. ‘She gave me one ofher open-mouthed kisses, like she loved to do when she was a baby. I could feel her weight in my arms and she looked so beautiful. I was just trying to remember every detail.’
She stares off into the distance. ‘It was like she was really in my arms.’ She smiles, barely believing it.
I’m afraid to breathe, much less say anything, when she fixes her eyes on me.
