‘Hold up,’ I say. ‘Maybe give the woman a break.’
‘Yeah, I know that, but she keeps bugging him for child support, all the time.’
‘Is that not a normal part of all of this?’
‘It probably shouldn’t be, when Stevie is between jobs at the moment—’
‘So,’ I interrupt her. ‘He’s not just bad-mouthing the mother of his children, which I think we can both agree is poor form in and of itself, but he’s bad-mouthing the woman that is effectively raising his children on her own?’
This pretty much shuts her up.
‘Let’s not forget she is also paying to raise his children single-handedly? I mean, that doesn’t sound right, does it?’
I think Naomi was expecting her chips to be pissed on a bit once she mentioned Stevie’s ‘between jobs’ situation. She wasn’t expecting this… chip waterboarding. I know I am being horrible, taking the shine off her new romance like this, but it’s like scratching an animal bite until there is blood. Stevie is a complication too far in my life right now, and I need him gone.
In celebration of her sixteenth birthday, Maxi has shared yet more Ted fan fiction.
On the morning of her wedding to Ted Levy, Max threw open the windows of her mansion in Toronto and listened to the birds singing in the trees, and watched the sun stream through the window. It was already a perfect day, and getting to marry the love of her life would only make it even more perfect.
Their wedding day arrived in a whirlwind of excitement. Maxi stood in the mirror examining the delicate lace of the dress flowing around her, her heart was racing as she thought about the moment she would finally walk down the aisle to Ted. She clutched her bouquet tightly, smelling in the fresh flowers. The moment she had dreamed of for so long.
But then, a new story on News.ca gives everyone in the Tedettes group a surprise. A bit of a kick in the fanny all round.
TED LEVY HITS BACK AT TROLLS
Toronto actor Ted Levy has issued a stern diktat to trolls who have targeted him and his loved ones on social media.
Via a media statement issued Thursday by his agent Henry Schaffer, Levy said:
‘My fans are really awesome, and are usually so appreciative of my work and respectful of my privacy, and that of my family and friends.
‘Yet it has been brought to my attention that a small number of people have overstepped the line, and have directed personal abuse at people close to me. No onedeserves to be harassed in this way simply because of their association with another person. It has caused a lot of anguish and I have had to move out of my own home as a result of it.
‘I wouldn’t normally address this situation but this nasty behaviour needs to be called out. There is no place for it within my community of genuine fans. Please be kind with your words. All I want to do is to share some laughs and great filmmaking with you all.’
Levy and his reps have declined News.ca’s request for further comment.
Layla is not best pleased. ‘That’s AA brainwashing him all over again! Can this asshole of a girl not fight her own battles?’ she writes on the forum.
‘He probably does need protecting from crackpots though,’ Violet replies. ‘The guys who go through his garbage and stuff.’
‘I dunno, you guys,’ Maxi chimes in. ‘I think it’s kinda romantic, what he wrote.’
The Harry Potter lampshade is driving me slightly crazy the more I look at it. Though it is better and decidedly cheaper than Jesse’s bachelor lair on the 18th floor, I did not come to Canada to live under the merchandise of a boy wizard. I am here, supposedly, to start the rest of my life.
I hear Naomi and Stevie downstairs, laughing through the sizzle sounds of cooked breakfast. He leaves not long after in a flurry of doorstep kisses and bye-byes. ‘You’re happy for her,’ I say into the room. ‘You are.’
Elliott has somehow found me through my new Facebook profile and friend requested me. He has kept any picture ofhimself off his profile, posting instead a number of ocean views as profile pictures. Elusive, and yet somehow cooler than everyone else falling over themselves to curate the perfect version of their lives.
I accept his request, and ignore his simple ‘hey’ message. He’s not the only one who can be elusive.
For some reason, and in spite of my best efforts not to, I’ve woken up thinking about the entire life I ran away from. I promised myself that this trip to Canada was all about moving forward, never looking backwards. And yet.
My phone is full of missives from my old life, most of which I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge before now. I consider listening to a few seconds of a voicemail from my mother; something I’ve withstood temptation on for months. ‘You complete and utter stupid fucking idiot…’ she begins by way of salutation, which is pretty much the end of that. I cut her off, thankful for the expanse of ocean between us.
According to Facebook, my old colleague Francesca has escaped the bunker for a whole month and is spending the summer with Her Three in a Tuscan villa. She has posted an album of forty-five pictures, mostly of hydrangeas and umbrella cocktails.
Brigitte has posted a picture of her, Carrie and Marianne in Victoria Park. My friends have never looked happier. Whether it’s the autumn sun or plain personal fulfilment, Carrie in particular is as radiant as someone fresh out of a spa weekend. I feel a dull ache as I think of what things might be like had I stayed in London. Had I not blown up our friendship with two manic thumbs on the detonator pad. To think of Carrie and me bonding over motherhood and our two fat-legged little babies is almost exquisitely painful, like a sort of unrequited love.
