And, because I am in the mood for full-blown masochism, I take an amble over to Johnny’s Facebook page, my first look in months. He has updated his profile picture, removing the one of the two of us from a trip to the Lake District. The new picture, inexplicably, is of Marvin the Martian. The work wife Melanie has liked it, in any case.
After that, I spend the morning going through my usual routine– checking Ted’s social media, checking his family and friends’ social media, checking for any kind of Twitter mentions from people who might have met him in passing– when the doorbell rings. No one ever comes to visit, except Stevie. Grudgingly I move to answer it, all the while batting away the idea that I should be winding whatever this is down and thinking about a return to London.
These days, I am always dressed in something vaguely cute, fully made-up and blow-dried, in case Ted ever decides to make a spontaneous visit to the house. Which is just as well, because as I open the door I come face to face with Alice Andre.
23
Alice truly looks like the type of person who has never taken a shit in her life. She looks so clean and shiny. Like a hairless puppy. She is almost inhuman. Ambrosial in her smoothness. I feel my neck tilt upwards to meet her eye.
It devastates me to realize that alongside all this corporeal perfection, her vibe is immediately warm and likeable. She offers me a big smile.
‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ She grins uncertainly, checking the number on the front door. ‘I was looking for Naomi.’
‘Are you a friend or… workmate?’ I offer, playing the total innocent.
‘Oh, wait, are you Irish? That’s pretty cool. I went to live in Dublin for a semester in college. It’s such a beautiful city. And the beaches?’
Stop. Being. So. Fucking. Nice. Her friendliness, meted out to seemingly everyone and anyone, is upsetting.
‘Do you want to come in and wait for Naomi? I don’t think she will be long. I’m her housemate, by the way. Esther.’
‘I didn’t realize she had a…’ she starts, evidently coming to a very rational conclusion: why would a wealthy woman in her late forties have a housemate to begin with? ‘I’m Alice.’
‘Please, do come on in and wait for her here. I’m making matcha lattes in the kitchen.’
‘Oh no, I won’t disturb you,’ she says, waving her hands and moving away.
I want to tell her that coming in will not disturb me in the slightest, and in fact it would be of incredible importance to me to get to know her, and about her situation, and how exactly she knows Naomi, and Naomi’s step-brother. I study her impeccable soft hands with their ballet-pink nails, imagining them all over Ted. She is sun-kissed and freckled, no doubt from those many weeks as a movie groupie in California.
‘No! Please come in, I insist,’ I say. ‘It’s not often I get to meet people here that have even been to Dublin.’
‘I stayed in a place called Ranelagh.’ Goddammit. She says it the right way and everything.
‘Oh, very posh,’ I say lightly and she laughs.
‘I don’t think so,’ she sings. ‘It was a studio apartment the size of my suitcase. The shower never worked.’
I put the kettle on in the kitchen, if only to have something else to concentrate on. ‘So, you’ll have a matcha latte?’
‘Is that the stuff that tastes a bit like grass?’ she asks, making a face. She’s even cooler than I gave her credit for. Keeping my breath steady is taking work.
‘How about tea?’
‘Regular, if you guys have it.’
‘So how do you know Naomi?’ I notice that she hasn’t answered the question from before.
‘Well, to be honest, I just know her a little, from a couple of emails. I just have something I need to discuss with her, y’know, just… family stuff. Ughh, it’s boring.’
‘If anyone can help, it’s Naomi,’ I tell her. ‘I’m one ofher very good friends, and she’s always been great whenever I’ve had to work through something, so I can tell you right now that you’ll be in safe hands. Unless you feel like offloading to a perfect stranger?’
Alice hesitates in the glare of the sweetest smile my face can fashion. ‘Y’know, it’s kind of a private thing? Sorry. I don’t mean to be… but you know…’
Bah and frig and shit. ‘Lookit, no problem at all!’ I reply, placing her tea on the table, seeing in my mind’s eye my hand flinging the entire thing in her perfect face. Her eyes don’t seem as cross-eyed as I thought they were.
Alice seems uneasy. ‘Look, I don’t want to keep you from work or whatever you need to do. I’m just happy to hang out here and wait for a while.’
‘No, it’s fine. I pretty much keep my own hours. I’m a screenwriter. I’m doing a script for a show back in London.’ The lie keeps shapeshifting in my head, and as I struggle to keep up with it, I hope no one else notices too much.
