Page 98 of You Belong With Me

She had twinged at him white knighting his exquisite co-worker, though she knew it was only his innate decency speaking. Edie had got what she’d deserved, using it against him like that.

‘I don’t get why she’s being dragged in at all,’ Elliot said, again with a hint of protectiveness that sent Edie secretly spiralling.

‘… Nothing spontaneous was going to happen with Declan either. Except maybe Meg removing his ability to have kids.’

‘His genitals have probably taken up enough of our evening now,’ Elliot said. ‘I’m going to have a shower. Oh, your dress is on the bed.’

Edie didn’t know what he meant. She found a black-gold designer bag and recalled the conversation in New York. Sheunpicked the tissue paper and shook it out. It was perfect – the timing of receiving it, distinctly off.

She couldn’t fathom or combat Elliot’s tactic of determined equanimity when he was obviously annoyed. She got into pyjamas, then bed, and waited it out, sat hugging her knees and listening to the water running in the en suite.

He returned, unsmiling and in jogging bottoms, rubbing wet hair with a towel. It was a sure sign of passive aggressive fighting when you avoided getting undressed around each other.

‘The dress is beautiful, thank you,’ she said.

‘Welcome. Glad you like it.’

‘Look, Elliot …’ Edie said, in a diplomatic tone.

He cut her off: ‘It’s six a.m. my body clock time on a day that’s lasted thirty hours. Would it be all right if we saved conversation for the morning? I’m fit for nothing.’

Edie said: ‘Sure,’ and it turned out that he really meant nothing, rolling away from her so she couldn’t see if he was awake, chest rising and falling steadily.

The exhaustion was one third true, two thirds convenient alibi – of that she was sure.

Edie lay in the dark, trying to work out why it felt like Elliot was disappointed in her, somehow.

51

Edie woke before Elliot in the morning and decided on a long shower herself to scour away the night before. Also, if there was going to be more sullen bickering, she’d rather do it looking presentable.

When she emerged from the noise and the steam, Elliot was sat up in bed, scrolling on his phone.

He put it to one side. ‘Come back to bed.’

Edie lay down next to him, pushing wet hair out of her face.

‘I meant without the towel.’

‘Oh, did you?’ she said, insouciant, with concealed relief.

Elliot gently tugged at the fabric’s edge above her knees, failing to make any progress. ‘My God, you’re not so much mummy-wrapped in this – it’s like a sarcophagus,’ Elliot said, making her squeal as he wrestled with the bath sheet.

Edie was grateful at humour returning, and other things, too. They were fixing the distance that had developed in a way that therapists probably didn’t recommend but appeared to have worked.

‘Are we not going to talk about last night?’ Edie said, lying in his arms afterwards.

The incendiary device was safe for defusal and disposal now, and it was safest not to leave it there.

‘What about it?’

‘About you going Jeremy Paxman when questioning me about Declan crashing at mine.’

‘I didn’t?’ Elliot said. ‘I asked questions that I think any boyfriend would ask. You explained. Subject ended.’

‘When we talked about Ines climbing you like a monkey on a car at a safari park, you said neither of us needed to know about anything completely insignificant that might be unsettling.’

‘Yes?’

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