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The line moved along, a bit faster as another booth had opened and the queue split in half. Once more, Edie bided her time, not wanting to join the rush as passengers tried to get to the front. Instead, she tried to quell the nerves that were building inside. The impending introduction to Joe Jarrett had kept her awake at nights, the previous one especially, which was why she was exhausted from going over and over it in her mind.
Ace had assured her that his dad was just an ordinary guy who happened to be a rock star. She shouldn’t be shy or nervous around him because he was really easy going and had a very dry sense of humour that she shouldn’t take seriously if he teased her. He liked to make nicknames up for people, like Nanny Nanou. He also used a lot of weird Mancunian phrases; however, seeing as she’d studied in Manchester, Ace was sure she would understand them and his accent! To be on the safe side, Edie had made a point of familiarising herself with a number of sayings and words, like ginnel, mard, chuffed, sound, hanging, mint and Ace’s favourite, ‘shall I make us a brew?’
She already knew plenty about Joe Jarrett because there was so much stuff out there; Wiki, Google images, fan pages, discographies, and she’d read two unofficial biographies that were basically a rehash of what any old punter could see for themselves online. What Edie was fascinated by was the man behind the photos. Like the ones of him on his weddings days, standing beside his beautiful brides that were so diametrically opposed it made Edie think that Joe didn’t have a type. Darlene, the sun-kissed Californian blonde compared to Jenny, the wild-haired rock chick. And of course, there was plenty written about his two sons, so many images of Lance the television actor who shone brightly in reflected limelight, and Ace, the shy arty son who she was falling in love with.
It was easy to form an opinion of a superstar from YouTube clips, telly interviews and pages and pages of info on Google, but it was the stuff that his son had told her that truly fascinated Edie because it was the real deal. Not that she’d asked about Joe directly, wary of appearing too interested. However, as Ace grew more comfortable with her he’d mention his dad in conversation and Edie sucked it all in, every single scrap of first-hand information that he inadvertently passed on and over time she’d stored up so many bits and bobs. Actually, that was a slight understatement because she’d written it all down in her scrapbook. Each interesting, fascinating fact about him.
Apparently Joe had no time for the poncy things in life like fancy bars and nightclubs. He liked traditional pubs and the one in the village near their home, where he could mingle with the customers and be one of the lads. He still supported the same football team as his old dad and uncles had, and one of Ace’s best nights ever was when him and Joe flew to Porto to watch Manchester City play Chelsea in the Champions League Final. They lost and Ace and Joe were devastated, but it was still one of their happiest father-son memories walking through the crowds with the fans.
Edie even had a list of foods that Joe liked and hated. Ace said that Nanou, their housekeeper but really, more like his gran, had learned to make Joe loads of English meals that he missed. Apple crumble, rice pudding, Manchester tart, meat and potato pie, and suet pudding cooked inside a rag that frankly made Edie gag when she looked it up online.
She also knew the make of jeans and trainers he preferred. Levi’s always, Gola because he loved old-school stuff. And the brand of cigarettes he smoked since he settled in France – Gauloises. The beer he drank – Sans Culottes from the North of France and La Cagole from Marseilles. Edie had noted that Joe had the latter shipped in bulk from the south and that cagole meant ‘a brazen and feisty woman’, a fact she’d underlined in red along with Ace’s comment, that his dad went all Frenchie once he moved to Brittany. All of it fascinated her and helped her build a picture of the man she longed to meet.
There were only two more people in the queue and then all she had to do was grab her case from the baggage carousel and a huge – no massive – episode of her life was about to begin.
Beyond the glass partition she saw the revolving conveyor belt was already filling up with luggage and behind, one of the toddlers was crying and the older child needed the loo. Feeling her phone vibrating inside her pocket, Edie gestured to the stressed parents that they could go in front. As they smiled and gave grateful thanks she checked the screen. It was a message from Ace saying he was waiting in arrivals, and two from earlier that she’d not replied to. Guilt spread though her heart quickly so after updating Ace on her queue status, she texted her gran.
Landed safe. Will let you know when arrived at house. Battery about to go. Will charge ASAP. Love you x
Next, she clicked the name of one of her best uni friends, Rachel, who she missed like a limb since they went their separate ways when they’d graduated in June. She was the only person Edie had confided in about Ace and how she felt, though she had kept the secret locked away. Apart from that, even though they were thousands of miles apart since Rachel had returned home to Illinois, they’d messaged back and forth frequently. Hence the ten thousand words of wisdom she’d received on the run-up to the trip, and she smiled as she read a few more.
Are you there yet? Are you okay? Remember don’t be nervous and imagine Joe on the loo – he’s just a guy, ok? And I want to know EVERYTHING! ?? And send photos. And make sure you tell Ace you’re invited here so you can add it onto your itinerary. A small detour to Chicago on your way to New York – hey, I can come too ?????? Be good. No, be really bad. Keep in touch. Love ya kiddo xxxxxxx
Knowing that Rachel would never cease until she’d replied, Edie typed quickly.
I’ve just landed. Will follow your wise words to the letter – ish. You be good too. I’ll be in touch soon. Love ya right back xxxx
Hoping that would do for now, she switched off her phone and seeing it was her turn, handed her passport to the woman in the booth who gave it and Edie a cursory look before scanning the details. Once that was done, a flick of the head indicated she was free to go, so taking her passport, Edie made her way to the rotunda and watched for her case.
Again, she had no desire to be jostled by passengers desperate to grab their luggage so waited in the second row, placing her passport in the ziplock case along with her tickets and travel money, sliding it into her shoulder bag between the file that contained her scrapbooks and most treasured possession.
No way could she chance putting either of them in her case because she’d heard terrible stories about luggage going missing and items being stolen during transit. Not that anyone would necessarily want to pinch her tatty books, but she felt safer keeping them close by. Words, thoughts, plans, the most private stuff in the world, her life really.
When she spotted her bag, the battered brown leather more or less held together with a paisley belt, Edie’s heart flipped. Not long now and she’d be with Ace and on her way to his home and Joe.
After heaving it onto the floor, Edie grabbed the leather flap and began to drag it across the concourse. Her stomach was a swirl of nerves and she needed to wee. Knowing that the drive from Brest airport to Herval took forty minutes – she’d checked when she’d studied the map of the area and pinpointed the location of Ace’s house – Edie diverted to the loo and bought herself some time to gather her wits.
It was a bit of a performance, dragging her case into the cubicle and then out again, but she’d heard stories about people sticking drugs in between your clothes and no way was she chancing that.
Staring at her reflection as she washed her hands with far too much soap that took ages to rinse off, Edie deliberated over her outfit. A maxi skirt and a strappy vest under a denim jacket looked fine, casual, but like she cared about her appearance. She rarely wore make-up and today was no exception apart from mascara she’d applied that morning that thankfully hadn’t smudged, whereas the lip gloss was long gone so she rummaged in her shoulder bag for more. She wanted to look nice for Ace and not like a drugs mule, hired by a gang of Manchester criminals to swallow bags of heroin or worse, stick them up her bum.
Edie tutted at her own ridiculous thought process but then again, couldn’t help wondering if the border officers would have her pegged as a smuggler and, what did one even look like? Maybe the guy who sat next to her on the plane and didn’t speak a word for the whole journey was one, in fact, he seemed very tense and fidgeted a lot during the flight.
Not for the first time, as she brushed her lips with Nude Shimmer, did she contemplate how easy it was to be one person on the outside while hiding another, deep within. Chubby, sweaty guy on a plane who liked sour-cream-and-chive Pringles far too much, might be off on business, enjoying a few days away from the wife, or, an international fraudster who was on his way to another big con.
And it was this, her vivid imagination and a youth spent in the land of ‘what ifs’ that had taken her on a rollercoaster ride through every emotion possible and deposited her in France, in the here and now. Her childhood tears had dried, her teenage anger dissipated, her yearnings eased, replaced in adulthood by a quest to meet her obsession, the man on the posters. A montage, homage really, of images that had covered the centre section of a scrapbook.
Ever since she’d learned the truth about Joe Jarrett and what he had done it had become her mission. She had bided her time, waiting until she was old enough to act independently, thinking about her every move while keeping her intentions so well hidden that sometimes, even she believed the fake version of her own life.
In her moments of self-doubt, Edie had considered just sitting down and writing Ace a letter, saying she was sorry and couldn’t see him anymore. No way had she ever imagined that everything would snowball like this and how her imaginings could turn into a reality, guided by her obsession with Joe. That’s what it was, she had no illusions and amid a fog of half-truths and secrets, it was the one thing she knew to be true.
And now she was invested. And in love. In her bag were two letters. One to Joe, one to Ace for if, or when, it all went wrong, came out, blew up in her face. So, one way or another Edie had to get on with it. Could she do this? Did she have the bottle? As she dragged her case towards the arrivals hall, Edie took a very deep breath. As the glass doors slid open she spotted Ace, and knew it was time to find out.
