Editing Emma

by Chloe Seager

  ‘I’ll say I have to pee and then run out and phone Greg very quickly.’

  ‘This is going to be a circus.’

  posted by EditingEmma 16.35

  I’d just come out of FT and was walking along with Gracie, when Leon sprang up beside me.

  ‘What’s in that?’ he said, pointing at my FT tin.

  ‘A jam roly-poly.’

  ‘It’s actually a burnt jam roly-poly,’ Gracie interjected.

  ‘Let’s see it, then.’

  He lifted up the lid and stared in. ‘That can’t be edible.’

  ‘It’s not,’ said Gracie.

  Leon picked up the roly-poly and started laughing.

  ‘Can I?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Then he walked off into the distance, swinging my blackened cylindrical baked good in the air.

  ‘Surely he can’t be planning on eating that. Anna bakes such nice things,’ said Gracie.

  And I wished I had it back to use as a weapon.

  posted by EditingEmma 20.34

  Round at Steph’s. I keep thinking about Leon walking around out there, holding my jam poly-poly. It seems significant somehow. Greg messaged:

  Wish I could’ve seen you tonight x 19.16

  Me too. Sorry, had to help Steph with this project though xx 19.41

  A lie, but I put two kisses at the end which sort of makes up for it.

  posted by EditingEmma 23.51

  Even spooning Steph can’t put me to sleep. In nine minutes it will be the day of the party. A day that I potentially have another sacred, incomparable kiss with Leon. Or potentially mess it up with a really nice boy, for someone who, as Faith put it, ‘treats me like a piece of mud on the floor’.

  Saturday, 18 October

  posted by EditingEmma 11.01

  THE DAY OF THE PARTY

  I’m so anxious, I constantly feel like I might poo. Steph made me a bacon sandwich and my nerves are so strong that eating it was more disgusting than pleasurable, but I couldn’t face myself if I said no to a bacon sandwich. What would that make me?

  I’ve made Steph run through the plan with me so many times I think she’s grown to hate me a little. Especially when I made her role-play as Greg.

  posted by EditingEmma 18.16

  At Gracie’s

  Her parents just left. As they went out they glanced at me all frightened, then looked at Gracie as if to say, Please don’t let her throw up on the spare room floor again. Which is probably fair enough, really.

  Anyway, Gracie is particularly stressy today, because she’s all worried not enough people are coming.

  I said, ‘That’s what happens when you only invite twenty people and five of them can’t come.’

  Then she shoved me. She shoved me!!! AND she invited Greg!!! She just walked into the room, announcing, ‘By the way, I told my brother he could bring Greg tonight.’

  ‘WHAT???’

  We all stared at her.

  ‘Look, my brother asked, I couldn’t really say no, could I?’

  ‘I thought you said Andy and Greg “weren’t really friends”.’

  She didn’t answer that, and replied, ‘If you want me to, I can go and explain to Andy why he can’t come?’

  She knew she had me there and looked really smug. Aghh!! There’s no way Andy asked if Greg could come! She’s so only doing this to raise numbers for her stupid party!!

  posted by EditingEmma 19.28

  Eating dinner in silence, as a protest.

  posted by EditingEmma 19.38

  No one seemed to care about my silent protest, so I joined back in with the conversation. But I purposefully didn’t enjoy it.

  posted by EditingEmma 19.45

  If you think about it, maybe it’s actually better for my plan that both Greg and Leon are coming to the party. If I’m getting the vibes from Leon, then I can break up with Greg face to face instead of over the phone. As concluded in my previous post, no one wants to be dumped via any form of technology. What was I thinking?! This way will be much nicer.

  Much nicer.

  Yes. It will all be fine. Probably. I’m not a horrible person. I mean, I give to charity. Specifically, to the bees. Where would the bees be without my kind donations? (Kind donations that actually come from my mother because I don’t make any money.)

  AHHH who am I kidding!!! This isn’t nicer in any way!! This is horrible!

  posted by EditingEmma 20.27

  Putting on Make-up in Gracie’s Room

  Me: ‘How can I draw a moustache on her without her noticing?’

  Steph: ‘In her sleep?’

  Me: ‘It’s not really bedtime.’

  Steph: ‘Crush some sleeping pills and put them in her vodka?’

  Me: ‘I said I want to draw on her, Steph, not kill her.’

  Then Faith said, ‘Guys, she’s allowed to invite who she wants to her party. It’s her house.’

  I stared at her.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, Emma. Why don’t you just tell Leon the truth before he gets here?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Fine, then break up with Greg before he gets here.’

  ‘. . . I can’t.’

  ‘Well then, it’s your mess. Don’t blame Gracie.’

  And she walked off to the bathroom… I gazed after her with an open mouth. Well, now that’s two friends crossed off the list of people I will be speaking to tonight.

  Steph said, ‘Wow, I didn’t know your mouth was that big. Can I try to throw things into it?’

  I can’t make it three people off the list, or I might have no one to talk to…

  Emma Nash @Em_Nasher

  .@Brentsy attempting to get Maltesers in my mouth. That’s 17 to the floor, 0 into my mouth

  posted by EditingEmma 20.59

  Why Doing Stuff Just for You = A Confidence Boost

  I put on my dress that I made and Faith said, ‘That’s nice. Where did you get it?’

  And then I got to say, ‘Oh, actually, I made it myself.’

  BEST FEELING EVER.

  I’m feeling really warm and happy… I know it sounds silly but this dress is something separate from any other aspect of my life, not for anyone else, just for me… Something I’ve achieved. I feel… proud of myself for something. Which never happens.

  posted by EditingEmma 21.14

  I’m even enjoying putting on make-up to go with it. I feel like I’m expressing myself, rather than just drudgingly trying to make myself look better. For a moment I actually felt sorry for the other half of the population that feel they can’t do this, rather than the other way around.

  Gracie saw it and got even more moody because I look nothing like a character out of The Great Gatsby. But even she said it was nice! And she loved her ‘Word Wizard’ jumper. She pretended like it was really lame in front of Andy and Babs (who, in his own words, is here early ‘cause the party don’t start ’til he walks in’), but there was true glee in her eyes.

  posted by EditingEmma 21.35

  Greg is here. Back to feeling awful about myself. Should I break up with him now?!

  posted by EditingEmma 23.39

  It’s eleven-thirty and I’m already minesweeping in the kitchen like a lonely, minesweeping gremlin.

  When Greg got here he bent down to kiss me.

  ‘You look amazing,’ he murmured, ‘and your dress is really nice.’

  I smiled weakly and pretended I was really interested in what Gracie was saying. Which wasn’t convincing because she was just stressing about whether her flapper headdress ‘looked authentic’. After a while, Greg said, ‘Emma, can I talk to you?’

  ‘Err… Sure. Go for it.’

  He led me by the hand to Andy’s room and shut the door. For a blissful moment I thought maybe he was going to break up with me and I wouldn’t have to worry any more. But he didn’t.

  ‘Why did you lie to me about what you were doing tonight?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘You said you w
ere hanging out with your friends.’

  ‘I am hanging out with my friends.’

  ‘And about a hundred other people.’

  ‘A hundred? You clearly haven’t seen the guest list.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you annoyed at me, Emma?’

  ‘I don’t know… er… why might I be annoyed at you?’

  ‘Is it because I went to that party without you? It would have been hard to bring you, because it was at a club and you don’t have ID.’

  I paused. ‘It… could be.’

  ‘I just don’t want our age difference to get in the way of something really good.’

  Age difference!! Yes!! That’s something I can use. He’s just handing me break-up lines on a plate.

  ‘I should go see if Gracie needs any help,’ I said, and left the room. When I went downstairs she was actually struggling to put up a giant poster of a big pair of eyes, so I held one end. The room does actually look really nice. She’s got stands with little mini-macaroons and vases with feathers in and a pink champagne fountain.

  Then Leon arrived.

  Thoughts on Leon’s Arrival

  I wonder when my Daisy will get here?

  She’s here. I mean, he’s here. Leon is here. Leon is here. Leon is here.

  Thank God I’m talking to Holly and not someone who cares whether I’m listening.

  He’s taken off his coat and now he’s moving towards the drinks table.

  He’s picking up a pink champagne.

  And sipping it.

  He’s been in the room for two minutes now.

  And now three.

  He’s turning around and OH MY GOD he caught my eye.

  Just for a second everything stopped and it was like everything between us was somehow said in that look. But I don’t want to overanalyse it as, er, I have been known to misinterpret eye contact before.

  Anyway, I carried on like a human-tracking device. I’m always aware of exactly where he is in the room. Even when he’s behind me. And he kept looking over at me too. It was amazing, only constant surveillance was making my ‘pretending not to have a boyfriend’ act a little harder. I was standing very far away from Greg and every time he came near me I pretended that I was incredibly interested in something on the other side of the room. Then I’d walk away leaving him looking like a lost bunny… Oh God.

  At this point I’m thinking, Why did I think this plan would work?? They both kept looking at me all deceived and it was making me almost feel like I might have the beginnings of a conscience. Then Greg strode towards me in a purposeful and slightly aggressive manner. I pretended to be really interested in a painting of a fruit bowl and ran over to it, but he followed me.

  ‘Emma, why are you ignoring me?’

  ‘What? I’m not.’

  ‘You are, though.’

  ‘What do you think this painter was thinking about when he painted this?’

  ‘Fruit.’

  ‘Interesting… Interesting… I think he was thinking about his mother.’

  ‘Emma,’ he said, grabbing my arm.

  I’m not exactly Tinkerbell so I went crashing sideways into the table. Which meant, of course, that everyone started staring at us. Including Leon.

  ‘What’s going on with you?’ he pressed me.

  I glanced sideways at Leon, who was frowning.

  ‘Well, after that violent outburst, I don’t think I want to talk to you.’

  ‘It was an accident! I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well… Sorry doesn’t always cut the mustard, Greg.’

  I walked off.

  (Cut the mustard?)

  And that’s how I ended up downing other people’s dirty leftover drinks in the gutter where I belong. I hope no one here has the flu. Or mouth herpes.

  Gracie just came over to me and said, ‘Greg went home. I hope you’re happy.’

  ‘I’m THRILLED,’ I replied, trying to be sarcastic and casual, but definitely coming off like a raving madwoman by shouting and throwing my arms around.

  I’m a horrible person. And a confused person. I do really like Greg. What am I doing?

  posted by EditingEmma 00.29

  And now it’s half-twelve, and I’m crying alone in the garden. This party just gets better and better. Leon came over to me when I was in the kitchen. I pushed the weird potion I was making out of different people’s drinks away.

  ‘Emma, are you OK? What happened with you and that boy? Was that Greg?’

  He looked genuinely concerned.

  ‘Yes… He, er, he’s having trouble accepting the break-up.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Well, I hope you’re OK.’

  ‘I think I am… thanks.’

  I looked into his eyes for a second too long, and he stared back. Could this really be happening?? Then he looked away and stared down at the floor.

  ‘You looked so funny when you went flying over that table… I mean, it kind of reminded me of that hippo that fell off that truck and died, the way you just lay there.’

  ‘I didn’t just lie there.’

  ‘You did,’ he said, laughing.

  And for some reason, it wasn’t funny. In that moment I couldn’t laugh at myself. My heart snapped in two and I just stood there watching him laugh at me, getting further and further away. I felt the reality of the situation. I was ‘the friend’ and I always would be. Someone he could liken to a fallen, dead hippo without a second thought. My eyes welled up with tears.

  ‘Screw you, Leon,’ I said, suddenly vaguely aware of my words slurring, ‘I wish the hippo was alive instead of you.’

  And I ran off, trying not to run in a way that could be compared to another kind of lumpish animal. And now here I am. It seemed like a very good idea at the time. But it’s very cold and the house seems very far away. I’m sitting on the swing, crying silently.

  Probably not silently. I’m sniffling a lot. And wailing at intervals.

  posted by EditingEmma 03.36

  I saw Leon step out onto the patio, looking for me. Someone pointed down the end of the garden and he turned around, searching the shadows. He came and sat on the swing next to me. I want to write down everything that just happened because I don’t want to forget any of it. Even the bad parts:

  I’m too drunk for my heart to start pounding, or to feel nervous in any way. I just feel all sorts of things at once. Like I want to hit him and scream at him and kiss him and cradle him. But it’s bigger than him… it’s just like the world is too huge and empty but also full of too many possibilities and feelings and it’s all opening up for me and it’s too much and I’m really really alive and present in this moment but at the same time I’ve got no idea what I’m doing and I’m just kicking around like a bug on its back that can’t get up.

  And for no apparent reason I just start swinging. Really, really hard, manic swinging. I’m vaguely aware of him beside me and at some point he starts swinging too. We’re both just swinging… Swinging is a funny word. I’m not sure how long we swung for. But my brain fills with the words just keep swinging just keep swinging just keep swinging and it seems easier for a while, somehow, as if there’s no room in it for my actual thoughts.

  Then I have to stop because I’m out of breath. Leon stops too and says, ‘Are you quite finished?’

  ‘Yes,’ I wheeze.

  ‘You’re really red,’ he says. ‘Like, really, really red. It’s dark and I can still see your face shining into the night.’

  ‘Well…’ I take a long breath, ‘I’m no hockey captain.’

  ‘Shut up, Emma.’

  ‘Don’t tell me to shut up!’

  And I start crying again. Then he gets up and stands by my swing and pushes the hair out of my face. And then he kneels in the grass and puts his arms around my waist, and rests his head on my stomach. And I breathe in his hair, which smells like bubbles and biscuits and soap all at the same time, which doesn’t sound appealing but it’s incredible. And it’s so much better in real life than wh
en I’m walking around and think I smell it. And I’m running my hands through his soft, long dark hair and it’s not in my imagination, it’s HAPPENING.

  And then somehow he’s kissing me. And it’s not just kissing like the act of kissing, he’s kissing me and I’m kissing him. It’s frantic yet soft and beautiful. And I’m a bit snotty and gross but he doesn’t seem to care, and he starts kissing the tears from my cheek and I could go on for ever. I’m not aware of anything else, I’ve got no idea how long we’ve been kissing for. Sometimes we stop. And then I realise we’ve started again.

  Later on, who knows how much later, we’re lying in the grass next to each other. I’m lying in the crook of his arm and looking up at the sky, which feels big in a good way, now. We’re just talking about EVERYTHING. A vague outline of our conversation:

  ‘I’m sorry about Biology…’ he sighs, ‘I just… I was embarrassed.’

  ‘Embarrassed of what?’

  ‘You know.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Don’t make me say it.’

  ‘I’m serious, Leon. I have no idea what you mean.’

  He pauses. ‘When you came up behind me. I was… looking at your Twitter.’

  I could laugh out loud at the irony.

  ‘I didn’t see. I swear.’

  We’re silent for a moment.

  ‘When you tweeted about making dinner that time, I really wanted to come and save your fingers, by the way.’

  The back of my throat prickles with tears.

  ‘Can I ask one thing?’ he says. ‘Why did your mum behead a stuffed camel?’

  I laugh, and tell him.

  ‘OH MY GOD. I can’t believe I missed that.’

  ‘Me neither.’ I take a breath, and ask what I’ve been wanting to ask for four months, ‘Why did you?’

  He looks uncomfortable. ‘We weren’t speaking.’

  ‘Yes. I know. But… why weren’t we speaking?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s not a reason.’

  ‘I don’t know. I was upset.’

  ‘You were upset? But you’re the one who broke up with me.’

  ‘I don’t know, I just… felt really angry with you. For making me feel like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like… I don’t know, Emma!’

  ‘You do know.’