The Perfect Girlfriend

by Karen Hamilton

  His beseeching tone grates.

  ‘Well, bad luck, I have enough faith for both of us to make this work.’

  Nate stands up. ‘This is a serious problem. I’m sorry that you want more than I can give. Whatever happened the other night – and I only have your word for everything – it wasn’t real. It was way too much.’

  ‘Are you calling me a liar?’

  ‘No. But I bet you didn’t need much persuading to drag me up that aisle.’

  ‘There was no aisle, we were in a Cadillac. You know that. And there was no dragging involved. Phone the bloody chapel, ask them how forced you were!’

  ‘I’m sorry. I know I’m as much to blame. It’s just that this isn’t a game! These are our lives.’

  ‘Yes. Mine and yours.’

  We both swing round at a theatrical clearing of the throat.

  ‘A word, please, Nate,’ says James.

  Nate follows him back into the room. Nate would have a lawyer friend. He has a doctor one, a banker one, a financial adviser one, the list goes on. I’m pissed off. If James only left us alone, in private, I could figure something out.

  I wait. I can’t hear voices.

  Several more minutes pass, then James walks out, with Nate immediately behind.

  ‘Righto, goodbye, Elizabeth. I’ll leave you two alone.’

  ‘Yes, thanks. I’ll call you,’ says Nate.

  James raises his arm in a brief wave and lets himself out.

  Silence after the door closes. Nate looks happier, and he can’t quite meet my eyes.

  ‘Shall we go somewhere for a coffee so we can talk properly?’ he suggests.

  ‘No. I’m fine here, thanks, but I’m exhausted. I didn’t sleep in the bunks. I need a rest, then we can talk as much as you like.’

  ‘Rest where? Here?’

  I shrug, as if to say, ‘Where else?’

  ‘No. You can’t stay here. You have to leave. I’ll drive you back to yours and we can talk on the way.’

  ‘I can’t think straight. After keeping me up socializing with your friend, you cannot deny me a short rest. Surely? You can’t have everything your own way.’

  ‘Everything my own way? This is insane. This is all . . . wrong. I keep expecting to wake up and feel nothing but sheer relief that all this never happened. I should’ve known better. I should’ve known you’d take things too far. This is why it can never work between us. You’re too all or nothing. You don’t know when to stop. You have no off-switch!’

  ‘I’ll leave you to calm down,’ I say in the same tone of voice he used with me when he wanted me to ‘be reasonable’ about our break-up.

  He remains in the living room whilst I wheel my bag and suitcase into our bedroom. I remove my toiletries and have a shower in his en suite. Even though I tie my hair up, so as not to get it wet, I place my shampoo next to his in the shower. Afterwards, I leave my toothbrush where he keeps his. I unpack, putting my clean stuff back into the drawers, their former home. Nate has filled one of them with random things that look like unwanted gifts – a box containing cufflinks, two ties and a sealed pack of department-store boxer shorts. I remove them and put them in ‘his’ drawers.

  I didn’t tell Nate that I now have a car, so we drive home together, side by side – a proper couple – in his black Jag. Everything feels so right. In fact, it feels so right, I cannot understand why he continues to fight this. He has feelings for me, I know he does.

  ‘I’ll set my alarm for an hour,’ I call out. ‘We can order in some food.’

  He can think again if he thinks I’ll cook, given his current attitude.

  Nate doesn’t reply.

  I am tired, that is the truth. I spent the whole ten-and-a-half-hour flight buzzing with a mixture of adrenalin and apprehension.

  It is still light. I must have only dropped off for a few minutes.

  My mouth is dry. I look to my left. No Nate. I slump back. My limbs ache. I can feel sleep clawing me back into oblivion. Awareness and reality seep back in. I hear familiar sounds: morning creaks and the whining of the shower pump. I’ve been back home a whole night. I force myself up, put on Nate’s gown and wander into the living room.

  Outside it is a glorious day. My mind fills with plans. I can make a picnic and we can go and sit by the river. I hear the shower stop. An empty feeling in the pit of my stomach forms as I await Nate’s latest reaction.

  I go into the kitchen and switch on the coffee machine. I open the fridge and stare inside, but realize I don’t want anything. I make two coffees. Nate appears, dressed in his running gear.

  ‘Morning! I’ve made you a coffee,’ I smile.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He accepts it and makes his way to the sofa. I sit next to him. For several seconds, we are silent, both sipping.

  ‘Why didn’t you come to bed?’

  ‘Why do you think?’

  I don’t answer.

  ‘I slept in the spare room.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’m going for the annulment under the grounds that I was intoxicated.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I’d like you to agree so that we can do it together. I don’t want this to get nasty. If we work as a team, it will be relatively straightforward. I’d really like us to stay friends.’

  ‘Well, that’s a lie. You said that the last time you dumped me. You even deleted me as a Facebook friend. You made no attempt at maintaining a friendship.’

  ‘For God’s sake, neither did you, from what I recall. I said we could keep in touch, that it didn’t have to be a total clean break. But you wouldn’t have it. It was your way or no way.’

  Only because I had no bloody choice.

  I’m not stupid. If he didn’t want us to live together, then his feelings weren’t in the right place. I had to play the long game. If I’d hung around accepting crumbs of supposed friendship and, in all likelihood, sporadic sex if he stayed single for long enough, then I’d have had zero chance of getting us back on track. Zero. No one respects anyone who puts up with less than they deserve. It’s exactly why Bella thought she could treat me the way she did. I had to forsake nearly a year of my life to ensure that he would accept me back in the future.

  And now the future is here.

  ‘Give us a chance, Nate. Give me a week – here, together – and if you still feel the same, I’ll go along with anything you want.’

  ‘What’s the point? Seriously, what is the point? The situation is what it is, and I’m not going to change my mind.’

  I glare.

  ‘It’s for the best.’

  I can’t stand up. I feel weak. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I thought that if I lassoed him in, if he spent quality time legally tied to me, he would reach acceptance. And his feelings would return. Which they did. He was jealous of ‘Matt’, his pride was dented. But I also know what he’s like. The last time I made a fuss when we broke up, it just made him dig his heels in further.

  ‘Lily. I’m sorry. Perhaps a total clean break might be best. What about the other airlines? You can apply again, every year. There’s so much ahead of you.’

  ‘Have you any idea how patronizing you sound right now? How about you go to a different airline?’

  Ignoring me, he ploughs on with his straw-clutching. ‘Or . . . you might even patch things up with Matt. Blame everything on me.’

  The doorbell goes.

  ‘It’s the cleaner,’ he says as he stands up.

  I take a deep breath, stand up straight and head for the bedroom.

  ‘I do blame everything on you,’ I say over my shoulder.

  ‘You’ll look back and thank me one day,’ he calls back before he opens the front door.

  Before I shut the bedroom door properly, I stare through the crack. After a brief hello to his cleaner, he is already on the phone to James. His smug tone as he says it’s ‘all sorted’ makes me feel like I’m some kind of dispensable product.

  I lock myself in the bathroom, forcing
back the urge to smash the bathroom mirror.

  Deep breaths.

  After a few minutes’ consideration, I realize that it’s not all bad. Because in this moment, something twists in my heart and mind.

  I despise Nathan Goldsmith.

  20

  I am in limbo.

  Firstly, trapped in a job that screws up my body clock. It’s fine when I’m going to civilized places with working Wi-Fi, decent gyms and non-extreme weather, but not when I’m awake in the middle of the night, sick with jet lag, being dragged off to yet another continent. However, I don’t see why I should resign simply because it makes things more comfortable for Nate. Secondly, I’m stuck with a semi-husband.

  It’s now been six weeks since our wedding and we’re still legally married. Luckily for me, things aren’t as straightforward as Nate made out, but between him and James, they are working hard to get shot of me. I get regular mails from James Harrington with phrases like uncontested, incapable of assent, unsound mind – not references to me but to Nate, apparently, during our wedding – agree to non-consummation. What? He wants me to lie? I text Nate, asking if he wants me to lie on a legal document, but he doesn’t reply.

  It can take up to three weeks to get the marriage annulled in Nevada if we travel back there together, or up to a year in the UK. Obviously, I said I’d prefer the UK. Back and forth the mails go. I feel like a child caught up in divorce custody arrangements.

  My life is a repeat cycle of going to work, flying home and ignoring Nate’s messages as often as I can get away with it.

  I land from Washington on a slightly foggy morning after a forty-minute delay. We had to circle the skies above Heathrow whilst the fog cleared.

  This time of year will, for me, always be synonymous with the threat of a new school year. The unmistakable drop in temperature – the tail end of summer merging with autumn coolness – hits my face as my heels clatter on the metal steps of a remote stand at Heathrow, whilst inhaling the strong smell of jet fuel. The entire crew gathers on the tarmac in front of the left engines whilst we wait for our bus.

  Ascending planes roar just above us as they rise above the runway. I have two hours until my meeting with my manager to discuss my new role as a safety ambassador. I could have had it tomorrow, but it would have meant a special trip back. Soon, I’ll only have to fly part-time, because the role is partly office based. I’m also now working on a brand-new POA. However, because it’s in its infancy, there aren’t enough jobs yet to all-consume me. The best news is that my purchase of the flat is progressing well, and there is every chance I could be in my new home within weeks.

  After swiping through Immigration, paying in my duty-free sales money and escaping unsearched through Customs, I head for the canteen to wait for Amy. She called me yesterday, after weeks of zero contact. She’s got a new boyfriend, so is clearly one of those women who thinks she doesn’t need friends when she has a man. She’ll learn.

  ‘Hi,’ I say with a smile as she approaches. I kiss her once on each cheek, feeling genuinely pleased to see her. I’m suffering post-wedding blues.

  ‘Hi,’ she says. ‘Are you getting anything to eat?’

  I shake my head. As she heads to the counter to order a panini, my heart stops as a blond pilot walks past. But it’s not Nate. I knew it couldn’t be, because I checked; he’s in Antigua. I look around, unsettled. I feel out of sorts. I focus on the red and blue of an Air France plane visible through the floor-to-ceiling windowpanes.

  Breathe. Something’s not right; although Amy greeted me perfectly normally, she seems tense. Nervous, even. Something’s definitely not right.

  ‘So, tell me about this mysterious new man,’ I say when she sits back down opposite me.

  ‘There’s not much to tell. I met him on a Lagos trip.’ She takes a bite of her panini.

  ‘So, crew then?’

  She looks at me. ‘Yes. A pilot.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Rupert. Rupert Palmer.’

  ‘Oh.’ I swallow. ‘Is he nice?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Yes, you do. You know one of his closest friends. Very well.’

  Damn Nate and his posse of friends. ‘I do?’

  ‘You took us to his friend’s flat. Imagine my surprise when we went round there the other night and I realized that I’d been there before. With you.’

  I freeze.

  ‘I didn’t say anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ she says, like I’m supposed to be grateful.

  When in doubt, say nothing. I look at Amy.

  ‘So, I’m guessing Nate is “Nick”? Why did you lie?’

  ‘I didn’t lie, as such. It’s complicated.’

  ‘I’m sure it is. So, tell me.’

  ‘It’s a long story and not really anyone else’s business.’

  ‘Look, I like Rupert. Really, really like him. And I don’t want to keep secrets from him. If there’s a good reason why you took us to Nate’s that night, then fine. But you were searching for something in his spare room.’

  I stare at her. Judgemental cow. Just wait until Rupert dumps her and she finds herself in my position.

  ‘You had keys, Juliette.’

  ‘I don’t any more. We got back together briefly, very recently, if you must know. Nate is a complicated man.’

  ‘Oh. Complicated in what way?’

  I reach out and take her hand. ‘Please keep quiet about that night. There’s no need for you to say anything at all. Nate and I are over for good and I want to keep it that way. If you’re ever there again, please don’t mention me.’ I try to sound as though I’m close to tears.

  ‘OK. Sorry. It’s just that it was weird going to a flat where I’d been before, and sensing that I had to be secretive. I asked Nate if his fish needed feeding when he was away and he said no, they are very self-reliant.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m so grateful for your support.’ I smile weakly. But . . . I don’t trust her. A true friend would have texted me from the flat and been on my side, willing to hear my part of the story.

  Amy is no friend of mine.

  ‘I have to go,’ I say. ‘I have a very important meeting with my manager.’

  We say our goodbyes and I walk towards the corridor.

  I sit outside Lorraine’s office. My mind is filled with rage and hatred. Bella. Nate. Amy. The world is full of betrayers, everyone is out for themselves. There’s no loyalty. No one cares about me unless I’m filling a temporary void in their lives. Amy is a Judas, like Bella.

  I hate sitting outside offices, waiting. It brings back memories of waiting outside the headmistress’ office, two days after the party.

  It was a nightmare.

  As if being ignored after the first time I’d had sex wasn’t bad enough, I’d gone to a local chemist to get the morning-after pill during late afternoon break. I’d tried to convince myself – at first – that it would all be OK. But as the hours passed, and the thought that a real baby could be growing inside me filled me with such dread, I knew I had to take action. I couldn’t take the risk of going to the school matron; I just couldn’t face the questions, the interrogation, the shame. But I made a mistake. A really stupid one. I can only think that I was so upset, so hurt, that I really wasn’t thinking straight, because I left the box in the bin in our dorm. Of course it was spotted – and, inevitably, by Bella. It didn’t take her long to eliminate her ‘suspects’ and narrow it down to me.

  I denied it to the headmistress, I denied it to them all. But it didn’t work. And then, if I thought it had been bad before, I quickly realized that I’d been wrong. Bad news travels fast. Cruel gossip about someone else, even faster. I tried to blank it all out, to ignore it. The names, the sniggers, the cruel notes put in my desk, the pictures of women who’d been body-shamed in magazines cut out with my face stuck on. I kept reminding myself that I’d lasted this long, managed the loneliness for years, it wasn’t
for much longer. But it was tough. One day I cracked and screamed at them all to leave me alone.

  At the time, I felt proud for standing up for myself. But it was short-lived, as I could not win against someone like Bella. Girls like her get to make decisions about girls like me. Who our friends are or aren’t, who will or won’t speak to us, and even how teachers view us. And I was getting more and more sick of it. But what was even harder to admit was that, still, no matter what, all Bella would ever have to do was say the word and I would, of course, have been so pathetically grateful.

  I’d have forgiven Bella anything to be a part of her world. Anything.

  In the meantime, my options were limited. I wanted to speak to the House Mother about it, but every time I waited outside her door, I couldn’t summon up the courage to knock. I feared she’d take Bella’s side or dismiss my worries with her standard phrase in response to most things: ‘Have a good sleep. I’m sure things will be better in the morning.’

  Instead, I thought of ideas to prove them wrong and make Bella pay.

  ‘Juliette?’ Lorraine is standing at the door to her office. She beckons me in. ‘Thank you for coming,’ she says, in between mouthfuls of sandwich. ‘Sorry, I didn’t have time for lunch.’

  ‘Please, don’t mind me,’ I say. No one else does.

  ‘I’ll run through the training schedule with you.’ She taps her keyboard with the forefinger of her free hand. ‘Although . . .’ she hesitates. ‘There have been a few comments lately on your on-board appraisals. Impatient. Lacking in enthusiasm. Have you had anything going on in your personal life that is impacting on your work?’ Lorraine puts down her sandwich and looks at me.

  ‘My boyfriend proposed. Then, when things got to a crucial stage, it all went wrong. Cold feet.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Thank you for being honest with me. In that case, I’m prepared to overlook these comments, provided we don’t receive any more . . .’

  Lorraine’s voice becomes background noise: trial period . . . responsibility . . . confidentiality.

  This new role has come at the right time. Once in a position of trust, I will have greater access to information.