The Perfect Girlfriend

by Karen Hamilton

  We clink glasses.

  He opens up a little about his personal life. He never intended to become a financial adviser, but rather fell into it. Not that he minds, he insists.

  ‘Does your wife work in a similar industry?’ I ask.

  ‘No. I’m not married. Like you, I have a fiancée.’

  ‘How did the two of you meet?’

  He hesitates, as though unsure of how to answer.

  ‘Sorry. It’s none of my business,’ I quickly say. ‘I always gabble when I’m a bit nervous.’ I do my best to appear embarrassed, then I change the subject. ‘Do you enjoy golf?’

  I already know that he does. I allow him a further fifteen minutes of my undivided time, then look at my watch.

  ‘Oh! I must run. Such a shame. I’ve really enjoyed our chat.’

  He stands up when I do. ‘Likewise.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch soon,’ I say. I shake his hand and leave, without looking back.

  It isn’t enough that he seems ripe for being persuaded to cheat on Bella. I want him to fall in love with me. I want Bella to experience heartbreak and humiliation. By showering Miles with my attention, this will be an inside job. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer type of thing.

  Speaking of which, I call Nate to tell him I’m on my way over to his flat with my ‘evidence’.

  We sit on Nate’s sofa, a cushion-width apart.

  When it’s over, Nate gets up from the sofa and feeds the fish. Rainbow gulps greedily. I stand up too and eject the DVD from the player, returning it to its case.

  ‘Would you like me to get you a copy?’ I say. ‘Perhaps you and James Harrington could get a few beers and a takeaway and watch it together tonight?’

  Nate ignores me.

  I suppress a smile.

  In the DVD, Nate looks perfectly normal. Happy. He is smiling and not slurring his words. We look like any ordinary couple in love as we exchange vows. Even though I’ve watched it many times over, I’m still amazed.

  ‘Try not to commit adultery,’ I say. ‘It will cost you dear in the divorce – which, by the way, we can’t even apply for until at least a year after the wedding.’ I pick up my bag. ‘Oh, and also, you’re going to be seeing a lot more of me. I’m being honoured for my role in an emergency evacuation several months ago and I’m going to be on the cover of the in-house magazine.’

  I yank the door shut behind me.

  I’ll save the news about us becoming neighbours for another time.

  In between trips to Athens, Singapore and Vancouver, contact between Miles and myself increases.

  I spend hours carefully wording my emails and messages, trying to come across as someone who is desperately trying to hide her attraction to him, but who knows it is ultimately going to fail.

  Our messages become less guarded, less formal and more intimate. Until it’s clear that, the next time we meet, there will be only one main item on the agenda.

  The following week, on a dreary October Wednesday lunchtime, I park my car in an unfamiliar car park in Poole. It’s not too many miles from Bournemouth, but far enough away to be discreet. I walk along the quay to the hotel restaurant, where Bella’s fiancé awaits. Seagulls swoop down on to random bits of food lying near bins. Signs flap and the stench of fish masks the sea. Cold wind stings my cheeks.

  Miles is waiting at a corner table. He stands up and kisses me continental-style, then pulls my chair out for me. He is well dressed in a made-to-measure jacket and a salmon shirt, which he carries off well. I sense Bella’s hand in his grooming. If I’ve learned one thing about love, it’s that you should never, ever give a man a makeover. It gives them a sense of confidence that is not channelled back to you, and another woman always benefits.

  When we are both seated, he picks up the wine menu.

  ‘Shall I order a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé?’

  ‘Perfect,’ I smile. ‘I’m a bit nervous.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Second thoughts?’

  ‘No. You?’

  ‘No. I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you since we met. I was concerned that I’d misread the signals. Like some fool.’

  ‘Ditto. I just knew that I had to take the risk, otherwise I’d die wondering. It seemed as though we had such a connection.’

  We order. I let him choose for me. I give him a little bit of the control I suspect he lacks from having a high-maintenance fiancée like Bella. Once the wine bottle is empty and the main course is cleared away, I broach the subject.

  ‘I feel that we should address the elephant in the room,’ I say. ‘Then, it’s out of the way and there’s no misunderstanding.’

  He nods.

  ‘So, we don’t want to hurt Bella or Nick. Our sense of duty ties us to them. We’ll be discreet. This – us – will only stay fresh and amazing because we both know it will never lead anywhere. Agreed?’

  He reaches across the table and takes my hand. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’ He leans forward. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of booking us a room here.’

  My stomach lurches a touch. Miles is nice enough, but he’s not Nate. But I have to go through with this. And it’s not my fault that I’ve been forced to break my vow of fidelity. Given the choice, I’d be a one-man woman. But my hand has been forced, and I need to take action.

  I smile. ‘How presumptuous. But I do like a man who takes charge. Shall we skip dessert and coffee?’

  Afterwards, Nate calls whilst Miles is lying beside me.

  I answer.

  ‘Hello, darling.’ I pull an apologetic face to Miles.

  He mimes, ‘It’s OK,’ and disappears into the bathroom.

  Nate gets straight to the point. ‘OK, Lily. What do you want? What will it take for you to be reasonable?’

  Any reservations I felt earlier disappear. ‘I’ll let you know, darling,’ I say. ‘I’m busy at the moment.’

  I stretch and yawn. I’m glad that Nate has finally seen sense. I hoped it would come to this. Because I’ve thought of a way that he can make everything up to me.

  22

  I arrange to meet Nate outside his place the following day.

  ‘Aren’t you full of surprises?’ he says as he eases himself into the passenger seat of my car. ‘When did you learn to drive?’

  ‘Recently.’

  ‘Is this a mystery tour or are you in the mood to give me a clue?’

  ‘It’s too complicated to explain. You’ll have to trust me.’

  Nate folds his arms like a quarrelsome child and looks out the window.

  I follow the signs to the M3 and head south. Every attempt I make at conversation with him is thwarted by a grunt or a shrug of his shoulders, so I switch on Guns N’ Roses, starting with the track we played in the limo on the way to our wedding.

  We pass the services and continue for another hour and a half, through the New Forest, then towards my old village. I pass the small patch of green where the old red phone box remains in situ. I park on the opposite side of the lane, directly in front of Sweet Pea Cottage. The windows are curtain-less, made all the more obvious by the lack of ivy. It has all been hacked off, leaving the place bare and exposed. The hedges have been trimmed and are much lower than I’ve ever seen them. Clearly, the new owners have nothing to hide and are probably eager to involve themselves in village life. Good luck to them.

  I point to the house. ‘This is where I used to live.’

  He gives the place a cursory glance before turning back to face me. ‘Please don’t tell me you’ve dragged me out for a trip down memory lane. Remove any notion that if I get to know you better, I’m going to change my mind. I only agreed to today because you promised that you’d cooperate if I heard you out.’

  ‘I want to show you something. Come with me.’

  I open my door, get out and give my limbs a stretch. Nate gets out the other side and stands looking in the direction of the cottage. I wonder what he’s thinking, and if he’s trying to picture me liv
ing here. I wrap a scarf around my neck and do up my jacket buttons in a futile attempt at shutting out the bitter breeze.

  ‘Come this way,’ I say, crossing the road.

  Nate follows as I walk along the path that leads past the cottage, to the rear. Crisp brown leaves, small twigs and random litter – a chocolate wrapper and a takeaway leaflet – chase our ankles as the wind picks up. I catch glimpses of the garden through gaps in the wooden fence. Parts of the jungle have been cleared; the centre of the garden looks like it has been attacked by giant moles.

  The old property behind Sweet Pea Cottage no longer exists. Once it was sold, the land was split up into three plots and new-builds were erected around a small cul-de-sac. The gardens are exposed; there is no fencing or anything to mark the boundaries. I stop in front of the middle house. There is a hatchback in the driveway, with a yellow Baby on Board sign stuck in the back windscreen, but there is no one about.

  ‘I had a brother.’

  Nate looks at me, then ahead. ‘What has this house got to do with him?’

  ‘Nothing. It wasn’t built then. But this was the site where he had an accident. There used to be a dilapidated old farmhouse, which belonged to a couple. They had dreams of turning the place into holiday cottages, but ran out of money mid-project. They struggled on for a few years but the grounds must’ve been expensive to maintain, and the pool was never completely finished. It was a concrete shell, but to us – as children – it was a magnet, even though the deep end collected rainwater and it was slimy and dirty, with moss stuck to the sides.’ I smile at the sudden return of a memory. ‘We used to make up stories about “Pond World” involving frogs and dragonflies.’

  ‘Did he drown?’

  I nod.

  ‘How old was he?’

  ‘It wasn’t long after his fourth birthday.’

  ‘I’m sorry. What happened?’

  I shiver. ‘It’s freezing here. It wasn’t like that, the day it happened. It was summer . . .’

  I must have been drawn back to that time for longer than I realize, because I’m aware of Nate prompting me.

  ‘And?’

  ‘My mum had these moods. And when one engulfed her, it was my job to take William – named after the flower, sweet william – out. Away. Until it passed. Until she could cope again.’

  ‘You couldn’t have been that old?’

  ‘Ten.’

  ‘Then what happened wasn’t your fault.’

  It was my fault.

  But instead, I say, ‘He had a smile that made me want to look after him, at times. He could make me happy, even when I felt annoyed that I had to look after him. William Florian Jasmin.’ I smile. ‘But he was spoilt too. My mother overindulged him as blatant over-compensation for her inability to parent properly. He could scream when he wanted his own way – and sometimes, it all got too much.’

  ‘Seems that your mum had a thing about flower names.’ He pauses. ‘So sad, though. What a tragedy for all of you.’

  ‘She told me once that her first memories were of picking flowers with her mother. Apparently, she had a capricious nature too.’ I shiver.

  ‘Why did you tell me you were an only child?’

  ‘What else was I supposed to say?’ I pause. ‘I’ve had enough here. I want to leave.’

  As we walk back to the car, I finish the sorry tale with the short version, the one that I told everyone. ‘He slipped and fell. It all happened very quickly. There was no time for me to do anything.’

  Nate reaches over and squeezes my hand as I secure my seat belt. My instinct to bring him here seems to be paying off.

  I choose the narrow back lanes to the graveyard, six miles away. I inhale the unmistakable smell of manure as we pass remote farm buildings. For several minutes, we get stuck behind a tractor towing a hay baler, sprinkling random stray strands from the rear each time there is a bump in the road. Each time I try to overtake it, another car frustratingly appears on the opposite side of the road.

  Nate reverts to silent mode for the whole journey.

  The cemetery is surrounded by a tall stone wall. As I pass through the open, black wrought-iron gates I feel hesitant. Perhaps this was a bad idea, after all, because this is the first time that I’ve visited since the funeral. I park, but don’t make a move until Nate opens his door. The sound of the door unlocking jolts me back into this time and this place.

  I can’t remember the exact spot. I’ve spent too many years blanking memories out. We wander along the paths among the wonky headstones, trees and the mixture of fresh and decaying flowers until, with perseverance, we locate it. It’s near the edge of the plot by a row of yews.

  William Florian Jasmin 1996–2000. We both stand still in front of the stone engraving, silent.

  I love you to the moon and back.

  I chose those words.

  The wind weaves through the branches above, and leaves brush over my boots. I hear whispering sounds. If I believed in ghosts, I’d say hello to him.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘We weren’t together for long enough.’

  Neither one of us speaks much as we pull away from the village and follow the main roads back in the direction of London.

  Nate looks out the window, as though lost in thought.

  ‘Do you ever think about your schooldays?’ I ask.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Did you enjoy them?’

  ‘On the whole.’

  ‘I didn’t enjoy mine.’

  ‘Well, you had a lot going on in your life. It’s understandable, I guess.’

  ‘Did you sneak off for cigarettes? Or smuggle in illicit drink? Have parties?’

  He looks at me. ‘Only the organized events – dances at the end of each term, those sort of things. Then the summer and winter balls, of course. Everyone smoked and drank at some point. Why?’

  ‘Just wondering.’ I pause. ‘Going back to the area, it always brings back memories for me. Did you have many girlfriends?’

  ‘Not that many.’

  I look at him – to see if he’s going to add anything – but he turns his head towards the window and disappears back into his own private thoughts.

  And I disappear into mine.

  I stop at the motorway services for lunch.

  We stand in a long queue whilst I stare through the glass counter at the sandwiches, muffins and cakes decorated pumpkin orange or with spiders and witches. I can’t face the thought of food, but I choose a packet of crisps to have with my coffee. We have to share a table with an elderly couple, as the place is crammed.

  When they finish their coffees and leave, Nate waits until he finishes his ham and mustard sandwich before making an attempt at conversation.

  ‘It must’ve been awful for you and your family.’

  ‘It was hard.’ I pause, struggling for the right words. ‘Devastating.’

  He reaches across the table and puts his hand over mine. ‘Is that why your parents split up?’

  ‘It probably would’ve happened anyway – my father was away a lot – but maybe their grief played its part. My mother was always fond of her drink, even before.’ I pause, realizing that it might make me less attractive. ‘It’s not hereditary,’ I add, even though he can’t really say much. ‘I’ve read loads on the subject.’

  I remove my hand from his. His attempt at sympathy is strangely discomforting. I know that Nate has issues with his parents. His mum can be a bit cold, and his father is impatient; he’d always told Nate and Bella that ‘second best was never an option’. However, Nate is probably comparing his to mine right now and realizing that he has no valid issues.

  None whatsoever.

  ‘I’m sorry that all that happened to you. Were you offered help? Counselling? That sort of thing?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘The thing is, I still don’t follow what this has to do with our predicament.’ His tone softens.

  Here we go. His next sentence proves my fear.
/>
  ‘Knowing about your brother . . .’ he pauses before continuing, no doubt summoning up all the tact he can manage, ‘well, it doesn’t change what needs to be done.’

  ‘We were good together. Why did you spend time with me in Vegas if you couldn’t bear to be near me again?’

  ‘Lily, I like you. You’re attractive and can be fun. But there’s a huge difference between hanging out with someone and making a life-changing commitment. That’s why what happened between us feels wrong.’ He pauses, as though he is carefully choosing how to phrase his next words.

  I interrupt. ‘I know what you’re going to say, but why won’t you give us one more chance?’

  He opens his mouth to speak, but I silence him by raising my palm.

  ‘I haven’t finished. I’ve bought a place fairly near yours and I’m moving in soon. All I’m asking is that you give me six weeks. Six weeks of socializing – as friends, if you like. Taking things slowly. Then if, after that, you still feel the same, you have my word that I will let you go for good and you won’t even know I’m your neighbour.’

  He doesn’t reply.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why near me? You could live anywhere. Anywhere. What about Nice, Barcelona, Amsterdam, Dublin? So many crew do. You should take advantage of having a job that allows you to do that.’

  ‘Why don’t you live abroad?’

  ‘Because Richmond is where I chose to live. Me. By myself. Nothing to do with anyone else. Of all the places, you did not have to choose my area.’

  ‘Six weeks, that’s all I’ve asked for.’

  ‘And then what? You’ll up sticks just like that?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that, I could lose a lot of money. We’ll see. But I can promise to leave you alone.’

  ‘Can I have that in writing?’ he says in a tone that doesn’t sound as if he’s joking.

  ‘If you don’t trust me.’

  Like I’m going to do that.

  Nate helps me move into my new flat. Even though I get the feeling it’s because he wants to keep an eye on me and my new home – which is a strange role reversal – I take advantage. After all, he was happy enough to help me move to Reading in the first place.