The Perfect Girlfriend

by Karen Hamilton

  I express an interest in one of the more expensive frames – a black-and-white picture of a regatta.

  ‘I love this one. The scattered white triangles of the sails caught my eye. Where was it taken?’

  She beams. ‘In the bay, last year. It’s the view from my living-room window.’

  I suspected as much. ‘I’m going to buy it as a surprise for my husband.’

  ‘I hope he loves it too. Does he sail?’ she asks whilst packaging up the picture.

  ‘Not very much. But then again, he’s not had time. We’ve only been married a few months. He was really keen and didn’t want to wait, so we married in Vegas.’

  ‘How thrilling.’

  ‘It was definitely the best day of my life. The only problem is that he doesn’t know how to break the news to his family.’

  She looks up, as though unused to a stranger over-sharing.

  I could tell her. I could tell her right now who I am. With one sentence I could force Nate to acknowledge me. I could tell her how brutal her son has been with my heart and show her proof that I am not deluded; that her son married me, then cruelly changed his mind. I could tell her that he’d told me things about her, like how she chose his name because she loved it, even though her husband wanted Nate to be called Julian.

  ‘How difficult for you,’ Margaret says. ‘What about your parents?’

  ‘They’re no longer around.’

  ‘Oh,’ she says, handing me the parcel. No doubt she is smugly pleased that her own life is divorced from such tacky problems.

  ‘He should just tell them,’ she adds as I walk away. ‘Good luck!’

  She’s right; he should.

  Outside, I text him.

  I think your mother would be delighted to hear our news. I’ve just met her. She’s so lovely. I felt really guilty keeping her in the dark about me being her daughter-in-law.

  My phone rings immediately. It’s truly amazing how quickly Nate can respond to any messages from me when it’s in his interests to do so.

  I switch my phone off.

  24

  I drive to Bella’s favourite potential wedding venue, which is only a mile away from the studio.

  I pay to enter the gardens and, using the map provided, head straight for the Italian section. There is no one else around. I sit on a bench feeling the cold seeping through my trousers and stare into a large pond edged with shrubs. Beneath the lily pads I see flashes of koi carp swimming near an ornate, carved stone fountain which is the centrepiece. Looking around, I try to imagine the garden in summer, because I can tell that it will burst into colour. Behind a patch of neat grass, rhododendrons line the rear. I switch on my phone and take a few pictures so that I can refresh my memory later.

  I have seven missed calls from Nate and one from James. It feels like harassment.

  I stand up and walk around the pond, passing by a statue of Bacchus until I reach the stone steps leading up to the villa. Looking up, I can see a balcony; ideal for Bella to pose on. I can already picture the scene as it will unfold: the royal wave, the ooh-ing and aah-ing of the guests as they stand by the clipped yews, taking photos of the bride and posing for selfies among the elegant surroundings.

  My phone breaks into the film-like images playing inside my head.

  It’s Nate. Again. He doesn’t bother with hello.

  ‘What do you mean you’ve met my mother?’

  ‘Calm down. I was with a friend who is interested in photography and we ended up in a studio near Poole. We got chatting to the owner and it turned out she was your mother. I only realized because she mentioned that her son was a pilot, so I married up the surname.’

  ‘Please keep my family out of our private fiasco.’

  ‘Our marriage, Nate. I am your wife, not a fiasco.’

  As I jab ‘end call’ my hand shakes. I turn my phone off again and stride along a winding path, through a heather garden, over a small bridge and past several water features, but all the time my mind is racing with murderous thoughts.

  By the time I leave an hour later, I am still not calm. Realistically, I have no choice but to come up with some amendments to my plan of action.

  At home that evening, I call Nate. ‘Come over. I’ve been thinking things through. We can talk as much as you like.’

  He arrives within fifteen minutes, pressing my buzzer for longer than necessary.

  I open my door and he strides in.

  ‘Drink?’ I don’t wait for a reply and pour him a red wine, handing him the glass.

  He refuses to accept it. ‘No, thank you.’

  He pulls out a spiral notepad and pen, as though trying to persuade me that he really means business.

  ‘What are you going to do? Write a list of pros and cons?’

  ‘This isn’t a joke. I want my life back.’

  ‘I haven’t taken your life.’

  ‘I want you to stop all this. This scheme of yours – us hanging out like best friends, you sneaking off to my mother’s – it’s not going to change anything. Please just agree to the annulment, then I won’t have to bother you any more. If you play ball, it will all be mostly straightforward and there’s a chance we won’t have to go to court. Otherwise it all becomes a lot more convoluted. And worse, for both you and me. I will have to prove that I didn’t properly consent to the marriage due to intoxication.’

  A change of tactics is overdue. ‘OK.’

  ‘OK what?’

  ‘OK, I’ll cooperate. I love you and if this is what you need to make you happy, then I’ll do it.’

  ‘Thank you. One day—’

  ‘Please don’t say that I’ll thank you one day. Because I won’t.’

  He turns to leave. ‘All right, but please can you start answering James’ emails.’

  I fill in the required forms – admittedly as slowly as I can get away with, because I have no intention of allowing this to go through to the final stages – and the process of ending our marriage begins.

  If it is all as straightforward as it seems, Nate will no longer be my husband by the spring. However, having lulled him into a false sense of security, I have to come up with another, final fail-safe plan to keep him. But I’ll have to be fairly quick. He has asked me not to contact him unless necessary.

  Devastated – I realize I love him as much as ever – I turn my attention to Miles. When we next agree to meet, I arrange to pick him up from around the corner, out of sight from his office.

  ‘I’ve booked somewhere different as a surprise,’ I say, as he settles in the passenger seat.

  ‘How far away is it?’ he says. ‘I need to be back by five.’

  ‘We’ll be back by then. Look,’ I say, pointing to a gift bag on the floor. ‘I bought you a present.’

  He pulls it out. It is a book – Five Hundred Places to Visit Before You Die – the same one I gave to Nate. I have composed a poem and concealed it in the Japanese section. I know he won’t take it home and will probably hide it away in his office, but I wanted to buy him something to let him know I care for him.

  ‘Thank you, Juliette. Very thoughtful.’

  The bag rustles as he shoves the book back in.

  As I pull into the hotel car park, Miles visibly stiffens beside me. ‘Here?’

  ‘Yes. Being in Tokyo made me realize that we don’t have to slum it when we get the chance to meet. Hence the gift choice too. I thought that we could maybe do some more travelling together in future.’

  ‘Juliette, it’s a wonderful thought but I’m not comfortable here, at this place. It’s—’ He stops, unwilling to tell me the truth.

  It’s one of the hotels on Bella’s venue wish list.

  I do my best to look hurt and disappointed. ‘I’ve really been looking forward to seeing you.’

  ‘Me too. But not here.’

  Instead, he directs me to a secluded beachside car park. My life is going downhill whilst Bella’s still soars.

  I need to get my act together.

  Re
stless, the next morning I drive to nearby Kingston and wander around an indoor shopping centre. Shops are full of colour and light, with signs everywhere advertising the festive season. Christmas is only six weeks away. Father Christmases grin, reindeer leap, snowmen stare and elves clutch gifts. A band plays carols by a tree smothered with decorations.

  I feel even lower than I did last Christmas. This time last year, although heartbroken, I had hope. Now, without any current, undoubting hope that things will soon definitely improve, I am struggling to cope.

  I sit in a coffee shop and drink two espressos in quick succession. Tapping in the Wi-Fi code, I intend to look for suitable Christmas presents for Barbara, so that I can go directly to one shop without having to endure too many of the crowded ones. But I can’t help myself getting distracted.

  Nate is in Miami, but he and James message each other twice. To them, I am a joke – they call me TOTWGA ‘The One That Won’t Go Away’ – and James also refers to me as mendacious. I torture myself by reading more: Nate wants ‘rid’ of me as swiftly and as effortlessly as possible. He wants to ‘move on’ without the ‘threat’ of me hanging over his life like a ‘black cloud’. James even has the nerve to suggest that Nate puts his place on the market, ‘to do what it takes to keep a distance from her’. And also, according to James, the Knower of All Things, Barnes (where he happens to live) is ‘another good option. It’s not as if you are tied to schools or a fixed work commute.’

  When I run out of negative things that Nate and James have to say about me, I check out Bella’s blog, which bores on about her wedding dress fittings and how she and Miles are attending the opening of a new restaurant later this evening. I read a comment on Facebook in response to one of Amy’s friends asking about her Christmas plans – she and Rupert are planning to spend it in Paris.

  Everyone is happy but me.

  I stand up and shrug on my coat, fully intending to go straight home, but I spot a window full of red and black lingerie. It gives me an idea. I go inside.

  When I leave with my purchases, I feel uplifted; I finally have a focus.

  On my way home, I also stop at a DIY store. Now that I own a property, it’s undoubtedly a wise investment to stock up on some basic tools.

  I let myself into Nate’s after dark. Even though I’d rather do something malicious and vengeful, I stick to what I came to do.

  Whilst I’m busy, words flash through my mind.

  Mendacious. The One That Won’t Go Away.

  He is slipping away – and soon, there will be nothing more I can do about it. Legally – for now – he’s still mine. I still have a chance, although I’m starting to fear that my change of tactics could backfire unless I try much harder.

  I walk back home, taking a longer route than necessary by walking around the Green in the opposite direction.

  In the flat, I sit on my new bed and look at all my photos. I shake them out of the albums and tip them all over, so that I am surrounded by memories.

  I need a distraction.

  Maybe it will be a good idea to pay Miles a visit at the restaurant opening Bella mentioned earlier on her blog. He’ll be bored, standing around in her shadow. I’m sure he’ll easily be enticed away, delighted for a chance to escape for a while.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my bag and coat, then rush downstairs to my car. I tap in the postcode of the Asian fusion restaurant. I don’t message Miles beforehand, I want my spontaneity to be a lovely surprise.

  I put my foot down hard on the accelerator once I’m on the motorway and break the speed limit. It feels therapeutic as I mull things over in my mind.

  Thank God I have Miles’ part-time attention. Without him as a distraction, I’m not sure how I would keep it together quite so well.

  25

  I peer through the restaurant window. At first, I can’t pick Miles or Bella out in the crowd, but I soon spot Bella holding court with a group of women. Miles is slightly further back, talking to a tall man.

  I want to walk in and stand in a proprietary fashion at his side, slipping my arm through his or openly flirting with him. Instead, I text him.

  I’m in your neck of the woods, fancy slipping away for a while? X

  I watch as he takes out his phone, glances down, then puts it back in his pocket. He continues his conversation. I sit down on a freezing bench opposite.

  Five minutes later, I text again.

  ??X

  He reacts in exactly the same way. I call. He takes out his phone and we are immediately disconnected.

  A surge of rage rushes through my entire body. I push open the door to the restaurant and walk into the warm aroma of spices mingled with incense. I stop at the side and lean against the wall in Miles’ line of vision. He stares for a second before recognition hits, yet he does not smile or come over to greet me.

  I seek out the Ladies and phone him. No answer. As I’m about to press his number again, a text comes through.

  What are you doing here? Bella’s with me!

  I text back.

  So what!? All you had to do was speak to me like a normal person, there are loads of people here, I could be anyone. At least have the manners to reply to me.

  As I send the message, the door opens and in walks Bella.

  I drop my phone into my bag and quickly wash my shaking hands, staring down. She enters the middle cubicle. I head for the exit, but stop as I change my mind. I was in here first. I stand in front of the mirror and remove a lipstick from its home inside the inner zip section of my bag. My phone vibrates. Miles. Let’s see how much he likes being ignored. I bet he’s in a right old panic, which serves him right. I take a deep breath to calm my inner agitation.

  I jump when the cubicle door opens and Bella emerges. She stands next to me washing her hands. I stare at her in the mirror whilst slowly applying my lipstick. She looks up. Recognition filters through her expression as I inhale the scent of musky vanilla. She still smells expensive.

  ‘Elizabeth? From school?’

  My legs feel wobbly. In one of my many fantasy versions of our meeting up again, she apologizes profusely and begs me to be her friend.

  Just the tone of her voice reminds me how futile my wishes have been.

  ‘Hello, Bella.’ My voice sounds calm.

  ‘Hi. What are you doing here?’ She pulls a hand towel from the holder.

  ‘The same as you, I imagine.’

  ‘Yes, quite. Do you live here?’

  ‘A close friend does.’

  I replace the top of my lipstick and rub my lips together. Taking a final look at my reflection, I turn towards the door and she follows. A frowning Miles is hovering by a nearby pillar. I stop and turn round to face Bella.

  ‘Bye,’ I say, as loudly as I can, without it sounding too obvious that my final exchange with Bella is for Miles’ benefit, then I continue walking towards the exit, leaving them both behind.

  The cold smacks my face. I walk to my car and wait. After three minutes my phone rings.

  ‘I bet you’re making this call from the Gents?’ I say.

  ‘What the hell just went on?’ he says. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I was in the area. I tried to warn you, but you ignored me.’

  ‘That was Bella you were in the toilets with.’

  ‘I know. I went to school with her.’

  ‘You know her? What . . .’ There is a muffled sound, as though someone else has entered the toilets. Sure enough, Miles changes the tone of his voice. ‘I’m at a party right now. I’ll call you soon.’

  ‘Come outside now and meet me. I’m in the car park opposite.’

  ‘It’s not possible at the moment.’

  ‘Miles, anything is possible when you try. If you don’t come out, I’ll come back in. You have five minutes.’

  I hang up. He calls twice more, which I ignore. Then a text, which I delete without reading.

  Miles appears by the passenger door less than two minutes later.

&
nbsp; He slides in beside me. ‘What’s going on?’ he says. ‘I can’t stay long. What do you mean you went to school with Bella?’

  ‘I recognized her. When she followed me into the Ladies.’

  ‘And you didn’t know that she was my Bella?’

  ‘How would I? We weren’t friends. I’m surprised at you being with someone like her. She was a nasty bully at school.’

  He gives me a strange look. ‘Bella wouldn’t hurt a fly. She only wants to do good.’

  I laugh. I can’t help it. And for some reason, I can’t seem to stop.

  Miles stares at me. ‘Do you want me to call someone? A friend?’

  ‘Bella was supposed to be my friend.’

  ‘Well, that would make things truly difficult. This changes everything. I had no idea. And of course it goes without saying that—’

  ‘How about we go for a drive? You don’t seem like one of those couples who keep tabs on each other. Bella surely won’t miss you for half an hour or so.’

  As I lean over towards him, before my hand even touches his thigh, Miles opens the passenger door, blasting me with cold air and flooding the car with light.

  ‘I need to get back. I’m sorry, this has been a mistake. Bye, Juliette.’

  I switch on the engine and reverse without checking behind. But as I change gears, Miles leaps out and slams the door. He runs, he actually runs, towards the restaurant.

  Away from me.

  I sit for ages, turning the ignition keys on and off. They click and un-click. I drive past the restaurant several times, but am unable to catch further sight of either of them.

  I give up. But it turns out that the outing wasn’t a total waste of time. Because the drive home allows me valuable headspace to figure out the finer details of my next plan.

  Two days later, the first thing I do when I wake up is to check on Nate’s flight. He is due to land at three thirty; it’s on schedule.

  After today, he has ten days’ leave, during which time he intends to ‘chill’, according to a message sent to James Harrington. They are meeting up in a local pub tonight, where they will no doubt have a merry time discussing how Nate will soon be free of his mendacious wife.