The Perfect Girlfriend

by Karen Hamilton

  I spend the day gathering everything I will need to confront Nate.

  Back home in the evening, I kneel on the living-room floor and place all my gathered essentials into a rucksack.

  I wait.

  I lie on the sofa, with the TV on in the background, but I can’t concentrate. I’m aware of dropping off every now and then as consciousness and reality appear and disappear.

  My alarm goes off at five. I get dressed, put my rucksack on my back and let myself out. On the Green it is peaceful and eerily quiet. I switch on my torch and see why – it’s as though I’ve stepped through the wardrobe and into the winter wonderland of Narnia. Grass and twigs poke through the snow. The occasional house has illuminated windows and I switch off my torch, feeling exposed – as though I’m being secretly watched by hidden people. Nate’s flat is in darkness.

  I stand for a few moments inhaling the freezing air. My breath is visible, then gone. Visible, then gone.

  I let myself into Nate’s building and walk up the stairs. I pause outside his door. There are no sounds. I let myself in.

  Removing my gloves, I switch on my torch, disconnect the Wi-Fi and make my way to the bedroom, looking for Nate’s phone. It is in its usual spot on his bedside table. He isn’t snoring, but the smell of alcohol permeates the room. I pick up his phone and turn it off, placing it inside my coat pocket. I creep into the bathroom and take out the things I will need. I push the door until it is almost closed before I drop my rucksack on to the floor. The thud isn’t quite loud enough. I peer through the gap in the door. As suspected, Nate hasn’t stirred. I try again, kicking the bathroom door with my full strength.

  ‘Hello?’ Nate’s voice is husky. ‘Hello?’ he says a bit more clearly.

  I lie down on the floor, face down, an outstretched hand clutching an empty packet of paracetamol. The carpet smells of damp so I turn my head to the side and close my eyes as I hear Nate’s footsteps. The bathroom floods with light.

  ‘What the? Oh God, Lily, what have you done now?’

  I can feel him crouching down next to me as he tries to roll me on to my front. I sit up and I throw a towel over his head. He automatically reaches up to remove it so I lean forward, grab his right wrist, slide on a handcuff and attach the other side to the metal towel rail. Then I quickly step out of his reach.

  He pulls the towel off with his free hand and stares at me. His hair is sticking up.

  ‘Lily? What? Let me go! I’m calling the police.’ He feels his pockets for his phone with his left hand, as though he’d forgotten he was wearing pyjamas.

  I switch off my torch and the light. We are in darkness. The bathroom fan continues to whir. Metal clanks as he tugs.

  ‘This isn’t funny. How the hell did you get in?’

  ‘Long story.’ I pause as metal clanks again. ‘I want you to listen to me, for once—’

  He interrupts me. ‘Can you switch on the light?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Please.’

  I turn the main light on. Nate blinks. I sit on the edge of the bath. He lunges forward to try to grab me, but cries out as the handcuff holds him back.

  ‘Let me go!’

  ‘Not until I say what I want you to hear.’

  He tugs his handcuffed hand again and swears several times. He kicks the bath panel with his bare feet. Nate’s flat is old and solid, with thick walls and carpeted floors, so he’ll have to be very persistent with the noise if he wants someone to hear. Still, it’s probably safer if I calm him down.

  ‘If you don’t quit the noise, I’m going to leave you here, trapped. You’re in control, believe it or not. Play nicely and you’ll be free soon. If not . . .’

  I walk out and leave him for several minutes. He stops banging and shouting. I return, carrying my bag. I switch on the bedroom light and I dump it on his bed. He watches me from the bathroom. I sit on the end of the bed.

  ‘Ready to talk?’ I say.

  ‘I’m a captive audience.’

  ‘There’s no need for that attitude. I’m serious.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that you are.’

  ‘I don’t want us to split up.’

  ‘We already have.’

  ‘Exactly. And I want you to give us a final stab at our marriage.’

  ‘Jesus, Lily. Untie me. You can’t break into my home in the middle of the night and handcuff me, then expect me to agree to stay married to you. Come on! You don’t seriously think you’re going to get away with this?’

  ‘We can make this process longer or shorter. It’s up to you.’

  ‘What are you proposing now?’

  I unzip my bag and remove two photo albums, then I walk over and hand them to him. ‘Look at these.’

  Every photo I’ve taken of him or us, places we visited, things we did, I’ve had printed. I want him to remember the good times.

  I watch him flick over the pages. ‘Slow down. Look at them properly.’

  He does so, with exaggerated slowness. ‘I had no idea that you’d taken so many,’ he says. ‘I don’t remember.’

  That’s not the only thing he hasn’t remembered. Never mind. He’ll realize soon enough. Whilst he’s busy, I take out a wedding dress from my bag. I bought it years ago, when I first realized that Nate was the man I was destined to marry. I hold the hanger up high and let the dress unfold. It is a classic style, in white and silver. Crystal beads and pearls adorn the bodice. I step into the bedroom and hang it in the wardrobe, smoothing out the creases.

  ‘What’s that for?’ he calls out from the bathroom, a slight tremor in his voice.

  ‘I think we should have a blessing,’ I call back. ‘Like I’ve already explained many times, our Vegas wedding wasn’t the one of my dreams either, much as you like to imply that it was. I’ve ordered you a suit, but unfortunately it hasn’t arrived yet. And we need to buy rings.’

  I return to the bathroom. Nate is hitting his head against the palm of his free hand. He stops and looks up at me.

  ‘When I finish these albums, are you going to undo the handcuff?’

  I ignore his question and carry on unpacking my belongings. By my side of the bed I place some bridal magazines, a tube of hand cream and two books. I sit at the end of the bed and watch Nate through the open door. He glances up, then swiftly returns his gaze to the photos. When he gets to the last one, his eyes fix upon it for several seconds before he looks up at me. There is horror – definitely not love – in his eyes.

  The final picture he would have seen is a family photo. Nate and I had a picnic by the Thames, the summer before last, and joining us on our rug, either side of the hamper, is a superimposed picture of a young boy and girl. The images cut from a children’s clothing catalogue have similar features to how I envisage our children would look.

  Above the picture, I have written a simple title: Our Future.

  26

  ‘Oh my God,’ he says. He looks back down at the picture.

  ‘That’s how our lives should’ve ended up. You can’t go around treating people badly. It’s not right. Even your mum agrees.’

  ‘You agreed to keep my family out of this.’

  ‘I bought you a present from her studio.’

  I take out the frame containing the photo of the regatta and hold it up, Exhibit A-style, for his viewing pleasure. Then I crouch down and lean it against the wall.

  ‘What did you say to her?’

  ‘I told her the truth, which is that I married the man I love in Vegas, but moments later he got cold feet and reneged on the deal. Not only that, he hasn’t told his family. She absolutely thinks that you must.’

  ‘Lily. I’m sorry. I truly understand now. I hurt you. You thought that we were going to get married and have children. Un-cuff me. We can talk. Properly. I promise.’

  Rage ravages my entire body and mind. If there is one thing that I have always hated about Nate, it’s the smug way he talks – as though he is the perfectly rational and reasonable one and I am some deranged,
delusional person. It really, really pisses me off. I struggle to remain calm.

  ‘You don’t have a good-enough track record of keeping promises for me to believe you.’

  ‘I need the toilet and I’m sure we could both do with a coffee. I promise you, Lily, nothing bad will happen if you let me go.’

  The thing is, I can’t. He’s going to send me on my merry way – and that’s the best-case scenario. I’m not going to think about the worst-case one.

  ‘I can’t let you go right this minute, but please don’t worry. I have a plan.’

  I can tell by the way he tenses the muscles in his face that he is extremely angry, but he does a good job of containing it whilst he no doubt ponders ways to manipulate me. He is going to treat me in the old-fashioned way of treating plane hijackers – appease me and pretend to support my views.

  I take out a screwdriver and my iPad. I press ‘play’ on the downloaded video and prop the screen up against the wall whilst I get to work on the bathroom door handle. It takes mere minutes to unscrew the gold handle and remove it.

  ‘What are you doing now?’ Nate’s voice is measured.

  ‘I’m doing something so that you can be un-cuffed.’

  ‘What? You’re going to lock me in instead? Don’t rely on amateur YouTubers to provide you with information. I could end up trapped in here!’

  I interrupt. ‘You won’t be. But I do need your cooperation. You’re going to have to earn your freedom.’

  ‘Lily! This is ridiculous! Outrageous!’

  I turn round and smile. ‘It is. Preposterous! Enraging! Do you want freedom to move around or not?’

  He doesn’t reply.

  ‘Thought so. Don’t interrupt me whilst I’m working. I have to start the video over again now.’

  He kicks the bath panel. I glare at him.

  Switching the lock round to the other side of the door handle isn’t as easy as it looks, but after two attempts I manage it. The final part is to jam the mechanism. I shove in a fish pellet. Job done. I try out my handiwork. It works! I can now lock him in.

  Nate continues to yank at the towel rail – as though, if he tries hard enough, the metal will break.

  The bathroom window looks out to the side, not on to the Green. I secure the window locks and pocket the keys. In the – hopefully – unlikely event he does manage to grab the attention of someone through the frosted glass, it won’t be my fault that something has happened to the lock. And as for the handcuffs – they come from a sex shop. I’ll let people use their imagination.

  I go into the kitchen, then back into the bathroom to leave him some food. Not his favourite things; he doesn’t deserve any loving touches right now. Whilst I generously unpack a packet of cheese crackers and several apples, Nate catches me by surprise as he lunges forward with his free arm and manages to grab my leg, yanking me down. I grip the side of the bath, winded, as he grabs my left calf and tries to pull me closer. As I pull my leg up, he grips tighter. I kick with my right leg as hard as I can. He doesn’t release his grip, so I kick again. This time he lets go, taking deep, heavy breaths as he slumps back against the rails.

  Regathering my thoughts, I take deep breaths too. Keeping as far away from him as I can, I lean over and hand him a cheap tablet I recently purchased. It contains a deeply personal message for him. I have spent hours recording and editing a little film aptly entitled: The Beginning.

  ‘There’s something I’d like you to watch, please.’

  ‘What is it?’ he says, looking down at the screen.

  ‘Something very important. It’s me. Speaking directly to you. From the heart.’

  He remains expressionless. It’s this type of behaviour that has driven me to these measures – his total non-reaction when I try to express myself. So, I do feel that this idea of mine has the potential to work. I’m not the sort of person who believes that by merely buying a diet book I will always eat less and exercise more, but I do believe in being open-minded and looking for fresh solutions.

  Let’s face it, nothing else has worked so far. And the overriding problem I have is that Nate thinks he doesn’t love me. Once he realizes that he does, everything should naturally realign. For example, I will no longer need Miles in my life. He can be fully returned, as damaged goods, back to Bella.

  ‘Darling. I’ve been forced into this. You do understand, don’t you?’

  He stares at me.

  ‘Don’t you?’

  He nods.

  ‘Press “play”, then.’

  He hesitates. ‘Are you going to watch me? How long is it?’

  I perch on the edge of the bath and grip the edge. ‘Long enough. I will wait until I can be sure that you are listening carefully. This is the only way. I’ve tried so many times but you just won’t listen.’

  He presses ‘play’ and my voice fills the bathroom. It sounds much louder in here than it did back in my flat. Nate lowers the volume but I can still hear. I switch off the bathroom light to create a more cinematic effect. I watch Nate watch me. I know that when I say, ‘Hello, Nate,’ I give a little wave. I nearly edited that part out but, upon reflection, it made me look friendlier. I didn’t want to begin with a stern telling-off, potentially putting him in an instantly defensive mood. Right from the moment of planning this, I intended to start off slowly before building up to what he really needs to hear. I spend two minutes and forty-seven seconds explaining my actions. I find myself getting sucked into my own words and agreeing with my own sentiments. A vein twitches at the side of Nate’s neck. There is a pause before I start the story.

  Once upon a time there was a girl, just fifteen, and she was lonely.

  Nate jabs ‘pause’.

  ‘Please don’t tell me I have to sit through some teenage fairy tale. Give me a fucking break!’ He yanks the handcuff. ‘Just tell me what’s on your mind and we can manage without the theatrics. I’m getting seriously pissed off.’

  I stand up. ‘Your choice.’

  As I reach for the tablet he jabs ‘play’ again. He obviously assumes that his Wi-Fi is working and that he’ll get an opportune moment to send an SOS message to someone.

  Very lonely. She had no friends, but it wasn’t her fault. It was the fault of another girl. A mean, spoilt girl who delighted in the misfortune of others. The lonely girl spent hours alone with her own thoughts, dreaming of a different life. A life where something – she wasn’t quite sure what, because her ideas at that point were still intangible and undefinable – but, nonetheless, something momentous would happen one day, which would mean that her life would change from that moment on, obviously for the better. Then, one day, something momentous did happen. And it did change her life, but not for the better. And the lesson this girl learned very suddenly was that things can turn out very differently than expected.

  Nate sighs theatrically. ‘How much longer?’

  ‘Getting longer by the minute. Listen properly or I’ll rewind.’

  One day she met her Prince Charming. Not in the type of place she’d imagined, like on an exotic holiday or at a glamorous event in a luxurious hotel. Instead, it was at a low-key ball. And the girl wore a dress; the nicest one she’d ever owned. It was the first time she’d ever felt glamorous. It made her feel like she had a chance to shine. But the thrill of wearing the dress quickly wore off, because she was ignored. Ignored by the boys who attended. Ignored by the mean girls. Do you want to know what colour her dress was?

  There is a deliberate two-minute pause, because this is his chance to remember. This is his chance to redeem himself. Not totally – because, of course, that can never happen – but it would at least be a tiny step in the right direction.

  I am forced to break the silence. ‘Answer the question,’ I say.

  ‘Yellow? Pink? Purple? How the fuck would I know or care?’

  ‘You should care,’ I say quietly. ‘Although it was dark; I’ll give you that.’

  I stare into his eyes and will him to recall everything. To acknow
ledge what he did.

  I’ve done this before. I used to stare into his eyes from time to time when we were in bed together, wishing I could claw into his soul and get him to remember. I silently tried to infiltrate his mind with the memory. Yet his eyes, like now, never showed even a flicker of recognition. Not once.

  His blank expression shows that he has let me down. Again.

  The dress was red. She has never worn red since.

  His eyes widen and he grips the tablet tighter. I think pennies may be beginning to drop.

  The girl slipped away from the party and went to her favourite spot. A place by the river. It was the secret place where the trendy girls would go and have a cigarette, but often it was deserted. She knew she’d be safe, because they were all too busy being social butterflies. Even when darkness approached, she stayed. Because although it wasn’t quite a full moon, there was enough grey light to see. It was the first time she’d ever tasted an alcoholic drink and she felt a bit floaty and detached. Then, someone joined her. He didn’t know the school so one of the ‘in’ girls must’ve told him where to go. His sister, probably. He lit a cigarette and the flame briefly made his face glow amber. He was handsome. Even though she’d seen pictures of him, he looked even better in the flesh. He pulled off his shoes and socks with his free hand and dipped his toes in the water. He offered the cigarette to her and she didn’t want to say that she had never tried one before, so she took a small puff in a childish attempt to appear sophisticated. It is so strange to think of him smoking now, because he is so anti; the sort of person who wafts away smoke with their hand if anyone lights up nearby.

  I realize I am holding my breath as Nate looks up and stares at me. There is shocked realization in his expression.

  Finally.

  My voice continues. Nate’s gaze drops back to the screen.

  They talked for a bit and although she was nervous, she also felt like maybe she wasn’t fat and ugly. When he’d finished his cigarette, he ground it into the soil and the light disappeared. The boy kissed the girl, or maybe they both kissed at the same time. It was her first ever kiss. She thought it would give her instant re-entry into the inner circle. The other girls shared stories of parties at weekends; the boys they’d kissed and more. But then he kissed her harder and everything progressed so quickly. She didn’t want him to stop, because it was so nice not to feel lonely. And there came a point where she didn’t feel she could say no, and she didn’t want to say no. But she didn’t know how – or have the confidence – to slow everything down. She was still wearing her dress, and that felt a bit confusing – even when he helped her lift up her dress and his hand slid up her right thigh and then gently tugged down her knickers – because she’d always assumed that you had to be naked, for some reason. She watched him take down his trousers and then he lay on top of her. It didn’t hurt much. But it also felt wrong, because it wasn’t at all romantic in the way it appeared in films and books; instead, it felt more like how they’d been taught about ‘it’ in biology.