The Perfect Girlfriend

by Karen Hamilton

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, trying to sound as if I mean it.

  Grabbing a tea towel, I tip a pile of ice into the centre, wrap it up and hand it to him. He holds it obediently to his head. I want him out of my galley and out of my sight before I give in to my urge to kick him.

  The supervisor walks in and surveys the scene. ‘Are you all right, sir?’ she says.

  ‘No,’ he says, and off he starts again with a fresh rant.

  I walk away. For fuck’s sake, why can’t people mind their own business? Her unnecessary interference means that I’m now going to have to fill in an incident report on top of everything else.

  I’m not sure how much more I can stand.

  At the top of descent, we secure the cabin and take our seats early, because bad turbulence is forecast by the pilots. They are not wrong. The plane rocks and sways whilst the engines strain with a high-pitched whine. Outside it is black. It always goes quiet when passengers are frightened, and it adds to the overall eerie effect.

  We smack down on to the runway and the welcoming roar of the plane losing speed is one of the best sounds I’ve heard all day. I feel as though I’ve been away for a week.

  Disembarkation takes an hour, because the airport is accepting other diverted flights, so we have to wait for stairs and buses. The crew are all offered taxis back to Heathrow, but the queue is – of course – long. And after the freezing cold wait, we’re further hindered by the thoughtless members who brought a small suitcase or a massive bag along with them on a mere day trip.

  As a result, the first two taxis drive off with only two crew in each one.

  As we pull away, leaving the bright airport lights behind us, a sense of impending dread washes through me. Nate has been left unattended for a whole thirteen hours.

  On a whim, I dial his phone – even though it is switched off and on his coffee table.

  It is not a good move, because I get one of the biggest shocks of my life. It rings.

  No sooner does the taxi drop me at the Heathrow crew car park than I practically run to my car. As I drive past the car park barriers, with rain beating down on the windscreen despite the wipers on double-speed, I find it a struggle to concentrate. I don’t want to go back to Nate’s – or mine – because I suspect that the police will be waiting. But I have no choice. Not really.

  The best I can do in the event of a worst-case scenario is to talk myself out of Nate’s lies and mud-slinging. Our past will prove that, whatever situation arose, it was a bizarre domestic argument.

  I pull over into a side road before I reach Richmond and try Nate’s phone again. After it rang earlier, it had gone to voicemail. This time, it does not ring and Nate’s voice clicks in immediately.

  Hi, this is Nate. Please leave me a message.

  I hang up. Maybe I imagined it ringing earlier. I try to access Nate’s information through my spy app, but it won’t let me log in. It’s frozen. A chill sweeps through my body as I imagine the app being discovered, on top of everything else I’ve done. I force myself to take deep breaths whilst I think things through clearly, and focus. I delete my tablet history containing the video showing me how to meddle with the door lock. I try to convince myself that nothing bad has happened. I picture Nate, all calm and apologetic, pathetically grateful to see me.

  I park away from my place, at the far end of the street, and switch off the engine. I scan the area for police cars, but there are none visible, unless there is a fleet of unmarked ones. I hoist my handbag on to my shoulder and rearrange my duty-free bags so that the gifts are divided fairly. Miles’ stuff can stay in the car for now.

  The rain has stopped. As I walk over the Green, my heels sink slightly into the ground every couple of steps. I don’t want to look up at Nate’s but I have to. My heart rate picks up as I spot the kitchen light on.

  Did I leave it on? I’m sure I didn’t.

  Nate’s room is in darkness. Is that good? Bad?

  Shit. I wish I’d stayed put and hadn’t gone on that stupid trip.

  I let myself in; the communal door bangs shut behind me. I stand still. I could go home, have a shower and hide beneath my duvet, then deal with all this in the morning. Perhaps it would do Nate good to have a bit more time on his own. But then I picture him, all alone, and my longing for him overrides my fears. I take off my heels and walk upstairs in my stockinged feet.

  Outside his front door, I pause and listen.

  Silence.

  I slide my key into the lock and slowly open the door. The light from the kitchen throws a little illumination into the darkness, but not enough. I put down my bags quietly on the floor and shut the door behind me. Rainbow is still. Nate’s phone is switched off, where I left it on the coffee table. The silence is freaking me out. I walk towards Nate’s bedroom. The door is shut. Again, as I left it. There are no signs that he has escaped, but I feel bilious. And cold; I’m aware of myself shivering. Tentatively, I push the door open. It is dark.

  Switching on the lights, I freeze in horror.

  28

  The bathroom door is smashed. A jagged, splintered hole has formed down one side. Yet it doesn’t look big enough for a man to squeeze through without sustaining serious injuries.

  As my mind processes the implications, my right arm is grabbed, yanked behind my back and I’m pushed to the floor. I scream until a hand is clamped over my mouth. I inhale the smell of Nate. I’m then dragged up by the wrist and am temporarily winded as I’m pushed down again on to the bed. I try to stand up, but he shoves me down by the shoulders.

  ‘It’s your turn to listen now,’ he says.

  I stand up to run for the door, but he pushes me again.

  He looks deranged.

  I look around. On the floor, my belongings are neatly stacked up. The wedding photo, my magazine, the handcuffs, my dress, everything. It’s insulting, as if he wants to be rid of all trace of me. I stare at him.

  He stares back, looking down at my uniform. ‘You went to work? You bitch! Anything could’ve happened. If there had been a fire I could have died. When you didn’t try to stop me breaking down the door, I assumed you’d gone back to yours for a bit. I never thought—’

  ‘How likely is a fire? Really? You’ve lived here how long – three, four years? – so by now I imagine it’s safe to assume that your neighbours are a pretty responsible bunch. Anyway, I bought you a tie and some aftershave. They’re in a bag by the front door. I would go and get them, only I don’t feel like getting assaulted again.’ I rub my painful wrist.

  ‘You need more serious help than I fear, if you think that somehow makes up for incarcerating me.’

  I fold my arms.

  Nate continues in what sounds like a rehearsed speech. ‘I understand now what you mean about me being your first love. That it was your first time and I was a bit of an arse. I was young, arrogant, unintentionally cruel and thoughtless, and I’m sorry.’ He sits down next to me and takes my hand.

  A slight sense of hope begins to form in my mind. I stare at him. Has my idea worked? I now realize the flaw in my plan, and it is that I’ll never know. I’ll never be able to truly trust him. I am exhausted both through lack of sleep and the stress of the day, and now I have this uncertainty to contend with.

  ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think today. It must’ve been dreadful for you after your brother. But I think you’ve latched on to me in a romantic fantasy-type sense and—’

  I interrupt. ‘How did you get out?’

  He looks at me, as though he’s shocked that I’m not fascinated by his sympathy speech. ‘I had all day to smash it down.’

  ‘What with? I removed everything that could be used as a tool.’

  ‘Well, maybe you’re not as clever as you think.’

  ‘Tell me, it’s driving me mad!’

  ‘The middle door panels are thinner than the main section. I focused my strength on one of those, then all I had to do was put my hand through the gap and turn the handle.’ He holds up his right h
and; it is badly scratched.

  I don’t know what else to say; my heart rate is slowly returning to normal. But I can’t seem to make total sense of the situation, or quite where all this is leading.

  ‘So, here’s what’s going to happen,’ Nate carries on. ‘We will continue to get this marriage dissolved as quickly as possible. You will not pull any more stunts – and by that, I also mean staying away from me, my family, my home – and at work, I will request that a KA, a “Keep Apart”, be put in place for scheduling purposes. I also think that you need to seek help, professional help, to get you through. I’m prepared to help you find someone who comes well recommended, if you’d like me to. As long as you agree to all these things, I won’t go to the police. If you see me in the street, cross the road. But if you break any of these conditions, I will seek a restraining order against you.’

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting that I too can report you for having sex with an underage girl? Any time I choose. You’d be looking at a two-year caution and saying goodbye to your dream job.’

  He looks at me, but I can’t quite figure out what he’s thinking or feeling. I feel a slight sense of unease, but I have to protect myself. Now that everything is out in the open, it almost feels like we have an opportunity to reconnect by being honest.

  ‘It would seem that we both have grievances. If we both agree to disagree and to keep out of each other’s way, then we can avoid a spectacle. There’s nothing to be gained by attempting to drag each other down, when the end result will always be the same – which is, that I am not the man for you. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it and I’ve figured it all out. I knew that you’d be forced to return at some point, so we’d be able to discuss this civilly and reach a mutual understanding, especially after you rang my phone.’

  I don’t say anything.

  ‘Lily. Let me go. I don’t want this to sound patronizing, I really don’t, but it would be the best thing you could ever do for yourself. I know it might not seem like it now, but if I ever meant anything to you at all, which you say that I did, then please try to believe me. However hard it is.’

  ‘I’m trying, Nate, I’m really trying, but I just can’t see what’s in this for me. We are married. Who is going to believe your version of events? Seriously? I’m not some one-night stand who wants more. I already have more.’

  He storms out of the room and returns with his phone clamped to his ear.

  ‘Don’t pretend you’re ringing the police,’ I say.

  ‘I’m not,’ he snaps, but the slight break in his voice gives away that he is more scared of what I can say to damage him than he cares to admit. ‘I’m getting James over here to witness what you’ve done.’

  Oh God, not James again. I can’t bear the thought of him judge, judge, judging away before another dual lecture.

  I pick up my own phone. ‘Fine. I’ll report you to the police for an historic crime.’

  Nate is fast. He wrenches the phone from my hand, switches it off and stuffs it in my bag.

  ‘Get out!’ he says. ‘Just get out now, before I really lose it. I’ve had enough. You should be thanking me for not getting you arrested or sectioned. I’m giving you a chance. A chance you don’t deserve, and any minute I’m going to change my mind!’

  Exhaustion swamps me. I don’t know how to explain any better that I will always give him all I’ve got. He will never regret choosing me; I’ll dedicate my life to making him happy. I feel distraught, like I’ve let us both down. But the words in my head have dried up. I stand up, gather my belongings in a daze, put them into my bag. I’ll think of something to resolve this. He can’t reasonably ignore our past if I persist.

  ‘My keys, please.’ Nate holds out his right hand, palm upwards.

  I hand them over. It doesn’t matter; I have another set.

  He opens the front door and stands like a security guard, watching me. ‘Do you understand, Lily? That we have a mutually beneficial agreement?’

  ‘Yes, I understand. Goodbye, Nate.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  As I wait for the lift he says something that sounds like, ‘Don’t come back,’ before he shuts the door.

  I kick the side of the lift.

  The first thing I do in the morning is message Miles to let him know that I’m free for lunch, but his response is curt, informing me that he’s busy working from home. I spy on Bella, but there’s nothing that reveals what she’s up to today.

  I know their address, so I take a drive there. There is only one car in the drive – it belongs to Miles – but that doesn’t mean Bella’s isn’t in the garage. I phone Miles. He answers within one ring, with an abrupt hello.

  ‘I’ve already explained that I’m snowed under.’

  ‘Is Bella at home?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. Answer your door. I’m outside.’

  He has no choice.

  I walk into a gloomy hall. It is nothing like how I imagined Bella’s home would be. Stairs edged with a dark wooden railing curve up to the right, and the side wall is a matching wooden panel. The carpet is a rich burgundy, adding to the overall dark effect. Directly in front of me rests a round table upon which is an olive-coloured vase filled with red roses. The wall pictures are gold-framed and depict violence: battle scenes, hunts, blood and misery.

  I hand Miles the duty-free bag.

  ‘Have you been away for work again? Thank you, but I can’t accept this. Juliette, this isn’t on. This isn’t on at all. You cannot show up at my home unannounced. It isn’t what we agreed.’

  He hands me back the bag. I shove it inside my handbag. For now.

  ‘I know that, but we need to talk. I’ll have a quick coffee and then I’ll leave you in peace.’

  ‘Bella’s not due back until after lunch, but she might be early.’

  ‘Message her. Ask her how her day is going, that will put your mind at rest.’

  I walk straight ahead, along a corridor which opens out into a kitchen. Miles follows, ignoring my suggestion. This space is a lot more how I pictured her home. It is contemporary and light. Stainless steel gleams and the surfaces are bare; very minimalistic. A metal fruit bowl is crammed with bananas, oranges and kiwi fruit. A designer coffee machine rests beneath wall-mounted canvases bearing motivational quotes. I’m surprised; I’ve always assumed that Bella had enough self-belief without the aid of positive affirmations.

  Believe there is good in the world.

  Own your talent.

  Do the one thing you never thought you could.

  I place my bag on the floor, then run my finger along the work surface as Miles fiddles with mugs and coffee capsules. I rest my hand on a plastic file decorated with daisies, beneath a small pile of post. Pushing the mail to one side, I pick the file up and slide out the contents. Inside there is an email printout from her mother outlining details of their annual family trip to Whistler in February. They are staying at their aunt’s holiday chalet, as usual.

  It is not the only thing: there is also the proof copy of a wedding invitation sent by a local printer. Miles and Bella have brought forward their wedding to mid-January, during the lead-up to Nate and I becoming unmarried. Miles looks over and he frowns when he realizes what I’m reading. I carry on, regardless. They’ve decided against the Italian villa and have selected a local five-star hotel instead. I scan the guest list; there are hundreds of invitees.

  ‘Juliette! That’s private!’

  He strides over and removes the file from me, stuffing the contents back inside, and turns his attention back to the coffee machine.

  ‘Is Bella pregnant?’

  ‘No. Nor would it be any of your business if she was.’

  ‘Why have you brought the wedding forward, then?’ I look him in the eye.

  He reddens.

  I sit down on a breakfast bar stool. It is hard and uncomfortable. Miles sits opposite, sliding my coffee slowly over the granite work surface.

  ‘We, I, thought it best that we m
arried sooner, rather than later. Seeing you the other night, realizing that you knew her, it gave me a shock. I’ve behaved badly and I don’t want to lose her.’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘We agreed. We agreed right at the very beginning that we would never threaten our relationships.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t understand why we should be over just because you say we are?’

  ‘You know Bella.’

  ‘Knew her.’

  ‘She’s told me that, at school, she wasn’t always very nice, but that you frightened her.’

  I laugh. ‘Me? Frighten her? Do you know the best part of my schooldays?’ Miles shakes his head as I continue. ‘The bearable part was that, once a week, I got to leave the school for an hour or two. I signed up to do the Duke of Edinburgh Award. It was the one group she never joined. For two hours a week, I was free, whilst trudging around muddy fields in all weathers.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure she wasn’t as bad as you’re making out. All sorts went on at my school.’

  ‘If you say so.’ I put down my coffee cup. This is not working out how I expected. I stand up. ‘May I use the toilet, please?’

  He points to the corridor. ‘On the right.’

  I pick up my bag and head out. I open and close the toilet door, then unzip my ankle boots and clutch them in one hand as I dash upstairs. All the doors are open and the second room I peek into is clearly the master bedroom. I lie down on their bed and quickly take out my phone from my pocket. I take a selfie. Sitting up, I scan the room. Bella’s bedside table is cluttered: books, nail polishes, cotton wool and three different types of expensive face creams. I take one of her lipsticks, leave Miles’ aftershave among her perfumes and one of his ties draped over a chair. I snap several more photos of the room and another selfie sitting in front of her dressing table. I want to capture images of her world.

  I dart back downstairs, pull my boots back on and walk into the kitchen, just as Miles is heading out, as though he was about to come looking for me. We almost collide. I stretch up to kiss him.

  He steps back. ‘We can’t do this any more. It’s really over, I’m afraid, Juliette. You’re a wonderful woman and your fiancé is a very lucky man indeed, but I can’t take the risk any longer, sad as it is. In fact, it’s fortunate that we didn’t end up with a professional working relationship too, as it turned out. It will make keeping away from each other a lot simpler.’