The Perfect Girlfriend

by Karen Hamilton

  Michael John Simpson 1946–2004.

  He died of lung cancer whilst I was at boarding school. Amelia casually mentioned it when I was home once for half-term. I cried.

  ‘Thank you for trying,’ I say out loud.

  I refuse Babs’ offer to stay for the night when I drop her home.

  I need to get back to my own place and work on my plans, even though my app doesn’t work any more. Nate must have upgraded his phone and not transferred everything over. Or it has been deleted, somehow.

  He has also changed all his passwords. There must be something I haven’t thought of yet. There just has to be.

  It comes to me in the early hours with such a jolt of sheer obviousness that I sit up: Nate still owes me a honeymoon.

  However, I’ll have to work within the only boundaries left available, for now. He’s travelling to Whistler shortly – I recall the exact dates from the file I saw at Miles’ house. I tap notes into my phone as I refine my thoughts and ideas. I need to revise tactics again, because actions always speak louder than words.

  One thing is certain, though. The annulment is off. A fresh mantra springs to mind.

  If you love someone, set them free.

  If they come back, they’re yours. If they don’t, make them.

  30

  I twist my hair into a knot and secure it with clips before reapplying a lipstick I took from Bella’s dressing table. I take a deep breath, smile at my reflection, unlock the toilet door and enter the first-class galley. I used my position as a safety ambassador to ensure I was selected for this particular working position, after arguing that I cannot possibly represent all points of view if I never get a chance to work in every cabin. After checking the catering against the menu, I sign to confirm I’ve done so.

  ‘Bye, have a good one,’ says one of the always-cheerful catering guys as he heads off to another galley to complete the next round of checks.

  I count the duvets, tracksuits and giveaway bags, ensuring that there is one per passenger, and arrange pale pink carnations into the fixed silver vase in the cabin. Preparations complete, I busy myself reading the PIL – passenger information list. Despite the familiar stabbing resurgence of raw, green, bitter, hideous, sickening jealousy flooding me, I remain calm. I remind myself that although these aren’t ideal circumstances – no one else would have to contend with another woman so early on in a marriage – everything is all working to plan.

  I have a few obstacles left to overcome, which I will work through methodically, step by step. Cabin crew, prepare doors for departure.

  The supervisor’s voice jolts over the public address system. This means that the hold doors are sealed, all paperwork is complete and the final passenger door has been closed. I arm my door, thereby locking the emergency slides into position, and cross-check with the crew member opposite. We push back. Outside my window, the air bridge is retracting. Once again, at this point, the world shrinks to the size of the plane’s interior. We are trapped; at the mercy of the pilots, the elements, technology and the collective faith that security and engineering have been thorough.

  We taxi towards the runway and join the queue, edging along, one plane at a time. Our turn comes. The plane swings to the right in a semi-circle. A pause before an escalating roar, a surge of power and movement as the wheels roll forward and the aircraft gains speed. We lift into the air. I close my eyes and imagine our flight details disappearing – pop! – like a bubble from the departure monitors in the terminal, now already thousands of feet below.

  Gone.

  I busy myself with food preparations. My two colleagues, Martin and Nicky – responsible for the cabin service – offer drinks and write down food orders, which I then heat, plate up and garnish. Lemon and parsley for the salmon, fresh mint for the lamb. We hit a patch of turbulence around the time we are serving tea and coffee – a fairly typical occurrence. Once the service is over and the remnants – glasses, plates and food – have been cleared away, Martin and Nicky pull down the window blinds and I dim the lights.

  I stand at the back, at the entrance to the cabin, observing. It is quiet and dark, apart from flickering screens. Several people are sleeping – lumps under their duvets – and there’s the odd drinker, clutching a glass of whisky or port. The air conditioning hums above the engines. Someone snores. I inhale the smell of cold food, sweaty feet and wind, intermingled with air-freshener and the scent of ‘Eau-de-Boeing’, as it’s known as – the unmistakable smell of a plane’s interior. All is calm.

  My colleagues go on their break. It is just me, alone.

  In charge. In control.

  I take a moment.

  I can see the side of Tara’s head. Her dark hair is long and straight; TV-commercial sleek and shiny. Closing my eyes, I take some deep breaths and run through my plans but ugly words force their way into my thoughts; phrases from official letters sent by the office of James Harrington. These innocuous-looking yet powerful pieces of paper clearly state the beginning of the end. Mere months remain until Nate and I will have no ties left. The piercing reminder of it gives me fresh resolve. I’ve nothing left to lose.

  I step into the cabin; the carpet muffles my footsteps. I aim for the wardrobe at the front of the cabin and open it, as though searching for something. To my left is seat 1A, one of the favourite seats of VIPs and celebrities. Today is no exception: there is a Canadian TV actor occupying the space watching a movie and picking at the remains of his cheese and biscuits. The passenger to my right, an older version of Nate, is reading the Financial Times. In the seat directly behind him, Bella and Nate’s mother, Margaret, sleeps peacefully. Next year, it will be me in one of these seats, sipping champagne or a G&T. I quietly shut the wardrobe door and turn round. Bella is sitting up, rummaging in her handbag. Miles is reclined, watching a movie, the sound-cancelling headphones smothering his ears. On his side table rests a glass of untouched port. Spiteful glee grips me.

  I stand beside him, give a little wave and a smile.

  He starts to wave me away politely, as though he’s assumed that I’m an attentive stewardess who really cares about his comfort, but his expression changes to confusion. He sits upright and removes his headphones. His eyes drop down to my name badge.

  ‘Miles! Miles Yorke!’ I say with a beam.

  Bella glances over.

  ‘You don’t usually go for port,’ I say, slightly louder than necessary.

  He stares at me but doesn’t utter a word.

  Bella stares too.

  I just can’t resist pushing it a touch more. ‘Let me get you a top-up. I like to look after our special customers.’

  I slide the stem of his port glass through my fingers and, holding the base, I whisk it up. Red liquid splashes on to Miles’ trousers.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ I clasp my free hand to my mouth. ‘Come into the galley and I’ll get you something to wipe it off.’

  I saunter out of the cabin, past Nate’s seat. He does not look up. Miles is not far behind. Even though all I do is greet him with a peck on the cheek once we reach the privacy of the galley, he jerks his face away.

  ‘My wife – Bella – is on board. What the hell is all this about? You lied. You said you worked for a travel company.’

  I can’t be bothered to point out that airlines play a significant role in the travel industry.

  ‘You’re lucky that I’m giving you the time of day. Your treatment of me wasn’t fair. You and Nate have more in common than you know.’

  He stares. ‘Nate?’

  ‘Yes. Nate.’

  ‘Not Nick? Oh my God.’ He pauses. ‘You misled me. Right from the beginning. Why?’

  Behind him, Bella appears.

  ‘Miles? Darling, did you get your trousers sorted?’

  He swings round at the sound of her voice. ‘Almost.’

  I run a napkin under the tap, squeeze it and hand it to him. He rubs his right thigh much more vigorously than necessary.

  ‘I know you, don’t I
? From school.’ Bella stares at me. ‘You’re Elizabeth Price. You were at that party. In Bournemouth.’

  Miles continues with the unnecessary stain removal. His trousers are dark grey, you can’t even see the port.

  ‘And Stephanie mentioned that you’d visited her at the gym.’

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ I say. ‘If not, you’ll have to excuse me as I’ve got things to do.’

  ‘What did you mean about Miles not usually drinking port?’ She turns to Miles. ‘You’re not that frequent a flyer.’

  I decide to help Miles out. For now. ‘I’m a client of his.’

  ‘You? A client of Miles?’

  Her disbelieving tone irks.

  ‘Was,’ says Miles, looking up. ‘In fact, no, that’s not even true. Nothing much materialized after our initial meeting. This is confusing. I thought your name was Juliette?’

  ‘It is. Now.’

  ‘Why did you choose Miles’ company? It’s too much of a coincidence. You did this at school. Always following me around, copying me, stealing my clothes, my make-up. Sucking up to my friends.’

  Miles looks like he’s going to be sick.

  ‘Miles, darling, did she ask you personal questions when she came to your office? Did you have any suspicions about her at all?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Because I’ve got a bad feeling about all of this.’

  I feel my hands clench. This is not the conversation of my imagination. I expected some sort of burgeoning shame or fear from her. Just something. Because surely even she can’t expect to come out of this conversation completely smelling of bloody roses. I glance towards a low stowage unit which contains a jemmy. Its official use is in the event of a fire, for levering open panels. It is metal and heavy and has a nasty hook on the end.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  All three of us look over to the right-hand side. A passenger, the Canadian actor, is standing there.

  I summon up my professional self. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Yes, please. My screen has frozen.’

  ‘I’ll come and take a look,’ I say, following him into the cabin. I pretend to take an interest in the situation, pressing a few buttons on the control. ‘I’ll get the system reset for you,’ I promise.

  He smiles. ‘Thanks. Appreciate it.’

  On my way to the rear of the cabin, I crouch down by Tara’s seat. ‘Hi,’ I mime.

  She pauses her movie – the latest romantic comedy – and takes off her headphones. ‘Hi,’ she says hesitantly.

  I can tell she is desperately trying not to make it obvious that she is glancing down at my name badge.

  ‘It’s Juliette. Remember? We did that Athens together, the other month. Or was it Cairo? Anyway, how are you?’

  ‘Fine, thanks.’

  She still looks confused. She has every right to; we’ve never flown together. As she struggles to recall a non-existent memory, I point over at Nate. He looks over.

  ‘Is this the new man?’

  She grins. ‘Yes.’

  I pull a grim face. ‘Oh. Good luck. I’d watch out, if I were you.’

  Nate takes off his headphones and sits up straight, still looking over at me. I’ve never really given any thought to the term ‘a thunderous expression’ until this moment. I can now see exactly what it means, because his whole face is creased into a giant frown. I stand up before she can respond and aim for the galley. Nate beats me to it. He strides over and grabs my arm.

  Bella and Miles, who have clearly been in deep discussion, stop and stare.

  ‘What do you think you are doing?’ Nate asks. ‘Why are you talking to my girlfriend?’

  I shrug off his hand. ‘I’m at work. She looked like she needed a drink.’

  ‘You’ve broken our agreement.’

  ‘How? I can’t help it if you’re a passenger on this flight. Downgrade yourself to economy, if you’re that bothered. Seriously. There are loads of spare seats down the back.’

  ‘This is not a coincidence, and it’s bloody exasperating.’

  I shrug my shoulders. ‘Believe what you like. Fate clearly has big plans for us.’

  ‘So you know this woman too?’ Bella asks Nate.

  I answer for him. ‘Oh, Nate and I know each other extremely well.’

  Tara picks this moment to join us. Behind her right shoulder is the actor.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, before he can speak. ‘It does take a few minutes for your screen to spring back to life. I’ll check again in five minutes.’

  He looks as though he wants to ask for something else, but then seems to decide against it. He makes his way into a toilet instead. We are all silent until the lock clicks shut. I walk over to the interphone located above the crew seat, call the supervisor and ask him to reset the defective screen. I rejoin the ever-growing group in the galley.

  Tara is clinging to Nate’s arm.

  ‘I said I had a bad feeling about all of this,’ Bella says to Miles. ‘Didn’t I?’

  He nods, avoiding eye contact with me.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asks Tara.

  ‘It’s just that he likes his girlfriends a lot younger, don’t you, Nate?’

  Nate raises his hand as though he is going to slap me. Bella grabs his arm and holds it down by his side.

  ‘You’ll back me up, won’t you, Bella? Don’t you remember what you used to say at school?’ I mimic her voice. ‘Sticks and stones, Elizabeth. Rise above it. Sticks and stones.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t know Bella that well at school?’ says Nate.

  ‘What I said was “everyone knew of Bella”.’

  Tara tries again. ‘I still don’t get what all this is about?’

  ‘Ask her.’ I point to Bella.

  ‘Oh, we teased her a bit because she slept with some boy at school when she was only fifteen. The rest of us used to pretend we had – to show off or look bigger – but she actually went through with it. That’s Elizabeth. Always had to take things a step further.’

  It’s Nate’s turn to look ill.

  ‘Teased a bit,’ I say. ‘Horrible pictures in my desk. Constant name-calling. Tart. Loser. Trollop. Slut. Lily-No-Mates. And those aren’t even the bad ones. You used to brag about your boyfriends and how much fun you had. It was partly because of you that I thought I was doing something grown-up. Something that would make you respect me. Instead, it was the complete reverse.’

  ‘Oh God, don’t try to pin that one on me,’ snaps Bella. ‘You’re your own person, surely? No one forced you to do anything.’

  ‘You said to me that the boy would always think of me as worthless. That men didn’t marry women who were easy. But you’re wrong. He did. It was lifelong love, just like I said all those years ago. Tell them, Nate. Tell them about our wedding.’

  There is silence. Everyone looks at him. He doesn’t speak, he just stares at me, as if believing that, if we all stand here long enough, the surreal encounter will end, and he will wake up in some five-star hotel with nothing too taxing to start his day other than where to go for a jog, or what to eat for breakfast.

  ‘Marriage?’ says Bella. ‘And back then . . .? Oh. God.’ She puts her hand over her mouth and shakes her head, as though it’s all too much to take in. ‘Nathan?’

  Tara finds her voice too. ‘Married?’ Tara adds, ‘To her?’

  I notice that she has let go of Nate’s arm.

  ‘No. Yes. Not exactly. That’s why I never mentioned it. It was a Vegas thing. It’s being annulled.’

  ‘It doesn’t alter the fact that it happened,’ I point out.

  The toilet door unlocks. We all fall silent as the actor emerges.

  ‘Your screen should be fine now, sir,’ I say, struggling to remember his name. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  He appears to survey the scene in front of him and shakes his head. ‘No, I’m good, thanks.’ He disappears.

  ‘So,’ says Tara. ‘Let me get this all straight in my head—’

  Miles leaps in.
‘It appears to me as though Nathan and Juliette have a lot of unfinished business to discuss. How about we leave them in private for a while?’

  Bella agrees. Of course she does. Now that she realizes that she was bullying me over the actions of her own brother, she can’t wait to get away, to piece back the memories with her new-found knowledge. I can imagine her reframing them, still trying to make out that she wasn’t that bad. Tara, however, is less keen. She shakes her head when Bella tries to guide her out of the galley. She stays put, flicking her hair a couple of times.

  Nate walks over to the bar and helps himself to a miniature bottle of cognac. He doesn’t bother with a glass but tips the bottle directly into his mouth. Both Tara and I watch him gulp. He exhales, places the miniature on the side and runs his hands through his hair.

  ‘Is this the ex-girlfriend you told me about?’ Tara says to Nate. ‘The one who wouldn’t leave you alone?’

  ‘Not ex-girlfriend, current wife,’ I correct her.

  She stares at me, as though all this is my fault. Nate goes over to her and whispers something in her ear. She throws me a look of disdain before she heads for the nearest toilet. The door clicks shut and the occupied light illuminates. Nate and I are alone. I walk over to the right-hand side door and lift the window blind. Over the dark clouds the horizon is lined with distant blue-and-orange light. He grabs me by the shoulders, twists me round and shoves his face close to mine. I can smell the cognac on his breath.

  ‘What the fuck!’ he says. ‘None of this was just about me, was it? You’ve dragged Bella into it now too. How dare you imply that I like young women. You were culpable too.’

  ‘Keep telling yourself that. And let go of me.’

  He does.

  I sigh and try again. ‘Nate, you married me. Your sister made my life hell at school because of you. You owe me. Your sister owes me. I want a happy-ever–after, and you’re going to give it to me.’

  ‘One mistake. One stupid, thoughtless mistake I made so many years ago.’ Although he’s speaking out loud, it’s as though he’s speaking to himself. ‘One reckless moment.’