The Perfect Life

by Nuala Ellwood

  8. Then

  November 2017

  ‘The number you have called has not been recognized.’

  So it’s official, I think to myself as I end the call and stare out of the window at the Number 22 bus crawling along the King’s Road, Lottie and me are finished.

  I think back to the last time I saw her, the hurt in her eyes when I told her I was moving out. Hurt that quickly turned to anger. We’d had arguments before, lots of them, but we’d always made up eventually. The fact that Lottie has gone as far as changing her number means that this time is different.

  The office is quiet. Rose and Gemma are still off sick and the rest of the team are out for lunch. I have a pile of emails to deal with still and an online presentation to prepare but I need to hear a friendly voice, need to feel reassured that I’m not the bad person Lottie has made me out to be.

  Picking up my phone, I click on my sister’s name and wait.

  ‘Hello, darling, what’re you up to?’

  Hearing Georgie’s voice makes me feel suddenly emotional. I swallow back the tears and try to sound as upbeat as I can.

  ‘Hi, Georgie. I’m fine, thanks. Just wondered if you fancied meeting up for lunch tomorrow. Connor and I are going to be in Chelsea and I thought it’s probably time the two of you met.’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ says Georgie. ‘Jack’s away on a golfing trip this weekend so I’d be glad of the company and I’m dying to meet Connor.’

  ‘Great,’ I say, typing a reminder to myself on my laptop. ‘I’ll book a table at Rossi’s.’

  ‘Nessa, is everything okay?’ says Georgie, ever the vigilant big sister. ‘You sound a bit down.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I lie, flicking a piece of fluff from my jacket sleeve. ‘Just a bit swamped at work, that’s all. But I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. It’s been ages.’

  ‘Me too, darling,’ says Georgie. ‘What time shall we say? One-ish?’

  ‘Perfect,’ I say. ‘Connor’s dying to meet you too.’

  ‘Well, I shall be on my best behaviour,’ she laughs. ‘See you then, darling.’

  ‘See you, Georgie,’ I say.

  Talking to my sister usually lifts me but for the rest of the afternoon all I can think about is Lottie. Fourteen years of friendship, gone. Just like that.

  ‘It’s sad,’ says Connor over breakfast the following morning. ‘But not entirely unexpected. From what I could see, Lottie was rather controlling. She wanted you all to herself. I could tell that from her body language in the Royal Court bar that night. It was like watching one of those overbearing parents, a helicopter parent. Hovering over you, telling you when it was time to leave. That’s not healthy, Vanessa. Friends should let you be happy.’

  ‘I know,’ I say, spreading the last of the strawberry jam on to my toast. ‘And there were times when I used to feel I had to go along with what she wanted to do even if I wasn’t enjoying it. Still, to change her number like that. It feels rather extreme.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Connor, watching me as I bite into my toast. ‘But that’s her choice and she’s made it. It happens a lot with friendships though. I don’t want to sound harsh but some of them just run their course. I had a big group of friends at Bristol who I saw all the time during my three years at uni. We were inseparable. When we graduated we all went our separate ways but a few of us ended up in London. For the first year or so I would meet up with a couple of the guys, for old times’ sake, but something had changed. We’d outgrown each other. It got to the point where we were all making excuses not to meet up. It’s brutal but it’s just the way life works out. Certain friendships only make sense at a particular time in your life and you have to let go. You and Lottie are a case in point.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I say, getting up from the table and brushing off the toast crumbs from my dressing gown. ‘And I have to remember that it’s not a crime to move in with your boyfriend when you’re thirty-two years old. Anyway, we’ve talked about this over and over. Let’s move on: would you like a coffee?’

  I turn round and see Connor plugging in the vacuum cleaner.

  ‘Just getting rid of those toast crumbs before they build up,’ he says, smiling. ‘Coffee would be great, thanks.’

  I go into the kitchen and open the cupboard. Connor’s been working from home the last few days and it appears he’s also been hard at work in here. All of the items in the cupboard have been lined up neatly. The half-empty packets of rice, bran flakes, pasta and biscuits have been decanted into plastic tubs and labelled. When I open the fridge to get the milk I see that he has done the same in there.

  ‘Someone’s been busy,’ I say, handing him a cup of coffee.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he says, looking rather sheepish. ‘It’s embarrassing really but I’m just a bit of a neat freak as you’ll have probably gathered. And I love you to bits but you can be a little … messy.’

  He looks like he’s treading on eggshells as he says this, like he’s terrified of offending me.

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry,’ I say, sitting down on the arm of the sofa. ‘I guess I’ve just got stuck in a rut. Lottie was pretty messy round the house and we’d just let things slide then do a big blitz on the cleaning every couple of weeks. I know that’s not the best approach.’

  ‘I’m not criticizing you,’ says Connor, rubbing my hand. ‘Far from it. I’d hate it if you changed. It’s just I can’t function if things are chaotic. I need to know where everything is and, well, mess just sets me on edge. I should loosen up, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘No,’ I say, leaning forward to kiss him. ‘Don’t do that. I love you as you are.’

  ‘You mean that?’ he says, touching my face lightly.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I do. Now, I’d better go and get ready. I want to have enough time for shopping before we meet Georgie.’

  ‘Remind me what we’re looking for again?’

  Connor has trailed after me for almost half an hour now yet I still haven’t managed to find anything.

  ‘Well, it’s nothing specific,’ I say, pausing outside Cos to take a closer look at the window display. ‘I’ve got a presentation next week. We’ve managed to secure a meeting with a major US manufacturer. I need to look my best but I’m not sure what I should be aiming for.’

  ‘Can I give you some advice?’ says Connor, taking my arm.

  ‘What’s that?’ I say, turning to look at him.

  ‘You’re not going to find the right outfit in one of these high-street shops,’ he says, guiding me away from the window. ‘This is a big presentation, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, nodding my head.

  ‘And you’ve probably been working on it for, what, weeks? Months?’

  ‘A few months, yep.’

  ‘And every little detail has been perfected over those months,’ he says. ‘Every point has been scrutinized.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a big deal. If we secure this client it will take the company to another level.’

  ‘Right,’ he says. ‘So, after all that hard work, why fall at the final hurdle by turning up in a cheap, high-street dress? You need to think about your image, what kind of message you’re sending out.’

  ‘I know,’ I say, feeling rather awkward. ‘But for years the high street’s been my only option. My salary at Luna London just about covers bills and rent. I can’t afford expensive clothes.’

  ‘Look at it this way,’ he says, smiling warmly. ‘If you add up the cost of all those cheap clothes you’ve bought over the years, which you probably ended up chucking in the bin because they fell apart, you could spend the same amount on a few select pieces that will last.’

  ‘I guess,’ I say, thinking back, shamefully, to the number of cheap dresses and T-shirts I’ve thrown away.

  ‘It’s true,’ he says. ‘Now, how about you let me find something for you? If you don’t like what I choose then, fair enough, we’ll go to Zara. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed,’ I say, feeling relieved that the decision has been ta
ken out of my hands.

  ‘Great,’ he says, taking my hand. ‘I know just the place.’

  Forty-five minutes later we are all done and sitting in Rossi’s drinking Chianti and waiting for Georgie.

  ‘I’m feeling rather nervous,’ says Connor, wiping his forehead with the back of his hands. ‘What if she doesn’t like me?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I say, taking a breadstick and snapping it in two. ‘Here, have this. It’ll calm your stomach.’

  ‘Sorry I’m late, darling.’

  I look up and see my sister rushing towards us. Her hair is smooth and shiny, as though she’s had a blow-dry, and I notice she’s wearing more make-up than usual. It seems she’s just as keen as Connor to make a good impression.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ve only just arrived,’ says Connor, getting to his feet. ‘I’m Connor. It’s lovely to meet you at last.’

  He shakes Georgie’s hand and, as he gestures to the waiter for an extra menu, Georgie gives me a wink.

  ‘I arrived in town early and decided to pop into the gallery, which was a huge mistake as I ended up getting caught by Bill, who had a barrage of questions for me about the new exhibition,’ she says, shrugging off her coat and handing it to the waiter. ‘You know what he’s like. Ooh, look at this lovely menu. I think I might have the bream.’

  I smile to myself. Georgie is talking nineteen to the dozen as always. It takes a bit of time for new people to get used to this. Connor, however, seems unfazed.

  ‘Exhibition?’ he says, taking a sip of wine. ‘What are you showing?’

  ‘It’s a retrospective of Paula Rego,’ says Georgie, helping herself to a breadstick. ‘We’re putting it together in collaboration with the Tate.’

  ‘Paula Rego? Wow, no way. She was the subject of my dissertation,’ says Connor, his eyes widening.

  ‘Really? How wonderful,’ says Georgie. ‘Well, you should come over and see it.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ says Connor, his voice brightening.

  ‘I tell you what,’ says Georgie, pausing as the waiter arrives with her wine. ‘How about you come over one lunchtime when it’s quiet? Bill, my curator, is something of an authority on Rego. He’ll give you a private tour, so to speak.’

  ‘Thanks,’ says Connor, smiling. ‘That would be amazing.’

  ‘So, Vanessa tells me you grew up in Harrogate,’ says Georgie, taking a sip of wine. ‘That’s a lovely part of the world. Do your folks still live up there?’

  ‘Er, my mum does,’ says Connor, brushing his hair out of his eyes. ‘My dad lives in the States.’

  His voice alters when he mentions his dad. It’s clear the divorce is still a sore subject.

  ‘You’ll have to take Ness up to Yorkshire,’ says Georgie with a laugh. ‘She’s a great hill walker, aren’t you, Ness?’

  ‘Very funny,’ I say, rolling my eyes. It’s a running joke between me and my sister that I’m not really suited to country pursuits.

  ‘I will,’ says Connor, squeezing my hand under the table. ‘Though my mum has rather erratic working hours so it’s tricky to nail her down for a visit. But we’ll definitely do it soon.’

  He squeezes my hand again and I feel a flutter through my body, like a surge of electricity.

  ‘Ooh,’ says Georgie. ‘Look at all those bags. What have you been buying, Nessa?’

  I tell her about the presentation and how Connor had advised me to buy a few statement pieces.

  ‘Alleluia, thank you, Connor,’ says Georgie, rolling her eyes. ‘I’ve been trying to get this one to give up her disposable fashion habit for years. Let’s see what you’ve got then.’

  I take out the main outfit. It’s a simple shift dress made of pale-blue silk. When I’d tried it on it fitted me like a second skin. The price tag made me wince but, as Connor said, it will last me for years.

  ‘That is beautiful,’ says Georgie, reaching out to touch the fabric. ‘And so right for the presentation.’

  I put the dress back into the bag just as the food arrives and as we sit and eat, Georgie filling in Connor on the details of the Rego exhibition, I feel a deep sense of contentment. After Georgie excuses herself to go to the bathroom my phone vibrates in my pocket. I take it out and see Georgie’s name on the screen.

  He’s a keeper. I’m so happy for you, darling.

  And in that moment I decide to stop feeling bad about Lottie. Connor is my best friend now and I’m not going to lose him.

  9. Now

  ‘DS Bains,’ says Frank Solomon, clasping his hands together. ‘You have to make a decision. Charge my client or let her go.’

  Bains leans back in his chair, his eyes still on me, silent. He is waiting for me to snap again, to say something I will regret, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.

  ‘That will be all for now, Miss Adams,’ he says eventually. ‘Though we may need to speak to you again should more evidence come to light. Which it will.’

  I feel light-headed as I get up from the table. I can sense Bains’s eyes on me as Frank Solomon guides me out of the room.

  Once I have been signed out I take my phone and call Georgie.

  ‘Hello,’ she says, answering at the second ring. ‘Vanessa? What’s happened?’

  ‘Can you come and get me, Georgie?’ I say, trying to suppress my emotions. ‘They’ve finished questioning me but the tube has stopped for the night.’

  ‘I’ll be right there, darling,’ says Georgie. ‘Stay inside the police station, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘See you in a bit.’

  I end the call and sit down on a plastic chair. The duty officer looks over at me from behind her desk, her expression chilly.

  My body feels limp with exhaustion. The effort of having to keep the truth from Bains has taken its toll. I close my eyes but all I see is Geoffrey staring back at me. Asking Why?

  I need to get out of here, I think to myself, looking up at the posters on the walls: ‘Have you been a victim of crime?’ ‘See it. Say it. Sorted.’ I feel like I’m being watched, like Bains is hidden somewhere behind those posters, waiting to pounce.

  ‘Nessa, darling.’

  I look up. Georgie is rushing through the main doors towards me. As I see her, the tears I’ve been trying to hold back all evening come rushing forth. It feels like I’m four years old again and I’ve just spotted my mum waiting for me in the playground after my first day at school.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say as she wraps her arms around me. ‘I’m – I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Come on,’ she says, gently guiding me towards the doors. ‘Let’s get you home.’

  Georgie is silent as we cross the dimly lit car park. I feel a prickle of unease as I look up into the night sky. This isn’t over yet, I whisper to myself, this nightmare. It’s only just beginning.

  Georgie unlocks the car door and doesn’t say a word until we are on the road heading for the common. Then she turns to me and asks the question I’ve been waiting for.

  ‘Tell me what happened, Ness. Why did you go to that house?’

  I know I should be honest with her. She’s my sister. And though there’s thirteen years between us, we have always been close. She’s always been there for me. But as we drive through the deserted London streets I can still feel Bains’s gaze on me, accusatory, judging. If I tell Georgie the truth now she will never forgive me. Never. So, instead, I close my eyes and let the lie slip out.

  ‘It was all a misunderstanding, Georgie,’ I say, my voice cracking slightly. ‘I wasn’t there. It wasn’t me. They got me mixed up with someone else.’

  ‘But I thought they said –’

  ‘They got it wrong,’ I say firmly. ‘And they’ve let me go. I’m so sorry you’ve had to come out at this time of night, and that I’ve worried you. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.’

  ‘You don’t have to make it up to me, Nessa,’ she says as we pull up in front of her imposing double-fronted Victorian terrace. ‘Look, I don’t know what happened between yo
u and Connor but you haven’t been yourself lately, even before the split. Jack’s noticed it too. You’ve always been so sensible, so focused and together, but recently, well, it’s … it’s like you’ve turned into a different person.’

  She switches off the engine and turns to face me. Her black hair is falling messily out of its bun, her face – free of make-up – pale and lined. For the first time I see that my sister is getting old and that makes me feel scared. Time is rushing like a torrent, unrelenting and out of control.

  ‘If there’s anything you want to tell me,’ Georgie continues, ‘you can. You know that, don’t you? After Mum, we all … well, you know what happened. But sometimes I think we should have looked after you better. The fact that you were so studious and sensible made us think you were stronger than you were.’

  The mention of Mum brings the tears to my eyes again. I blink them back, then turn to my sister and smile.

  ‘I’m fine, Georgie,’ I say, unclipping my seat belt. ‘Honestly, I am.’

  ‘Oh, there’s Jack,’ she says, waving.

  I turn to see my brother-in-law standing in the doorway, the light from the hallway pouring out on to the small front garden and the street.

  ‘He’s been very worried,’ says Georgie, getting out of the car. ‘He’ll be so relieved to have you back.’

  It doesn’t look like that to me, I think to myself as I follow Georgie up the path. In fact, the look on Jack’s face is more anger than relief.

  ‘Vanessa, what on earth was all that about?’ he says, ushering us inside.

  ‘It’s fine, darling. It was all a big mistake,’ says Georgie, taking his arm. ‘They just wanted to ask her a few questions and now they’ve let her go. No further action.’

  He doesn’t look convinced, but slowly follows Georgie into the living room.

  ‘I’m going to head up to bed,’ I call, tiredness gripping my bones now. ‘Thanks again for picking me up, Georgie, and I’m sorry for being such a pain.’

  Georgie comes to the door of the living room. Her face is drawn but she smiles warmly.