The Perfect Girlfriend

by Karen Hamilton

  I doubt it, but the sooner I get work off my back, the sooner I can get back to my real life.

  ‘I’ll be in at four today,’ I hear myself agree.

  I take my coffee back to Amy’s room and lie on her bed. The outside sounds are unfamiliar. The bin lorry comes on a different day to mine. It’s disorientating. I feel exhausted and I shut my eyes. It’s not just the job, it’s everything. I feel like an actress onstage, waiting until I can finish my scenes. It has crossed my mind, from time to time, to give up, to move on. But I don’t know how to. Everything is different when it happens to you. How do I simply forget? Action feels like the only way forward. Besides, I genuinely love Nate. And what I want isn’t too awful: a few friends, a job for the time being. Then a proper, grown-up, adult life, finished off with a comfortable old age, preferably not getting abused in an old people’s home that smells like school dinners. It’s not asking for much.

  I’m owed that.

  I get up, shower and change. I’ll have to leave my suitcase on the luggage racks at the Report Centre before heading off to my mystery meeting, because I can’t leave it here. A sudden thought flashes into my mind: maybe they want to put me forward for a special services flight, such as taking the Prime Minister to a peace summit, or a deeply private celebrity to an exclusive island. My mood lifts.

  Before I leave, I can’t help but tidy out the airing cupboard, folding the towels neatly and putting them in colour order. That’s the good thing about flatmates, they’ll each think the other did it, even though it’s me they should thank. I give in to the temptation to explore the flat, for no other reason than to gain a deeper sense of Amy and what makes her tick. She is so at ease in her own skin, so self-assured. I want to be more like that and not wear my heart on my sleeve.

  Bedrooms are always the places I find secrets, and Amy’s is no exception. Burglars must love the general public’s lack of imagination. The third drawer inside her wardrobe contains a small collection of sex toys, skimpy outfits and several wigs, but it’s the contents of Amy’s bedside drawer that shock me. Antidepressants. Who’d have thought? I feel slightly betrayed by the discovery. Come to think of it, it’s not normal to be happy all the time. Maybe I should try some? I push six out of the foil, wrap them in a tissue and place the bundle in my bag.

  In the living room I put on a CD quietly, and then another. Everything reminds me of Nate. Every lyric could have been written about us and our love, as though the artists have experienced exactly the same amount of pain that I’m enduring. What a mess people make of their lives. So much wasted, pointless time spent apart, when things could all be so different. I select a final song, singing along with the chorus.

  I swallow two of Amy’s pills before I make myself leave. Public transport is becoming tiresome; I resolve to increase my number of driving lessons. I’ve read that it takes the average person forty-five hours of instruction and twenty-two hours of practice to pass a test. I intend to be a lot quicker than that.

  At the Report Centre I am shown past a series of rooms that I’ve never noticed before, until we reach the end one. Three people sit along a table facing me. Two men and one woman, Lorraine. Are three people good or bad? Images of the non-crash site are blown up on to a large screen. The plane looks like a white insect with grey legs.

  ‘Please, sit down,’ Lorraine smiles. ‘Thank you so much for coming. We invited you here today as we want to thank you in person. We have received numerous messages of praise from the passengers you assisted during the recent incident. Please, let us all take a moment whilst I read out a sample of the words that have been used to describe you. Calm. Professional. Cool. Level-headed. Reassuring. Brave. A credit to your airline. Capable. A heroine.’ She stops.

  Everyone stares at me.

  ‘Wow,’ I say, feeling a sense of rising dread.

  ‘So, as well as a Going Above and Beyond Award, we would also like you to become our safety ambassador. This is a brand-new, vitally important role and one which will require you to be highly visible among the airline community. This is an amazing achievement for someone who has been flying for only a short while. So, well done. You will receive many benefits as a result and . . .’

  I can’t bear to listen. I want to put my hands over my ears. What a disaster. Any good PR stories are ceaselessly promoted by the in-house magazine. Grinning pictures of favoured crew, not a hair out of place, adorn the cover. Shit. The man on the far right picks up a giant camera with a long lens. I cover my face with my hand.

  ‘Stop! Please. This is all very kind and extremely flattering, but you do all know that I didn’t land the plane, don’t you? There hasn’t been some kind of mix-up? I did my job, which I have been more than adequately trained to do by the company. And as much as I cannot think of anything nicer than being a safety ambassador, I must insist that I am not the woman for the job. There are many crew who are more safety-conscious than me—’

  I stop because I’m feeling more detached and spaced out than usual. I wonder if it’s anything to do with Amy’s pills?

  Lorraine smiles. ‘Stop right there, Juliette. Perhaps we’ve overwhelmed you. Why don’t you go home and sleep on it? I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  Bloody hell. Everything is conspiring to eat up my valuable time and energy, right at the moment when I need to be putting all my efforts into more important things, such as finalizing my reunion with Nate.

  On my way home, I allow myself a little fantasy. It could work. When we get back together, he could pose with me, like a celebrity couple in Hello! magazine.

  Nathan and Elizabeth at their Richmond apartment. Nathan and Elizabeth in first class.

  No, I’m not sure . . .

  It feels just a little too soon to blow my cover, and Nate can’t fail to recognize me if I am plastered all round the Report Centre, no matter what my name or hair colour. He wanted space. If I reappear in his life too soon, there’s a risk he’ll smell the proverbial rat. I’ll call Lorraine tomorrow and invent a phobia or two. Fear of public speaking, that type of thing. I’ll remind her how Anya held the hand of an old lady as they slid down the evacuation chute together. They’ll love that.

  At home, I work on my POA. I book in for some extra, intensive driving lessons and start arranging some flat viewings.

  Before I know it, it is midnight. I force myself to bed. I need energy for the morning, but I can’t sleep because I’ve thought of something I forgot to ask.

  I call Lorraine as soon as she is in the office.

  ‘If I agree to become a safety ambassador, when will it come into place?’

  ‘We’re planning on launching the new role in August or September, I don’t have an exact date yet, but you’d probably be rostered a training course by late summer.’

  ‘In that case, I’d love to accept your offer, thank you.’

  Arriving at Bournemouth train station, I walk to Bella’s gym. I’ve made an appointment to see the manager, Stephanie Quentin.

  I give my name to a receptionist and am directed to a sofa, where I wait, watching the entrance just in case Bella comes in. Anonymous people push through the turnstiles clutching gym bags, water bottles or tennis racquets.

  ‘Elizabeth?’

  I stand up as Stephanie, Bella’s second in command, comes into focus walking towards me. Her gait is so familiar.

  ‘Stephanie? What a surprise. I never expected to see you working in a gym. Not that there’s anything wrong with it,’ I quickly add – which is quite magnanimous of me, given some of the insults she’s thrown my way.

  She smiles but her eyes give away that I’ve hit a nerve. I was surprised when I did further digging into Bella’s world and Stephanie’s name popped up as the manager of her gym. She was on a clear path to becoming a barrister like her mother.

  ‘Long story,’ she says. ‘Do you want to come into the office?’ She points to a room visible through the glass walls.

  I follow her in and take a seat opposite her desk. There are sever
al pictures of a boy who, at a rough guess, must be around eight years of age. That must be her long story.

  ‘Would you like a tea or a coffee?’ she says, handing me a questionnaire on a clipboard.

  ‘A black coffee, please. I’ve already filled in a form online and I’ve explained that I’m undecided, as yet, whether to join or what type of membership will suit me best.’

  She pulls an apologetic face. ‘Yes, but we need you to fill this one in too. I’ll be back in a moment, I’ll just go and get your coffee.’

  Stephanie leaves.

  I breathe in. And out.

  Aware that I’m on display through the glass, I glance around discreetly but there is nothing else of any interest. No photos of her school friends – not that it would be likely – but if there were, they’d definitely be of her, Bella, Lucy and Gemma.

  The main four.

  Bella was allowed to take two friends with her on her family’s annual winter half-term holiday to her aunt’s in Whistler. Stephanie was always chosen, Lucy and Gemma had to alternate. I used to lie and pretend I was going skiing too ‘in France’.

  The form blurs in front of me. I can’t remember the fake address I originally gave. Not that it really matters, I remind myself, because she no longer has any power.

  The first term at school was bearable. I knew – and reluctantly accepted – my place. I so desperately wanted to be Bella’s real friend. I knew deep down that I’d never be allowed into her inner circle but that I’d settle just to be in the outer one.

  The girls all came from the same background, they just knew the right things to say and do, just knew they all had the potential to do well with effortless ease. They skied, they spoke fluent French and they knew how to bake soufflés.

  I tried to fit in – to say and do the right things – but the more I got it wrong, the worse it became. I was clumsy and tongue-tied around them. I’d lie in bed at night, pretending to be asleep, whilst listening to conversations about boys, make-up, fashion, music and teachers they liked or disliked, trying to think of ways to join in.

  And, when that didn’t work, I began to think of other options.

  ‘Here’s your coffee,’ Stephanie says, returning and placing a mug on her desk. ‘Right, let’s get on . . .’

  ‘How long have you worked here?’ I ask, leaning forward and taking a slow sip.

  ‘A few years. If you finish off that form, I’ll run through a few things and then I’ll get someone to show you around.’

  ‘Can’t you? It would be nice to catch up.’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘You are the manager,’ I say, smiling.

  ‘It will have to be quick, I’m afraid. I have another appointment,’ she glances up at the clock on the wall, ‘soon.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  After I’ve completed and signed the forms, she leads me into the main gym area and I nod politely as she points out the latest equipment, indicates the exercise class studios and mentions personal training and induction sessions. I follow behind as we descend the stairs to view the pool. I could push her. It would take a violent shove, but if I did it properly she’d take quite a fall. I look up at the dark, rounded lens of the security camera.

  ‘Are you in contact with Bella or any of the others?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her work heels clatter on the wooden staircase. My trainers are silent.

  ‘How is Bella?’

  She stops and looks round, as though trying to gauge my reaction. ‘Fine.’

  I shrug. ‘Just wondered. It was a long time ago.’

  ‘She’s about to announce her engagement soon.’

  I grip the handrail. ‘Who to?’

  ‘A wealth management adviser, Miles.’

  I’ve noticed him tagged in pictures at various events. He looks like a drip.

  I take my phone out of my bag and glance down at the screen. ‘Damn. I have to go. I’ll orientate myself if I join. Let’s keep in touch.’

  ‘Yes,’ she smiles, turning round to walk back upstairs.

  ‘Your mobile number?’ I say, pausing outside her office.

  ‘You can always get hold of me through reception,’ she says. ‘If you need to.’

  ‘How about Facebook?’ I search. ‘Ah, yes, here you are. I’ve sent you a friend request.’

  I stand still. She has no choice but to take out her phone and accept me. Her hands shake slightly.

  ‘Wonderful. A real pleasure, Stephanie. Super seeing you.’

  I walk out and don’t look back.

  The journey home shoots by as I delve into her Facebook page.

  Thanks to Stephanie, I am able to gain fresh insight into Bella’s inner world. Another door of opportunity has opened itself up to me.

  I love the internet; it is my friend.

  8

  I knew Nate would be home alone. He’d posted his intention to stay in and watch the latest series about a serial killer. Sure enough, his black Jaguar is parked in its usual spot. I pace up and down. We had a conversation once about what old or historical film roles we’d pick, given the choice. His was Russell Crowe’s Maximus Decimus Meridius in Gladiator; mine was Gwyneth Paltrow’s Helen in Sliding Doors.

  ‘I’d definitely be the one who cut her hair short and dumped him,’ I’d said, basking in the confidence of love. ‘No way would I put up with not being treated properly.’

  I once heard someone say that you’re always made to eat your own words; I sincerely hope that’s not true. I don’t want my beliefs twisted round into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  Nate still hasn’t drawn the blinds, so I wait, just a little bit longer, hoping to catch even a brief glimpse. I haven’t seen him in the flesh for over a week because I spent two days trapped inside the shoebox, on standby, before I got called out for a Kingston with the minimum two hours’ notice. As the early grey of the unseasonably dull May evening thickens, my patience is rewarded. His silhouette hesitates and I feel sure that he’s looking in my direction. I turn and walk slowly away, although my legs feel weak and the habitual hollowness begins to fill my chest.

  Because Nate was born into privilege, it’s not entirely his fault that he takes things for granted. He doesn’t know what it’s like to go without. Everything he wants, he gets. Just like Bella and others like her. Money gives them protection from the inconveniences of life. I try to give Nate the benefit of the doubt, I really try my best. But there are times, like now, when I could pummel him in frustration for wasting our time. I stop and lean against the cold brick wall.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Patience is a virtue. Stick to the plan.

  My shoulders relax.

  I walk on.

  Back home, I message Amy asking if she’d like to come over to Reading next week when our days off match. Our rosters have clashed recently and I haven’t had a chance to see her for weeks. I have a feeling that we could have a fun night out. And possibly, through her, I could follow through with my plans to start widening my friendship net.

  She messages back with a ‘yes’.

  I book an Asian fusion restaurant by the river Kennet for the following Wednesday.

  Before Amy’s arrival, I take great care to tidy my place, removing my pinboard, placing it safely away on top of the bedroom wardrobe. I also hide my shopping from my most recent trip: two voodoo dolls, one male and one female. As I fling open my door to welcome her in, she stares.

  ‘Your hair?’

  I’d grown so used to it, I’d forgotten. ‘Do you like it? I know it’s a bit similar to yours.’

  ‘It’s kind of OK . . . but we do look a bit like Tweedles Dee and Dum.’

  Shit. I’ve pissed off my only friend. And in hindsight, auburn could be a beacon rather than a disguise.

  ‘It’s a wash-in, rinse-out job. I was experimenting.’ I take her overnight bag from her and place it by the sofa. ‘Let’s head straight out.’

  We order champagne, to celebrate our first t
hree months of flying.

  ‘It’s like a dream come true,’ says Amy. ‘Every time I land somewhere different, every time I walk into a four- or five-star hotel, I just can’t believe it’s my life.’

  ‘We should request a trip. It’s the only way we’ll probably ever get to work together.’

  ‘Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.’ She pauses. ‘A strange thing happened whilst I was away,’ she says.

  ‘I was going to ask you what it was like on safari. I’ve heard that it can be a bit I’m a Celebrity with all the snakes, creepy-crawlies and some really weird restaurants that serve exotic wildlife.’

  ‘It felt safe enough. There were meat places that served crocodile. But anyway, no, it wasn’t whilst I was in Nairobi – I meant, when I got home.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah. Well, Hannah’s still away but it was like . . . someone had been in our place. Things looked neater.’

  I laugh. ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. But I can’t quite put my finger on it. We definitely hadn’t been burgled, because a burglar would’ve . . .’

  ‘Burgled,’ I finish off.

  We both laugh.

  I pick at some squid but it is too chewy. I nibble olives coated in wasabi and ginger instead, dotting the stones neatly around the edge of my plate.

  ‘It was a CD that really got to me. When I switched the player on, it was stuck on repeat. On a really cheesy track.’

  ‘It’s your own fault for having equipment that’s so last decade.’ I make a face and smile.

  She reciprocates my smile. ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  ‘Never mind, these things always have a logical explanation in the end. Trust me, I know. How’s Jack?’

  ‘I’m not seeing so much of Jack now. It kind of fizzled out.’

  ‘Sorry about that.’ I hold back a smile. ‘What happened?’

  ‘He hadn’t taken down his online dating profile. It turns out he was keeping his options open. But I’m keeping busy. Some of my old school friends are having a reunion meal next week, which I’m really looking forward to.’