The Perfect Girlfriend(10)
We reach Barbara’s house. She parks outside her garage, which she hasn’t used since Ernie’s sudden death from a heart attack seven years ago. He loved hiding away in there, listening to Radio Four and carving wooden chests that he liked to sell at car boot sales. Babs turns the key in the lock of her white PVC front door and I follow her in, taking my bags up to the spare room.
‘Will you help me clear the cottage out?’ I say when I return downstairs. ‘I want to get some estate agents round. Maybe once it’s sold, it will start to feel possible to lay some of the past to rest.’
‘Yes, of course, Lily love.’
‘I call myself Juliette now.’
There’s no harm in her knowing.
‘Oh. OK. That’s fine, as long as you don’t expect me to remember all the time.’
‘Let’s have a coffee, then walk over,’ I say. ‘I want to get it over with.’
The chill of winter is weakening now that the end of March is imminent. Cherry blossom coats the branches of the village trees and clusters of crocuses push their way through patches of grass. Amelia’s favourite time of year. Not for me, though, because it is a blatant reminder that time is moving on. Without Nate. We got together in July last year and it is my intention to get us back on track before that anniversary. I quicken my step, mustering up a fresh sense of determination, and shove open the gate to Sweet Pea Cottage.
The first thing I do is go upstairs to my mother’s room and retrieve the photo I dropped the other night; the picture of her precious Will, myself and my then best friend, Kim, who used to live next door. I force myself to stare at it for a few seconds, then rip it into tiny shreds. It was one of the last ever photos taken of him – I can tell, because the cuddly blue elephant he is clutching was only given to him by Babs the week before he died, which is why Amelia must’ve hidden it from sight. I don’t want reminders. Kim’s family whisked her away shortly after the Incident, leaving me behind with the rest of the local children at our small school, who either didn’t know what to say to me or simply treated me as though I was tainted.
I stand still.
Silence.
I close my eyes.
I can almost feel the sun on my skin, just like that day. There was barely any breeze. I rarely do this. I rarely go there, and there is no need to now, but an overwhelming desire to mentally self-mutilate dares me to push myself. Just one more time. My breathing quickens at the memory of feeling a resentful carelessness. And laziness. Until I had jolted and sat up. Feeling sick, I’d felt a barely perceptible dribble at the side of my mouth. I’d wiped it away as silence cut through the incessant noise of the bees.
Either it ended or began then; I’m never sure which.
I shiver now, open my eyes, then run downstairs and rummage around in the kitchen. I rip several bin bags off a roll and hand some to Babs.
‘Here. If you want anything, keep it. Otherwise it’ll go to charity or get binned.’
It takes two days. I end up having to stay at Barbara’s, but the job is done.
Before I leave Dorchester, I have some spare keys cut. I drop them off with several estate agents before catching a train back to the shoebox.
My life is slowly coming back together. Once the house sale goes through, I will have money. Things may have been more tortoise than hare lately, but everyone knows who wins in the end.
For the first time since I moved in, I sleep the entire night.
On my penultimate day off from work, I get up early and go over to Nate’s. He’s at home, unfortunately, but I need my fix. I walk past the theatre and a bank, then I cross the road. I stare at his building, which also houses five other flats. It is set back from the main area of the Green, down a small lane. Well-maintained communal gardens, both front and back, surround the property. I walk past several times, completing circuitous laps of the wide open space. I hang out until Nate goes for his usual jog around nine, before rewarding himself with a coffee from his favourite café. The weather is on my side again. Although the dark clouds look fit to burst, a drop has yet to fall, but it means I can justifiably keep my raincoat hood up.
From my viewpoint, near the café entrance, I can see through the glass that Nate has ordered a croissant. Unusual. A surge of hope; comfort eating can be a sign of loneliness. I take out my phone and stare at the screen. Nate takes his time over his coffee drinking and takes full advantage of the free papers. As I glance up from my phone, fear floods through me. Nate is walking straight towards the exit. Head lowered, I walk away, then step into the nearest shop doorway, holding my breath. He walks past. My heartbeat is violent. Deep breaths.
I walk in the opposite direction, towards the river, and call Amy. I need a distraction.
‘Do you fancy meeting up for some tapas in Richmond tonight?’ I say. ‘I know a good place that’s cheap and cheerful.’
There is no danger of bumping into Nate, as he is off to Boston.
Amy agrees. ‘Come to mine for a drink first,’ she says.
The tapas restaurant was a favourite of ours. Alejandro, the gossipy manager, will feed back to Nate how happy I appear if I mention – once or twice – how much more relaxed I am with some fabricated new boyfriend. Nate should feel some sliver of jealousy. It’s human nature to want what you can’t have, I know that only too well, and I bet Nate checks my Facebook page from time to time, through curiosity, despite the impression he likes to give that he no longer cares. It will do him good to see me out with a new friend. Even if he doesn’t, maybe someone will see something and mention me in a positive light. I’ve had to set up two Facebook accounts – Elizabeth and Juliette – and take great care which pictures I post on each page, as it would give the game away if I’m in Melbourne one day, Singapore the next.