The Perfect Girlfriend(13)

In drama, Bella’s parts were always the equivalent of Mary in a primary school nativity play, and the roles of her closest friends – Stephanie and Lucy – were comparable in status to the wise men. Mine were the bit parts – like a shepherd or a donkey – despite my scholarship, even though I was allocated extra behind-the-scene roles such as script writing and directing. I tried not to mind, but it hurt because I wanted my rightful turn to shine, to have everyone applaud, and to elevate my popularity status.

‘It’s because her family are loaded. They donate generously to the school. No one else ever gets a turn,’ Claire, a quiet, fellow scholarship girl who excelled at most sports, whispered to me once when Bella got another coveted role.

I had quite liked Claire, but I couldn’t befriend her because I’d sensed that Bella – although she’d outwardly made an exception for me – generally didn’t approve of scholarship students getting a ‘free pass’ whilst most of the inner circle had parents who’d worked hard to achieve their wealth. The thought of Bella ever seeing where I came from filled me with shame. At night, I’d pour out my feelings of inadequacy, writing my diary by torchlight whilst remaining cautious with the precise details.

Things hurt more if they are properly acknowledged.

I yawn; it’s 3 a.m. Outside, a full moon hovers.

I go to the bathroom, remove my make-up with soap and tepid water and brush my teeth with Nate’s electric toothbrush (he has a battery-operated one he packs for work).

I climb in on his side of the bed and give in to sleep.

When I wake up, I experience precious fleeting seconds during which I believe that everything is as it was. I am in our bed, happy and content whilst Nate makes breakfast or is out for his jog. But, as always, crushing reality hits and the floating, intangible happiness bursts.

I look at my phone; it is midday. I make a coffee and check inside the freezer. The muffins remain untouched, so I pull them a little further forward.

My phone rings. An estate agent.

‘Fantastic news, Miss Price,’ says the young male voice. ‘We’ve already had an offer for almost the asking price. No chain, they’re in rented accommodation.’

This will shortly provide me with more cash than I have ever had access to in my life. Amelia’s guilt money. This means I can choose where I live; I no longer have to remain exiled in Reading. I look up properties in Richmond, but they are extortionate. All I can realistically afford is a small flat. I bookmark several potential ones.

I switch to Facebook. Amy is quiet. A half-Italian friend from my long-ago film extra days, Michele Bianchi, has landed a small role in a TV drama as a vet’s assistant. I type Congratulations! No one ever called him by his first name alone – he was always known as Michele Bianchi. We used to have lunch together, watching the proper actors at work. If I had put my mind to it, I’d have liked to train as an actress. I liked the thought of leading a dual life; one as myself, one as a fictional character. But, having left school at the earliest opportunity, I ended up drifting from one job to another: florist, silver service waitress, admin assistant, sales rep, to recall a few. Ditto with my living arrangements. I’d rented a series of rooms, but I always returned to Dorset after a few months because I hated living with strangers. Come to think of it, my life has followed a similar pattern with men and friendships too. Whenever I get to know people, they generally disappoint me. But I have faith in Nate. With him, it feels right. There’s no other way to describe it.

I scroll through his Facebook page; he has been to the gym in Boston.

Bella has tweeted that she is going to try out a hot yoga class this morning.

I poke around, as usual. It never does any harm, and even when I lived here there were always things that were useful to copy or keep hold of. Because you never know in life, you just never know. There’s nothing that stands out as new or unusual, so I wash and dry my cup, replacing it on the mug tree, then triple-check that everything is in order. I stare at the fridge door; there are patches of smoothness among the few photos and leaflets. It used to be crammed with brightness. Nate bought me fridge magnets or mugs from each new country he visited. Proper tourist souvenirs because he knew I loved things like that – to me they aren’t tacky. He said he did it so that I would ‘know I think of you whilst I’m away’. I’ve kept them all packed; I won’t use them again until I can put them back here in their original home.

I take one last look around my former and future home, then force myself to leave, taking the train back to the shoebox. Once there, I dial the number of Bella’s hairdresser to make an appointment. Bella still lives in Bournemouth, near her family home, and it’s not that far away. I settle down on the sofa and study for my driving theory test. Nate is not going to recognize the confident, independent future wife he let slip through his fingers.

He won’t stand a chance.

I rise early for a short return trip to Frankfurt.

Once back, I change in the airport toilets, hand my uniform into the dry-cleaners, and catch a coach to Bournemouth.

‘What can I do for you today?’ asks Bella’s favourite stylist, the smiley Natasha.

I pause. I was going to go blonde, like Bella, but come to think of it, Amy is so confident with her auburn hair. She portrays the right mix of confidence, yet is still disciplined enough when required. Maybe I could learn something by imitating her.