The Perfect Girlfriend(17)

‘Yes, it’s going to be fine. There’s a minor problem with a door that’s jammed, which is easily fixed. Why are you on your own?’

‘I’m going to visit my mum. I live with my gran, because my mum has a new boyfriend. But now she says I can go and have a holiday with her.’

A familiar wave of rage hits me so savagely, I nearly lose my balance. I steady myself on an armrest and stand up.

‘I tell you what, I’m not allowed to take you into the cockpit during the flight, but after landing, whilst everyone is disembarking, I’ll take you up there, if you like?’

She nods.

‘And during the flight, if you feel afraid, you come and talk to me.’ I point to my name badge. ‘Ask for Juliette.’

‘OK.’ She turns and looks out the window. ‘Thank you.’

I seek out the crew member responsible for looking after the girl’s welfare and inform her I’ll take over.

Finally, we push back from the stand. A large group of holidaymakers near the front start clapping. I nearly join in.

Barbados.

Hot. Sunny. Sandy. Relaxed.

According to the hotel reception staff, this time of year – late April – is a great time to visit. There are nine hours of sunshine a day, and the hurricane season is still safely far off. I join everyone by the pool on the first morning and lie on a sunlounger, sipping a weak margarita. A rare sense of calm descends upon me. I close my eyes and allow the warmth to seep into my bones.

Nate is in Shanghai. Wondering what he’s up to, I sit up, take out my phone and head for a shady spot beneath a nearby tree.

I scroll.

I keep expecting Nate to change his passwords. I’ll be pissed off when he does. But, as yet, I am free to keep tabs on him to my heart’s content. I don’t feel bad. All’s fair in love and war. Besides, he hadn’t been thinking about my feelings when he asked me to move out.

I’d cooked him a special curry that night and it was then – seven months ago – that I started to have moments where I felt as though I was physically falling. At one point, I remember gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, as though it would save me. The strength of my buried feelings rushed to the forefront of my consciousness and threatened to overwhelm me. One thing shone through the jumble in my mind: I had made a misjudgement. I had thought that our future was a foregone conclusion, that we were merely stepping the stones in the correct order – live-in lovers, proposal, engagement, wedding and so forth.

I’d been in the kitchen when I heard the front door shut. I rushed to greet him, but he didn’t reciprocate my hug.

‘It’s not that I don’t have feelings for you, it’s that I don’t think I can give you what you need from a relationship right now. I need some space,’ he said, after announcing that we were over.

I locked eyes with him. ‘You’re going to have to do a lot better than “it’s not you, it’s me” . . .’

‘Well, let’s face it – even you must agree that it was all rather rushed. You . . . I . . . should’ve taken things at a slower pace.’

I tried to breathe. To think. I could feel the evening I had planned slipping away to nothingness, and my brain hadn’t quite grasped it yet. I needed to pull it back together, make it all right. Behind him, I surveyed the open-plan dining area. All the feminine touches were mine. The shelves were filled with tasteful ornaments and vases. Pictures, drinks coasters, cutlery, crockery, wine glasses, a fruit bowl. Things. The scatter cushions in the living room. And a rug, rich with autumn colours. I’d turned this place into a home.

I turned my back on him and carefully put down the wooden spoon with which I’d been stirring – I’d spent all afternoon following the recipe to the letter, for God’s sake – and untied my apron in order to reveal my new, short, clingy dress. Outwardly calm, inside gut-churningly sick, I turned to face him.

‘You’re tired and jet-lagged. Exhausted even, poor you. Zigzagging between east and west isn’t healthy. I’ll pour you a drink whilst we talk and work things out together.’ Even I was surprised at my generosity of spirit, given the circumstances.

‘I meant what I said.’ Nate raised his voice several notches and made no attempt to accept the bottle of perfectly chilled beer I was trying to hand him. ‘Lily, Elizabeth . . . it’s not working. For me. This is all too intense. I want, no, I really need . . . space.’ He raked his hands through his hair, his eyes staring intently as though he genuinely thought I was going to acquiesce.

‘Is it another woman?’

‘No. No, there’s no one else. I promise you that.’

I turned away again, not trusting myself to speak, and poured the beer into his curry. The sound of the waterfall was so momentarily satisfying. I added several more chopped chillies, including two whole Scotch bonnets. I stirred furiously.

My thoughts galloped.

I could refuse to move out. No way – no way! – was I going back to my mother’s. Richmond had become my home. Ribbons of anxiety knotted together, kneading my insides and evoking the familiar feeling of injustice. It wasn’t fair, I’d been the perfect girlfriend. He couldn’t do this to me. My dreams were slipping out of reach and I wanted to claw them back. However, in the midst of all this was a moment of stark clarity. If this did have something to do with another woman, if Nate was lying, then she’d better be afraid, very afraid.