The Perfect Girlfriend(18)
Because I knew that if I found out that someone else was the cause of my broken dreams, I’d have no qualms about breaking theirs.
Anger is no use at present, not whilst I’m here, in paradise.
The sun drops. Billy Ocean’s ‘Caribbean Queen’ blares from the loudspeakers attached to the side of the thatched bar hut. Cocktails are mixed, drinks are flowing. I inhale the smell of the sea and suncream.
Laughter. Happiness. Fun.
This is what I wanted to do with Nate.
Travel.
I need a moment alone, so I return to the sunlounger, put my phone in my bag and remove my sunglasses. I dive into the warm pool, then I float like a starfish. Water muffles sound. I love the sense of isolation and numbness, the sense of being alone and cut off from a distorted world.
One of the few good things to come out of my years at boarding school was that I was forced to learn to swim.
Three weeks after Nate and I split up, I bumped into a couple we’d chatted to in the pub once or twice.
They appeared surprised when I broke the news of Nate’s decision.
‘But you seemed so happy,’ said the woman. ‘You were planning a holiday, weren’t you?’
‘Yes. To Bali.’
I’d spent hours online, choosing the perfect place. Couples massages, romantic walks, secluded beaches. Yoga and meditation. It would have been an ideal opportunity for Nate to explore the ‘meaning of life’ that he now appears to be searching for. His fear-of-commitment wobble would have been done and dusted in a fortnight.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘He must be mad to let you go. We had such a laugh with you two. I thought he adored you.’
I shrugged. ‘I have to respect his feelings. There’s nothing else I can do.’
But it felt reassuring to know that I wasn’t the only one who had been blind.
And I wasn’t completely blind, not really, because he didn’t act like he’d totally fallen out of love with me. We’d slept together once more before I’d moved out.
I emerge from the pool, feeling refreshed. I comb my hair and settle down to dry off before I go and change for dinner.
I pick up my phone and post several pictures of the pool area on my Juliette Facebook page.
I check Nate’s freshly published roster. He and I are due into New York at the same time next month, thankfully on different flights. Nonetheless, I will have to remain on guard.
Bella is quiet at the moment, which makes me wonder what she’s up to. She rarely takes a break from self-promotion.
Amy is having a ball in Nairobi; her whole crew have gone on safari for two days.
On the homeward-bound flight the following day, during take-off and the initial climb, I stare out at the brilliant blue above the carpet of clouds. I crave Nate. Not too long now until I can show him how well I have stuck to our bargain and given him space.
Senior crew report to your stations.
The announcement blares over the public address system, shattering my fantasies. It is the emergency alert call to warn the rest of us to be prepared for something out of the ordinary. I’m not in the mood to a) die today, or b) evacuate a load of disobedient, panicked passengers down the evacuation slides. I look out into the cabin. Passengers have sensed something is wrong and have actually removed their headsets. Some are looking expectantly in my direction. My colleague at the opposite door looks at me. Her face is white. The interphone rings, emergency colours flashing on the panel above. It is the in-flight supervisor.
‘We have a suspected engine fire on the right-hand side and are returning to Bridgetown. The captain has indicated that this may take up to thirty minutes whilst we dump fuel. Although that engine has been shut down as a precaution, due to another potential complication, we are to prepare passengers for a possible land evacuation. Any questions?’
Silence.
‘Right, starting from Door One, repeat back your instructions . . .’
As I slide my interphone back into its slot, Anya, my fellow Door Four colleague, starts crying and shaking in the galley.
‘I’ve only just come back from maternity leave,’ she sobs. ‘I don’t want to die.’
‘Well, don’t then. Pull yourself together. You’ve been trained in what to do. Mentally get a grip, then get out there and do your job. Time will pass more quickly. Be ready to open your door when we land and, if needs be, save yourself. Don’t worry about anyone else.’ A morbid thought suddenly flashes through my mind – I too could get injured – and so I add, ‘Unless it’s me who needs help.’
She looks at me, wipes her eyes and trots off to her allocated position in the passenger cabin. We both stand like traffic policemen as the pre-recorded emergency procedure announcement booms over the public address, before launching into our passenger preparation drills and briefings. I force myself to concentrate on my job, so that I don’t let myself be sucked into any kind of panic. I know what to do and I have the advantage of sitting near a door. I am pleasantly surprised that, on the whole, people are generally calm and willing to listen for once. We practise adopting the brace position – seat belts tight, passengers bent over, hands over their heads – and everyone points to their nearest exit. All the endless, repetitive drills and practice seem to have come into use. I secure the cabin by putting away bags and loose items. I double-check all the catches on the galley canisters and trolleys.