The Perfect Girlfriend(20)

‘I’m afraid that’s a matter for central admin. I’ll give you their email address.’

‘Don’t worry, thanks. I’ve emailed them at least ten times. As for a chat, that sounds great, but I’m afraid I don’t think that I can help any more than I already have. Sorry about that.’

I will her to go away. I have so many things to mull over. I need to seriously consider and narrow down the ideal time to approach Nate. There is Amy’s friendship to maintain, my social media accounts to keep updated, and Babs wants me to visit soon. On top of all that, there are driving lessons and flat-hunting to shoehorn into the schedule. My life is really quite full and exhausting, and I now fully sympathize with the whole work–life balance debates I’ve heard discussed on radio shows. I pour water on to the coffee granules. I’m not a fan of instant, but needs must.

‘Elizabeth? Sorry, I mean Juliette? We must insist that you come in for a meeting at your earliest convenience. Four o’clock today or eleven tomorrow morning? Your time will be paid and it will be worth your while.’ She lowers her voice. ‘I don’t want to give too much away on the phone, but I promise, you will be delighted.’

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 . . .’