The Perfect Girlfriend(26)

Nate sits still, as though he’s scenery-watching, but he’s probably just taking a break. He’s had his hair cut. I’m not sure it suits him, it’s a bit too short.

My head spins and I feel light-headed. The bark is rough and cool against my skin. I am mere metres away from him. With my phone, I snap a couple of photos. Why don’t I go to him now? What am I waiting for? It’s been over seven months. I’ve given him his pointless space.

Space. I hate that word.

It peppered nearly every sentence of his towards the end. Perhaps I should forget about my POA and seize the moment. Maybe fate has brought us here, together, away from the distractions of home.

Fuck it! I’m going to do it. I’m going to live dangerously.

I step forward. No! My mantras start to jumble in my mind.

Stick to the plan.

Amend the plan.

My head pounds as a throbbing, violent headache forms. I need water. I take another step forward.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I don’t know why, but I feel compelled to do this, moth-to-flame-like.

I hesitate.

As I take another step forward, I stand on a fallen branch. It is short, but fairly thick, about the size of a baseball bat. I breathe. Nate looks so relaxed. Once upon a time, I could walk up to him and hug him any time I pleased. Now, I am not allowed.

Those are the rules.

I have not been given any choice or say in the matter.

Nate turns to the side and puts his left leg on the bench, before bending at the waist in a stretch. His calf muscles must be playing up, as they do from time to time.

I crouch down as though I’m picking something up, but there is nothing but the stick. I buy time by retying my laces. As I do so, a surge of bitterness and rage races through my mind. This situation is ridiculous; I have rights too. I grip the branch tightly with my right hand and stand up. I hold it against my leg.

Nate is now standing too, his arms raised, fingers interlocked in another stretch. I step towards him. His arms fall to his sides. I take a deep breath.

He glances at his watch, then jogs away from me. I stand still, releasing my grip on the branch. It hits my ankle as I watch him follow the curve of the path, until he is out of my reach.





9


I must be mad. What was I thinking? I didn’t follow my own rules.

Stick to the plan.

Fail to plan, plan to fail.

I am frozen to the spot. It was seeing him in unfamiliar territory. My boundaries went askew. Thank God Nate jogged off. I must never let my guard down like that.

Never again.

‘Ma’am, are you all right?’

I look up. An old man, dressed in a suit, is looking at me.

I stand up. ‘Yes, thank you. I’m fine now. I went jogging without water. Stupidly.’

‘There’s a store that way.’ He points straight ahead. ‘It’s sixty-four degrees already.’

I mentally convert. About eighteen degrees Celsius. ‘Thank you.’

I head in his suggested direction and locate a mobile kiosk. As well as water, I buy a coffee and a savoury pretzel.

‘Excuse me, where’s the exit?’ I ask the cashier.

I am totally disorientated. I sit on the grass and gulp the water.

The pretzel is salty and dry; it sticks in my throat. I dump the horseshoe-shaped remainder of it in a bin on my way out.

As the hotel finally comes into sight, I experience the same sense of relief as I do the moment the aircraft’s wheels connect with the runway. I slide my key card into the door lock and sink down on to my bed and mentally berate myself.

I nearly blew it.

It was being so close to the prize. But I need to stick to my schedule, because by July it will be almost ten months since we split up.

Nearly a year.

That way, I’ve proved to him that I’ve given him space to find himself – or whatever it is that he’s decided he must do. It hurts, the thought of him sleeping with other women, of course it does, but none feature on his Facebook page for any length of time, so I wipe my mind clear of such thoughts and try to see it as a positive thing. He didn’t leave me for another specific woman. He will be properly ready to settle down by the time we reunite.

I need to work on fresh mantras, and I must repeat them more often.

When there’s any doubt, don’t.

Patience is a virtue.

Stick to the plan.

Even though my head is now totally pain-free, I take two strong painkillers and down several glasses of water.

No matter what the reason was, I can’t unravel again.

I am tired and wound up.

Crew boarding on to the Heathrow-bound aircraft is delayed, due to the late arrival of the inbound flight. When we’re finally given permission to board, we have to navigate our way past cleaners and their Hoovers, which block the aisles, leaving us with barely enough time to do our security checks – and none of the galley preparations.

Mid-flight, two people fall ill and require oxygen, and there are too many noisy children. The demands seem endless, and there are lots of complaints about the in-flight entertainment system not working.

Maybe I won’t last too long in the job, after all.

During bunk rest, I dream of Will. He is younger, only about eighteen months old, and wobbly when he walks. William is swimming like a water baby. Amelia hides in the shade of the garden, picking flowers. She is trying to shout instructions to me, but her words come out muffled, as though she is underwater. By the time I understand what she’s trying to tell me, by the time I get the permanence of the whole situation, it’s too late.