The Perfect Girlfriend(4)

I retrace my steps to the bedroom and yank my uniform off the hangers which swing, then clatter, as they hit the back of the wardrobe. Returning to the living room, I take down the photo before reluctantly replacing it in my bag. I put on my ballet pumps and switch off the side lamp. The multicoloured fish stare at me as they complete their lengths. One, in particular, watches, mouth gaping. It is ugly. Nate named it Rainbow. I have always hated it.

I swallow hard. I don’t want to go. This place is like quicksand, it sucks me in.

I pick up my bag and leave, closing the door quietly behind me, before returning to the station to catch the train to my shoebox, postage stamp, doll’s house of a flat in Reading. I can’t call it home because being there is like hanging out in the departure lounge of life. Waiting, always waiting, until the gate to my proper life reopens.





2


I lie in bed and stretch. Thank God it’s the weekend. Although the airline is a twenty-four-hour operation, training is structured around a normal working week. Tonight, I plan to attend a children’s charity fund-raising event, at a luxurious Bournemouth hotel. It’s an auction, with a seafood buffet and unreserved seating, and I’m looking forward to it, despite the lack of a formal invitation. It doesn’t matter, as I’ve discovered at similar events; as long as I look and dress the part and don’t draw unnecessary attention to myself (of course), people rarely question my presence and, with fund-raisers, surely it stands to reason that the more attendees, the better.

I get up, shower, change and press the button on the coffee machine. I love the sound and smell of beans grinding. If I close my eyes, for a second or two each day, I can pretend I’m at home. It’s the little things that keep me going. Bitterness brushes my tongue as I sip my espresso. In between mouthfuls, I glance at my tablet. I scroll. Bella, the organizer of tonight’s event, always posts plenty of photos of past events. She is in most of them, grinning, not a highlighted hair out of place, and her jewellery, usually gold or sapphires, looks expensive, yet not ostentatious. Faultless, as always. Bella excels at raising money for good causes, making herself look like a real-life Good Samaritan without having to dirty her hands. Anyone can organize a party and swan around drinking champagne, however if you really, truly meant to do good, you’d drink cheap wine and volunteer for something unpopular. But Bella’s main life skill is being fantastic at making herself shine.

My phone vibrates. A text.

My flatmate decided to throw a party tonight. If you can’t beat them . . . :) Fancy it? I’ll invite others off the course too. Amy x

I am torn. The more friends I make within the airline, the better things will be for me. And I do need friends. There is hardly anyone left from my old life – apart from those I keep in touch with on social media and a handful of dropouts from my film extra days – thanks to putting my life on hold for Nate Goldsmith. Being near Bella is like picking at a scab. But . . . the closer I am to her world, the more of her luck and fortune is bound to rub off. I stare at my phone, undecided, listening to the rain trickling down the gutters outside the window.

A fortnight after Nate’s bombshell, he’d stood over me whilst I packed my belongings.

‘I’ve paid six months’ rent on a super place in Reading. As a gift. I’ll even drive you there and help you sort out everything you need in order to settle.’

‘Why Reading?’

‘I lived there briefly during my training and it’s a fantastic place for a new start. Full of life.’

‘Really?’

He wouldn’t let it drop, which, given how tight he could be financially, was a hurtful indication of how keen he was to bin me. At least it had stopped him banging on about me moving back to my delusional mother’s. The flat was basic, clean and contained all the essentials to lead a bland, functional life. I had surveyed the living room, in which we both stood rigid, in awkward silence. I think he was waiting for me to thank him.

‘Goodbye, Elizabeth.’

Elizabeth, indeed, for fuck’s sake! What had happened to Lily, babe, darling, sweetheart? He kissed me on the forehead and let himself out, shutting the door quietly behind him. Silence echoed. I gazed out the window, through a blur of raindrops, and watched as his tail lights disappeared, bubbling with fresh rage and humiliation. I loved him and yet I’d been unable to stop him making the biggest mistake of his life. He was mine. As I sat there – mentally deflating on the hard-backed sofa – it was then that my Plan of Action had been born. Elizabeth/Lily was disappearing into her cocoon and waiting to emerge as Juliette – my middle name – to complete a metamorphosis into a social butterfly.

Hmm. So now . . . Amy? Bella? Bella? Amy? Eeny, meeny . . . I reach down under the coffee table for my handbag, fumble around for my purse and take out a coin. I flip it. Heads Bella, tails Amy. The coin wobbles on the table and settles on tails. Bella has lost out to someone else, on this occasion. I message Amy back: Love to come xxx.

She sends me her address. The only problem now is that it leaves me with an entire day to fill. I don’t have to bother with my appearance as much, now that I am only going to a small house party. It’s so grey, it’s almost dark. I pace the tiny room. Outside, I can see car lights illuminate stabbing rain in their beams. I should learn to drive. Then, I could head over to Richmond right now. I could sit outside Nate’s. He wouldn’t even know I was there. It would be so comforting to be near him. I shower, pull on some jeans and a black jumper, grab my trainers and coat, then speed-walk to the station.