The Perfect Girlfriend(5)
Rain, it turns out, is a serious godsend. Who’d have thought, after so many soggy summers, that I would find it such a luxury to hide beneath a hood loitering anonymously in shop doorways and alleyways. Mother Nature is on my side. During this miserable late January day, people are distracted, heads down, shoulders hunched, umbrellas up. Cartwheeling water sludges from car tyres. No one takes any notice of me.
Nate’s living-room lights are on. He’ll most likely be watching the latest box set or film on Netflix. I miss him. Not for the first time, I regret my behaviour and capitulation. I almost have a moment of weakness as the urge to dash over the street and kick down his door threatens to overwhelm me. Yet, I must play by the rules, otherwise he won’t appreciate me. Second time around, things will be on my terms.
Amy’s flat is above a hair salon. Just as well, because if she had proper neighbours below they’d have called the police by now. Ibiza dance-style music blares out. I press the buzzer, but then realize the door is open, so I let myself in. I walk upstairs and through the door. Amy is laughing, her head thrown back, clutching a bottle of beer. I stand still for a moment. She spots me and walks over, kissing me once on each cheek.
‘Come in! So glad you could come. That’s my flatmate, Hannah,’ she points to a woman in the far corner of the room, ‘and you already know some of the others . . . Oliver, Gabrielle . . .’
The rest of Amy’s friends’ names only briefly register in my mind: Lucy, Ben, Michelle . . . I accept a bottle of beer, even though I can’t stand drinking out of bottles. I take sips and make polite chit-chat with Oliver, which is hard work as he is one of the quietest people on our course. I am rescued by Amy, who seems determined to let her hair down tonight. We dance. Amy flirts. The evening is pleasant enough. I have read Amy wrong. I didn’t think she’d be of much use to me, but now I intend to keep her close and get to know her better. I throw myself into the moment. I laugh a lot. Genuinely. I haven’t had so much fun since . . . well, I can’t remember exactly. But it will have been with Nate. Obviously.
Nearly seven months ago, Nate had appeared in a chapter of my life like a scene from a romantic novel. As I’d taken my gaze away from my computer screen at the hotel reception desk – a work smile fixed firmly in place – I’d struggled not to gasp out loud. The man in front of me looked as though he had absorbed the best bits of life and shrugged off anything unpleasant or sad. Blond curls waved from beneath his hat, and his skin was gently tanned. Behind him, matching uniformed crew followed in his wake, footsteps tip-tapping on the marble floor.
‘I believe you have last-minute reservations for us? We’ve ended up with an unscheduled night-stop after engine trouble forced us to return to Heathrow.’
Until that moment, the most exciting event in the eight months I’d worked at the Airport Inn had been a minor celebrity smuggling two women into his room, neither of whom were his wife.
‘Are you working this evening?’ Nate asked when I handed him his key card – I’d left his room allocation till last.
‘I finish at eight,’ I’d replied, feeling a dormant tingle of anticipation begin to reawaken.
‘Fancy showing us the best bars nearby?’
‘Of course.’
That night, I too became a guest at the hotel. It was inevitable. From the moment our eyes had locked, I’d set out to dazzle him.
Six weeks later, I moved into Nate’s flat . . .
‘Juliette?’
‘Sorry, Amy, miles away.’
‘Do you want to crash on the sofa here?’
I scan the room, surprised to see only a few people left. I’d been vaguely aware of people saying goodbye and Oliver offering me a lift but I hadn’t been ready to leave. Amy is going to make a good social contact.
I slide out my phone from my bag. ‘It’s fine, thanks. I need to get back.’
During the taxi ride, I check out the photos of Bella’s event on Twitter. Another success for Beautiful Bella, going by the stream of complimentary comments. Motorway lights fade and highlight her. She looks stunning, in an ice queen way. Pearls – no doubt real – choke her neck. Her long blonde hair is elegantly swept up. In every image, she is smiling, surrounded by the local great and the good. I trace my forefinger around her outline on the screen, wishing I could erase her as easily as deleting an image.
Back home, I pace.
As I mull things over, I reassure myself that I made the right decision to shun Bella tonight. Not that I was going to approach her on this occasion; I was merely going to observe. Practice makes perfect. When I do decide the time is right to confront Bella, it will be planned to the last detail.
Revenge is a dish best served cold, and mine is going to be frozen.
3
The remaining five weeks of the course keep me distracted. Although I still keep a close eye on Bella online and visit Nate’s flat at least once a week when he’s away, I spend a lot of time with Amy. She likes to study together. That isn’t really my kind of thing, but it does mean she likes and relies on me. Her flatmate, Hannah, is long-haul crew for a different airline and Amy is the type of person who isn’t comfortable with her own company. She is the sixth of seven children.
Finally, after endless jumps down slides, donning smoke hoods and entering smoke-filled chambers to fight pretend fires, resuscitating dolls, handcuffing each other, bandaging colleagues, ridiculous amounts of role play, aircraft visits to the hangar, learning how to lift a suitcase into a car boot without damaging your back and, the worst of it, listening to Brian and Dawn going on and on and on . . . after all that, our ‘Wings Day’ is here. It feels like good timing as signs of spring are beginning to show: daffodils, thinner coats, slightly longer days, fresh beginnings.