The Perfect Girlfriend(56)

Do I look older? Wiser? Or just married?

The knocking on the door stops. I remove my hands from my ears, switch off the taps. He bashes the door repeatedly.

‘Leave me alone,’ I say. ‘I need space!’

I make him wait a further ten minutes before I venture out. He is sitting on the edge of my bed, his head in his hands. I manoeuvre myself on to the bed behind him and massage his shoulders. He stiffens and sits up straight.

‘How’s your head?’ I ask in a concerned-wife voice.

‘Easing off, but you need to listen.’ He edges away from me.

I let my hands drop.

‘This is all too fast.’ He softens his tone a little. ‘This time yesterday, everything was fine.’ He sighs. ‘I’ve made a few calls and we’ll have to get this all sorted back in London, there’s not enough time left here. When we land, come to my place. A solicitor friend of mine is going to meet us there and we can figure this situation out.’

I move to the edge of the bed and sit as close to him as I can. ‘What about me? What about what I want?’

‘Please, Lily. You really must understand that this is too much, too insane.’

‘Not to me.’

He gives me a look I can’t quite interpret, but it’s definitely not a positive one.

‘We’ll work out together what’s best. For both of us. Jesus. What a mess. I’ve heard stories about Vegas, but that’s what they are, stories. I never thought . . .’

‘Worse things happen to people than getting married to an ex you didn’t realize you still had feelings for.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

He’s always fucking sorry. It doesn’t mean anything to me any more.

The lump in my throat is genuine. I feel fragile but resolute. I reach over to hold him tight and he manages to reciprocate. We sit, arms wrapped around each other, for a full minute.

He breaks away first. Of course he does.

Our wedding brunch of bagels with smoked salmon and scrambled eggs lies ignored on the bed.

‘Let’s keep this between ourselves,’ he says. ‘We need to get through the flight home and then try to sort things out as best we can.’

That’s what he thinks.





19


I busy myself in Nate’s – no, our – kitchen whilst James Harrington, Nate’s ‘lawyer friend’ sits in the living room, yacking away to Nate.

I catch snippets. ‘Voidable marriage. Intoxication. Dishonesty. Non-consummation.’ Well, Nate’s screwed on the last option.

I carry through a tray of coffee like the perfect little housewife. Espresso for myself, cappuccino for Nate and a latte for ‘the lawyer’. A trio of muffins – courtesy of me – defrosted in the microwave, sit on a small plate. In the absence of napkins, I have folded squares of kitchen towel into neat triangles. I sit down next to Nate on the sofa, opposite James Harrington. Two against one.

They thank me for their coffees.

‘Right, so, Elizabeth, Nate’s explained to me that we can’t go for non-consummation, so I suggest we go for a voidable marriage in that you were both intoxicated—’

‘I wasn’t.’

Nate glares at me.

James looks confused. ‘I thought . . .’

‘I want our marriage to work. Nate may have been a little tipsy, but it was probably exacerbated by jet lag.’ I look at Nate. ‘I married you in good faith. You told me you loved me. We have a history together and I gave up a decent man on the basis of your charming patter. Matt is devastated. I had to tell him by text! How do you think that made me feel about myself?’

There is silence. Rainbow swims up and down.

It’s nicely familiar being here with Nate, and now I’ve inched through the door – legitimately – I’m not giving up without a proper fight.

‘Right. Well, this complicates things.’ He throws Nate a look, then glances at his watch. ‘I’ve got calls to make, so I’ll shut myself away in your spare room whilst you two sort this out.’

I fold my arms and settle back into the sofa.

‘Lily . . .’

I frown.

‘Juliette, no Lily, it’s too confusing, you’re Lily to me. Please. Be reasonable. I don’t love you in the way you want. You know that. You can’t want this for yourself either. You deserve better.’

His beseeching tone grates.

‘Well, bad luck, I have enough faith for both of us to make this work.’

Nate stands up. ‘This is a serious problem. I’m sorry that you want more than I can give. Whatever happened the other night – and I only have your word for everything – it wasn’t real. It was way too much.’

‘Are you calling me a liar?’

‘No. But I bet you didn’t need much persuading to drag me up that aisle.’

‘There was no aisle, we were in a Cadillac. You know that. And there was no dragging involved. Phone the bloody chapel, ask them how forced you were!’

‘I’m sorry. I know I’m as much to blame. It’s just that this isn’t a game! These are our lives.’

‘Yes. Mine and yours.’

We both swing round at a theatrical clearing of the throat.

‘A word, please, Nate,’ says James.