The Perfect Girlfriend(58)

And now the future is here.

‘Give us a chance, Nate. Give me a week – here, together – and if you still feel the same, I’ll go along with anything you want.’

‘What’s the point? Seriously, what is the point? The situation is what it is, and I’m not going to change my mind.’

I glare.

‘It’s for the best.’

I can’t stand up. I feel weak. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I thought that if I lassoed him in, if he spent quality time legally tied to me, he would reach acceptance. And his feelings would return. Which they did. He was jealous of ‘Matt’, his pride was dented. But I also know what he’s like. The last time I made a fuss when we broke up, it just made him dig his heels in further.

‘Lily. I’m sorry. Perhaps a total clean break might be best. What about the other airlines? You can apply again, every year. There’s so much ahead of you.’

‘Have you any idea how patronizing you sound right now? How about you go to a different airline?’

Ignoring me, he ploughs on with his straw-clutching. ‘Or . . . you might even patch things up with Matt. Blame everything on me.’

The doorbell goes.

‘It’s the cleaner,’ he says as he stands up.

I take a deep breath, stand up straight and head for the bedroom.

‘I do blame everything on you,’ I say over my shoulder.

‘You’ll look back and thank me one day,’ he calls back before he opens the front door.

Before I shut the bedroom door properly, I stare through the crack. After a brief hello to his cleaner, he is already on the phone to James. His smug tone as he says it’s ‘all sorted’ makes me feel like I’m some kind of dispensable product.

I lock myself in the bathroom, forcing back the urge to smash the bathroom mirror.

Deep breaths.

After a few minutes’ consideration, I realize that it’s not all bad. Because in this moment, something twists in my heart and mind.

I despise Nathan Goldsmith.





20


I am in limbo.

Firstly, trapped in a job that screws up my body clock. It’s fine when I’m going to civilized places with working Wi-Fi, decent gyms and non-extreme weather, but not when I’m awake in the middle of the night, sick with jet lag, being dragged off to yet another continent. However, I don’t see why I should resign simply because it makes things more comfortable for Nate. Secondly, I’m stuck with a semi-husband.

It’s now been six weeks since our wedding and we’re still legally married. Luckily for me, things aren’t as straightforward as Nate made out, but between him and James, they are working hard to get shot of me. I get regular mails from James Harrington with phrases like uncontested, incapable of assent, unsound mind – not references to me but to Nate, apparently, during our wedding – agree to non-consummation. What? He wants me to lie? I text Nate, asking if he wants me to lie on a legal document, but he doesn’t reply.

It can take up to three weeks to get the marriage annulled in Nevada if we travel back there together, or up to a year in the UK. Obviously, I said I’d prefer the UK. Back and forth the mails go. I feel like a child caught up in divorce custody arrangements.

My life is a repeat cycle of going to work, flying home and ignoring Nate’s messages as often as I can get away with it.

I land from Washington on a slightly foggy morning after a forty-minute delay. We had to circle the skies above Heathrow whilst the fog cleared.

This time of year will, for me, always be synonymous with the threat of a new school year. The unmistakable drop in temperature – the tail end of summer merging with autumn coolness – hits my face as my heels clatter on the metal steps of a remote stand at Heathrow, whilst inhaling the strong smell of jet fuel. The entire crew gathers on the tarmac in front of the left engines whilst we wait for our bus.

Ascending planes roar just above us as they rise above the runway. I have two hours until my meeting with my manager to discuss my new role as a safety ambassador. I could have had it tomorrow, but it would have meant a special trip back. Soon, I’ll only have to fly part-time, because the role is partly office based. I’m also now working on a brand-new POA. However, because it’s in its infancy, there aren’t enough jobs yet to all-consume me. The best news is that my purchase of the flat is progressing well, and there is every chance I could be in my new home within weeks.

After swiping through Immigration, paying in my duty-free sales money and escaping unsearched through Customs, I head for the canteen to wait for Amy. She called me yesterday, after weeks of zero contact. She’s got a new boyfriend, so is clearly one of those women who thinks she doesn’t need friends when she has a man. She’ll learn.

‘Hi,’ I say with a smile as she approaches. I kiss her once on each cheek, feeling genuinely pleased to see her. I’m suffering post-wedding blues.

‘Hi,’ she says. ‘Are you getting anything to eat?’

I shake my head. As she heads to the counter to order a panini, my heart stops as a blond pilot walks past. But it’s not Nate. I knew it couldn’t be, because I checked; he’s in Antigua. I look around, unsettled. I feel out of sorts. I focus on the red and blue of an Air France plane visible through the floor-to-ceiling windowpanes.

Breathe. Something’s not right; although Amy greeted me perfectly normally, she seems tense. Nervous, even. Something’s definitely not right.