The Perfect Girlfriend(60)

Instead, I thought of ideas to prove them wrong and make Bella pay.

‘Juliette?’ Lorraine is standing at the door to her office. She beckons me in. ‘Thank you for coming,’ she says, in between mouthfuls of sandwich. ‘Sorry, I didn’t have time for lunch.’

‘Please, don’t mind me,’ I say. No one else does.

‘I’ll run through the training schedule with you.’ She taps her keyboard with the forefinger of her free hand. ‘Although . . .’ she hesitates. ‘There have been a few comments lately on your on-board appraisals. Impatient. Lacking in enthusiasm. Have you had anything going on in your personal life that is impacting on your work?’ Lorraine puts down her sandwich and looks at me.

‘My boyfriend proposed. Then, when things got to a crucial stage, it all went wrong. Cold feet.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. Thank you for being honest with me. In that case, I’m prepared to overlook these comments, provided we don’t receive any more . . .’

Lorraine’s voice becomes background noise: trial period . . . responsibility . . . confidentiality.

This new role has come at the right time. Once in a position of trust, I will have greater access to information.

And with knowledge comes power.

A fortnight later, Amy and I are back at training school. She is completing an aircraft conversion, because she is transferring to short-haul and domestic routes only. I suspect it has something to do with being on the same fleet as Rupert.

When our break times coincide, we meet in the canteen and chat, but Amy is stilted. She is holding back. I can tell by the way she hesitates before she replies to any of my questions.

On day three, my morning session finishes early. I go to the canteen, even though I’m not hungry. But I’m trapped; the training centre is in the middle of nowhere, adjacent to a dual carriageway. I spot Amy, but she is not alone. Beside her is Rupert. He has his hand on her knee.

I watch them from a distance as I pay for my coffee, then walk towards them.

Amy jumps as I approach. ‘Hi! Juliette!’ She reddens.

‘Hi,’ says Rupert. ‘I understand it’s Juliette now, not Lily?’

I sit down opposite them. ‘I fancied a change. Loads of crew use different names.’

‘Yeah, but usually because they’re called something unpronounceable and get sick of being called the wrong name,’ says Amy.

I ignore her and smile at Rupert. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Simulator,’ he says. Routine pilot training. Rupert looks at his phone. ‘Well, must head back to the grindstone. Nice to see you again . . . Juliette.’

‘You too,’ I smile.

I don’t look away as Rupert kisses Amy on the cheek. She watches as he walks out and when she turns back to me, she finds it hard to meet my eyes. Bitch. She’s told him too much about me. I don’t know why I ever wanted her to be my friend. Her eyes are slightly too wide apart and there is a hint of a sneer to her smile. I wonder how it can be that I misjudged her so badly; that I chose another Bella to befriend.

‘What time do you finish tonight?’ I ask.

‘Five. But we’ve only got door drills left today, so hopefully we’ll finish early.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame, I don’t finish until six. We could’ve gone for a drink.’

‘Yeah. That is a shame,’ she lies, not even bothering to feign regret.

She looks at her watch. I open my bag to take out my phone. It’s stuck, wedged into the inner zip where I keep my keys, painkillers and passport. I pull and, as I do so, something falls out and clatters on to the table. A flash of yellow. Homer Simpson yellow. Shit. I slam my hand over them, but Amy is staring at me.

‘Are those mine?’ she says.

‘These?’ I say, revealing them, palm outstretched. ‘I don’t think so. Although I don’t recognize them either.’

‘They are mine. Our spare ones went missing. Hannah thought it was me, and vice versa.’

‘Well, you can take them and check, if you think so? If not, give them back to me, as I guess they’re for something I’ve forgotten about.’

‘They are mine.’

‘OK. If you say so.’

‘What were they doing in your bag?’

I look her in the eye. ‘No idea.’

‘It was you,’ she says under her breath. ‘You’ve been in our flat. When I’m not there.’

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ I say. ‘It’s just a set of keys!’

‘Yes, you like taking keys, don’t you? Going into other people’s houses without permission.’

‘I don’t like your tone.’

‘I could go to the police.’

I don’t understand why people always think they can ‘go to the police’ for any situation to be magically and swiftly resolved in their favour.

‘And say what? That I had keys to my husband’s house and that a set of yours – allegedly – were in my bag. We’re friends, Amy. Friends.’

‘Husband?’

‘Yes. Nate is legally my husband. You’ve been too busy thinking about yourself and Rupert – so much so – that you’ve neglected your friends. So, run along to the police.’ I stand up. ‘Make yourself look stupid. Nate asked me to marry him a few months ago, so I did. Now, I’m trying to sort out the mess I made. Marry in haste, repent at great leisure. Like I’ve said before, Nate’s a complicated man. You don’t know the half of it.’