The Perfect Girlfriend(69)
Her smile has always been the same. Every time I see it, I am reminded of a smiling assassin.
There is also a list in Bella’s unmistakable handwriting and even the sight of it makes me feel ill at ease. She loops and swirls her capital letters in an overly ornate fashion. Written down among Bella’s requests (or demands) – for example, it is Miles’ job to arrange the honeymoon – she has also listed several potential venues for their wedding. Her current favourite is an Italian-style villa in some privately owned gardens near her parents’ home, with several hotels named in order of preference.
I pick up my phone and take photos of everything I’ve discovered, as a reminder, then I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the wall. I can’t switch off. If Bella were here, she’d probably be asleep – not a care in the world, apart from her stupid wedding plans. I wonder what I can do to mess with her precious arrangements. She doesn’t deserve to live happily ever after. Karma is clearly a myth, if someone as undeserving as Bella gets her happy-ever-after without a struggle, whilst people like me are left to flounder.
Sometimes I think about what will happen when Bella and I meet again. I go over what she says, what I say. And although the situations vary, it always ends up with me winning. I am the one who finally gets a voice. I’ve learned to ski, to play tennis, to horse ride. I’ve visited the places she goes to, I’ve made sure that I’ve met most of the people she networks with – if not in person, then on social media. I’m totally ready to integrate into her world, so that she wants to be my friend, not the other way round.
Miles turns over in his sleep. I should leave something in his suitcase for her to find, a little memento to make her concerned when he travels for work. Something to turn her into a neurotic woman, with less self-assurance and a little more humility. Someone Miles won’t respect. It has to be something subtle – so that Miles doesn’t suspect my involvement. I spray my perfume into the lining of his suitcase and shut the lid, hoping it permeates the contents. It would be ideal if Bella unpacks for him, although I doubt that she does.
I go into the bathroom. I take a peek inside his leather washbag. There is not much: deodorant, a lip balm, hair gel, some nail clippers. I sit on the edge of the bath and study the Japanese toilet control panel, trying to figure out what the pictures on each button mean. After further pondering, I creep back into the room and open the wardrobe. I feel inside his jacket pockets. Empty. I search my own bag, but there is nothing I can leave without Miles knowing it was me. The perfume will have to suffice.
For now.
But I do take a photo of Miles. I freeze as the flash goes off, but he doesn’t stir.
I get into bed and lie near the edge, watching the red illuminated numbers change on the bedside clock.
I fantasize that Nate will change his attitude, which will, in turn, allow my feelings for him to revert to love. We could begin again, do things properly: date, fall in love, make a total fresh start. My thoughts grow, becoming even more elaborate, until I can feel myself drifting off.
An alarm call jolts me into awareness. I lean down and check my phone in my bag; it’s 7 a.m. Tokyo time.
Miles sits up, stretches and then disappears into the bathroom. When I hear the sound of the shower, I go in and join him. He doesn’t object. Nate could learn a thing or two about enthusiasm from him.
Once we’re both dressed and ready, we make our way along the corridor to the executive lounge for breakfast.
Miles spends most of the time tapping into his phone.
‘What shall we do today?’ I say as I spear a piece of melon with my fork.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I thought maybe the Imperial Palace or . . .’
‘I’m working,’ he says. ‘And surely you must be too?’
‘Yes, of course I am, but I’m allowed a bit of time off. So, what do you think?’
He looks at me. ‘I’m not here for sightseeing, and I’ve been there before with—’ He stops.
‘It’s OK, you can say her name,’ I say.
‘Juliette, I’m sorry but I need to get on in peace. I’ve a lot to get through today.’
‘Fine. What about dinner tonight?’
‘I can’t, I’m afraid. I’m dining with my client.’
‘I could join you? As a business colleague?’
‘It wouldn’t be a good idea.’
‘But I’m going home the day after.’
‘So, we’ll have to get together – back at home – another time. You pick a time and a place and wild horses won’t keep me away.’ He smiles, but it is forced.
‘I’ll get going, then.’
He looks down at his phone.
I stand up, feeling dismissed.
‘Sorry, Juliette. There’s something I need to deal with straight away.’
‘Of course. I understand.’
He stands up and kisses me on the cheek.
I look back as I leave, but he is not watching me. He has already turned his attention back to his phone.
On the seemingly never-ending, twelve-hour flight home, I seethe.
I lie in a bottom bunk, hiding myself away from everyone else.
By torchlight, I list the ways in which Nate and Miles are similar.
As I push open the communal door to my flat, the pile of post, pizza leaflets and charity requests creates a gentle resistance. I bend down to pick them up. My downstairs neighbours must have been away for the night as they usually pile up anything addressed to me neatly on the bottom step. Dragging my belongings upstairs, I can’t rest as I have to wait in for my bed to be delivered.