The Perfect Girlfriend(73)

The cold smacks my face. I walk to my car and wait. After three minutes my phone rings.

‘I bet you’re making this call from the Gents?’ I say.

‘What the hell just went on?’ he says. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I was in the area. I tried to warn you, but you ignored me.’

‘That was Bella you were in the toilets with.’

‘I know. I went to school with her.’

‘You know her? What . . .’ There is a muffled sound, as though someone else has entered the toilets. Sure enough, Miles changes the tone of his voice. ‘I’m at a party right now. I’ll call you soon.’

‘Come outside now and meet me. I’m in the car park opposite.’

‘It’s not possible at the moment.’

‘Miles, anything is possible when you try. If you don’t come out, I’ll come back in. You have five minutes.’

I hang up. He calls twice more, which I ignore. Then a text, which I delete without reading.

Miles appears by the passenger door less than two minutes later.

He slides in beside me. ‘What’s going on?’ he says. ‘I can’t stay long. What do you mean you went to school with Bella?’

‘I recognized her. When she followed me into the Ladies.’

‘And you didn’t know that she was my Bella?’

‘How would I? We weren’t friends. I’m surprised at you being with someone like her. She was a nasty bully at school.’

He gives me a strange look. ‘Bella wouldn’t hurt a fly. She only wants to do good.’

I laugh. I can’t help it. And for some reason, I can’t seem to stop.

Miles stares at me. ‘Do you want me to call someone? A friend?’

‘Bella was supposed to be my friend.’

‘Well, that would make things truly difficult. This changes everything. I had no idea. And of course it goes without saying that—’

‘How about we go for a drive? You don’t seem like one of those couples who keep tabs on each other. Bella surely won’t miss you for half an hour or so.’

As I lean over towards him, before my hand even touches his thigh, Miles opens the passenger door, blasting me with cold air and flooding the car with light.

‘I need to get back. I’m sorry, this has been a mistake. Bye, Juliette.’

I switch on the engine and reverse without checking behind. But as I change gears, Miles leaps out and slams the door. He runs, he actually runs, towards the restaurant.

Away from me.

I sit for ages, turning the ignition keys on and off. They click and un-click. I drive past the restaurant several times, but am unable to catch further sight of either of them.

I give up. But it turns out that the outing wasn’t a total waste of time. Because the drive home allows me valuable headspace to figure out the finer details of my next plan.

Two days later, the first thing I do when I wake up is to check on Nate’s flight. He is due to land at three thirty; it’s on schedule.

After today, he has ten days’ leave, during which time he intends to ‘chill’, according to a message sent to James Harrington. They are meeting up in a local pub tonight, where they will no doubt have a merry time discussing how Nate will soon be free of his mendacious wife.

I spend the day gathering everything I will need to confront Nate.

Back home in the evening, I kneel on the living-room floor and place all my gathered essentials into a rucksack.

I wait.

I lie on the sofa, with the TV on in the background, but I can’t concentrate. I’m aware of dropping off every now and then as consciousness and reality appear and disappear.

My alarm goes off at five. I get dressed, put my rucksack on my back and let myself out. On the Green it is peaceful and eerily quiet. I switch on my torch and see why – it’s as though I’ve stepped through the wardrobe and into the winter wonderland of Narnia. Grass and twigs poke through the snow. The occasional house has illuminated windows and I switch off my torch, feeling exposed – as though I’m being secretly watched by hidden people. Nate’s flat is in darkness.

I stand for a few moments inhaling the freezing air. My breath is visible, then gone. Visible, then gone.

I let myself into Nate’s building and walk up the stairs. I pause outside his door. There are no sounds. I let myself in.

Removing my gloves, I switch on my torch, disconnect the Wi-Fi and make my way to the bedroom, looking for Nate’s phone. It is in its usual spot on his bedside table. He isn’t snoring, but the smell of alcohol permeates the room. I pick up his phone and turn it off, placing it inside my coat pocket. I creep into the bathroom and take out the things I will need. I push the door until it is almost closed before I drop my rucksack on to the floor. The thud isn’t quite loud enough. I peer through the gap in the door. As suspected, Nate hasn’t stirred. I try again, kicking the bathroom door with my full strength.

‘Hello?’ Nate’s voice is husky. ‘Hello?’ he says a bit more clearly.

I lie down on the floor, face down, an outstretched hand clutching an empty packet of paracetamol. The carpet smells of damp so I turn my head to the side and close my eyes as I hear Nate’s footsteps. The bathroom floods with light.

‘What the? Oh God, Lily, what have you done now?’