The Perfect Girlfriend(82)

I don’t say anything.

‘Lily. Let me go. I don’t want this to sound patronizing, I really don’t, but it would be the best thing you could ever do for yourself. I know it might not seem like it now, but if I ever meant anything to you at all, which you say that I did, then please try to believe me. However hard it is.’

‘I’m trying, Nate, I’m really trying, but I just can’t see what’s in this for me. We are married. Who is going to believe your version of events? Seriously? I’m not some one-night stand who wants more. I already have more.’

He storms out of the room and returns with his phone clamped to his ear.

‘Don’t pretend you’re ringing the police,’ I say.

‘I’m not,’ he snaps, but the slight break in his voice gives away that he is more scared of what I can say to damage him than he cares to admit. ‘I’m getting James over here to witness what you’ve done.’

Oh God, not James again. I can’t bear the thought of him judge, judge, judging away before another dual lecture.

I pick up my own phone. ‘Fine. I’ll report you to the police for an historic crime.’

Nate is fast. He wrenches the phone from my hand, switches it off and stuffs it in my bag.

‘Get out!’ he says. ‘Just get out now, before I really lose it. I’ve had enough. You should be thanking me for not getting you arrested or sectioned. I’m giving you a chance. A chance you don’t deserve, and any minute I’m going to change my mind!’

Exhaustion swamps me. I don’t know how to explain any better that I will always give him all I’ve got. He will never regret choosing me; I’ll dedicate my life to making him happy. I feel distraught, like I’ve let us both down. But the words in my head have dried up. I stand up, gather my belongings in a daze, put them into my bag. I’ll think of something to resolve this. He can’t reasonably ignore our past if I persist.

‘My keys, please.’ Nate holds out his right hand, palm upwards.

I hand them over. It doesn’t matter; I have another set.

He opens the front door and stands like a security guard, watching me. ‘Do you understand, Lily? That we have a mutually beneficial agreement?’

‘Yes, I understand. Goodbye, Nate.’

‘Goodbye.’

As I wait for the lift he says something that sounds like, ‘Don’t come back,’ before he shuts the door.

I kick the side of the lift.

The first thing I do in the morning is message Miles to let him know that I’m free for lunch, but his response is curt, informing me that he’s busy working from home. I spy on Bella, but there’s nothing that reveals what she’s up to today.

I know their address, so I take a drive there. There is only one car in the drive – it belongs to Miles – but that doesn’t mean Bella’s isn’t in the garage. I phone Miles. He answers within one ring, with an abrupt hello.

‘I’ve already explained that I’m snowed under.’

‘Is Bella at home?’

‘No.’

‘Good. Answer your door. I’m outside.’

He has no choice.

I walk into a gloomy hall. It is nothing like how I imagined Bella’s home would be. Stairs edged with a dark wooden railing curve up to the right, and the side wall is a matching wooden panel. The carpet is a rich burgundy, adding to the overall dark effect. Directly in front of me rests a round table upon which is an olive-coloured vase filled with red roses. The wall pictures are gold-framed and depict violence: battle scenes, hunts, blood and misery.

I hand Miles the duty-free bag.

‘Have you been away for work again? Thank you, but I can’t accept this. Juliette, this isn’t on. This isn’t on at all. You cannot show up at my home unannounced. It isn’t what we agreed.’

He hands me back the bag. I shove it inside my handbag. For now.

‘I know that, but we need to talk. I’ll have a quick coffee and then I’ll leave you in peace.’

‘Bella’s not due back until after lunch, but she might be early.’

‘Message her. Ask her how her day is going, that will put your mind at rest.’

I walk straight ahead, along a corridor which opens out into a kitchen. Miles follows, ignoring my suggestion. This space is a lot more how I pictured her home. It is contemporary and light. Stainless steel gleams and the surfaces are bare; very minimalistic. A metal fruit bowl is crammed with bananas, oranges and kiwi fruit. A designer coffee machine rests beneath wall-mounted canvases bearing motivational quotes. I’m surprised; I’ve always assumed that Bella had enough self-belief without the aid of positive affirmations.

Believe there is good in the world.

Own your talent.

Do the one thing you never thought you could.

I place my bag on the floor, then run my finger along the work surface as Miles fiddles with mugs and coffee capsules. I rest my hand on a plastic file decorated with daisies, beneath a small pile of post. Pushing the mail to one side, I pick the file up and slide out the contents. Inside there is an email printout from her mother outlining details of their annual family trip to Whistler in February. They are staying at their aunt’s holiday chalet, as usual.

It is not the only thing: there is also the proof copy of a wedding invitation sent by a local printer. Miles and Bella have brought forward their wedding to mid-January, during the lead-up to Nate and I becoming unmarried. Miles looks over and he frowns when he realizes what I’m reading. I carry on, regardless. They’ve decided against the Italian villa and have selected a local five-star hotel instead. I scan the guest list; there are hundreds of invitees.