The Perfect Girlfriend(96)

I catch a cab and keep the conversation to a minimum. I get the driver to drop me off a block away. I dump my boots into two separate bins and walk back into the hotel lobby.

I make my way to my suite, praying that I don’t bump into anyone. I retrieve my belongings from the safe, shower, pack and reply to a text message from Babs asking about my trip.

Rubbish. Spent the whole time in bed with a terrible cold. Have felt awful. xxx

Operating on pure adrenalin, I take the lift down and join the rest of the crew in the lobby.

Moments before we push back, the captain announces a delay whilst we wait for the plane to be de-iced. But after an hour, as we lift into the air, I feel relief – sheer, blessed relief – at having had the guts to take firm action. The future, by its very nature, is intangible. However, when you wrestle back some control, then anything is possible. I’ve just proved this.

At 35,000 feet, cocooned in the clouds and separated from the real world, the growing distance helps me to stay focused on what I need to do next.

As the aircraft doors open, I half-expect to see the police waiting for me.

But nothing happens.

And by the time I take out my keys and step into my home, I feel certain nothing will.

I keep busy on my three days off.

I phone Babs and tell her that I’m back with my one true love. When Nate returns, he’ll be worn out through shock. But we’ll work through it. I fire off an email to James Harrington, explaining that Nate and I are going to make a go of our relationship when he returns from skiing.

I also think about Will a lot. But somehow, seeing how peaceful Tara was, I also feel a little comforted.

Covering all bases, I message Nate saying that I look forward to seeing him on Wednesday.

He doesn’t reply.

I avoid the internet, so that I can’t give in to temptation and google news of Tara.

The day before Nate is due home, assuming they’re able to fly back as arranged – I wonder if Tara’s body will be in the hold? – I travel to the Report Centre and check the obituary board.

Tara’s death is announced as a tragic holiday accident. Which is kind of true. There will be a memorial – anyone who knew her is welcome to attend and celebrate her life.

I won’t go, but I will send flowers.

Lilies, of course.

Nate doesn’t fly home on the Wednesday.

I call in sick for my next trip and wait in all day. Restless, I wander around, plumping up the cushions. I rearrange apples in the fruit bowl, ditto with the food in the fully stocked fridge and cupboards. The mini chocolate muffins rest neatly on the side. I brush down every item in the wardrobe, especially my favourite dress. I drink coffee from the mugs Nate bought me and run my fingers along the fridge magnets stuck back to their original home. A huge, framed wedding photo takes pride of place, alongside the ornaments and vases.

It’s all in the details.

On Thursday, after watching Rainbow swim along his tank for hours, I hear voices – Nate’s and the caretaker’s – before a key twists in the lock. I stand up, smooth down my dress and have a smile on my face, ready to be his shoulder to cry on. His rock. His lifetime companion.

‘Hello, darling,’ I say. ‘Why didn’t you reply to my message? I’ve been worried about you.’

He drops his bag. His face is white.

‘Sorry to hear about Tara. I heard about it at work – but you should’ve told me. You look exhausted. Come in properly. I’ve made a few changes, by the way, moved a few things around, but I’m sure you’ll agree it’s for the best.’

‘My keys?’ he says.

I hold his gaze. ‘I took them from your jacket pocket on the flight. It made sense.’

He’ll never be able to prove that I took them from Whistler. Because I wasn’t there. He ordered me not to come.

He stares. He can’t quite put the pieces together. Which is fine, because from now on we’re going to do things the hard way. Or the simple way. His choice. And it’s so much better if he’s uncertain. People are more compliant when they are fearful. Like Miles will be, when I invite him and Bella over for dinner. He’s going to have to persuade her to come, to tolerate me. Maybe she’ll even be nice; compliment my cooking, that type of thing.

‘No way. This cannot be happening.’

‘This is what we agreed,’ I say, calmly but firmly.

And it is. Because, like I told Nate in the video diary, the girl gave her heart to the boy and their fate was sealed. Seriously, he should have listened, because no one can fight fate.

No one.

Nate became my blueprint from the moment I saw his picture on Bella’s bedside table at school. And the fact that he subconsciously sought me out by the river proves it. He saved me from myself, from some of the darkness and guilt trapped inside. And yet, the shadows from that night still linger; invisible swirls of grey and black continuously cloak me.

Nate owed me love and respect all those years ago, and he still owes me that. He’ll always owe me that.

Nate doesn’t move, so I walk over and close the door. We’re alone. Just the two of us.

The dream is real. I’ve fixed everything and put us back together again.

I was right to persevere, to not accept anything less. We now have a fresh start; a whole new understanding.

The only way it can ever be.