The Perfect Girl Page 6

  Chris knew, from a very young age, that the only person who could help him get anywhere was himself. So he became self-reliant, and he put in hours of work.

  INT. THE WILLS MEMORIAL BUILDING, BRISTOL UNIVERSITY. DAY.

  CHRIS is attending a graduation ceremony. We hear his name called and see him walking up on to the podium to collect his graduation certificate. The large audience applauds.

  DYING JULIA (V.O.)

  Chris’s hard work paid off. He graduated with a first class degree in computer science from Bristol University, at age 19, one of the youngest ever to do so. And after that, he kept his head down, and things continued to go well for him.

  INT. CHRIS’S OFFICE IN THE COMPUTER SCIENCE DEPARTMENT AT BRISTOL UNIVERSITY. NIGHT.

  We might see city lights sparkling outside, through a small, high window. It’s a poky space, with a desk and a very plain student-type sofa crammed into it.

  DYING JULIA (V.O.)

  The University of Bristol gave him an office all of his own to develop his ideas in. If he stood in the right place, he could even see a view. And he didn’t rest on his laurels, because before long Chris had an idea that made some other people very excited indeed.

  We see Chris staring at his screen. He writes an email and we can see the text: ‘I think I’ve bloody done it.’ He clicks the ‘send’ button.

  INT. AN OFFICE IN THE HOME OF AN INVESTOR. NIGHT.

  An older, and wealthy-looking man sits at a desk in a room that looks the way you might imagine a gentleman’s club to. He receives Chris’s email. He smiles when he reads it, and composes an email in reply. It says, ‘WE’RE GOING TO MAKE A KILLING.’ He presses ‘send’.

  INT. CHRIS’S NEW OFFICE AT THE UNIVERSITY. DAY.

  CHRIS’s new office is bigger and lighter, and the view of the city is extensive and impressive. The only thing that remains the same is the sofa, looking a little older and scruffier, but still there.

  CHRIS lies on the sofa, he’s wearing a headset, and is on a call.

  DYING JULIA (V.O.)

  Chris got upgraded to a new office by the university, and deservedly so. His business idea was a good one. In fact, it was a great one, and he got a particularly tempting offer from an investment fund to turn it into a business.

  CHRIS is speaking on the phone via his headset, and, as he does, sitting up in excitement.

  YOUNG CHRIS

  An order for 5,000? That’s good. That’s very, very good, a great start, solid…

  (listens)

  Sorry? Fifty thousand? Are you joking? I thought you said…

  (listens)

  Fifty thousand? That’s, well that’s just incredible.

  DYING JULIA (V.O.)

  And the business began to do so well, so quickly, that he didn’t need the support of the university any more. He set up on his own, and the investment fund gave him enough support that he could even afford to hire an assistant.

  INT. A COFFEE SHOP. DAY.

  CHRIS is sitting at a small table with a sheaf of papers in front of him. A young woman, JULIA, enters and approaches the table.

  JULIA

  Hello? Are you Chris?

  CHRIS

  Yes! Hello! Julia?

  JULIA

  Yes. It’s me. Should I?

  CHRIS

  Yes! Sorry! Please! Take a seat.

  CHRIS jumps out of his seat and pulls out a chair for JULIA. It looks like a bit of a hasty gesture from a man who perhaps isn’t used to displaying polished manners, and is clumsy enough that people at other tables notice, one or two maybe smiling discreetly at his display of keenness. CHRIS and JULIA sit facing each other and he stares at her, forgetting to speak.

  JULIA

  So…

  CHRIS

  Yes!

  JULIA

  Here’s my CV.

  CHRIS

  Right! Yes! Thank you.

  CHRIS skims down the CV quickly, it’s only one sheet.

  CHRIS (CONT’D)

  Looks great. Perfect. Do you have any questions?

  JULIA

  Oh! Me? OK, well, I was wondering if I was experienced enough for the position?

  (realising)

  Oh, gosh, sorry, that’s such a stupid thing to say. I’m so sorry.

  CHRIS is jolted out of his infatuated stare, and bursts out laughing.

  CHRIS

  That is the worst interview technique I’ve ever heard!

  JULIA

  I should go. I’m sorry. This is the first job I’ve ever applied for. I don’t know what I’m doing.

  CHRIS

  No! No – sorry I didn’t mean to upset you. Stay, please. Let’s talk about the job. And I should probably ask you some questions. Before we start, would you like something to drink?

  DYING JULIA (V.O.)

  I had a hot chocolate. With cream on top. And so did he.

  EXT. A PRETTY STREET, A FINE, COLD EVENING.

  The camera moves along the time-worn slabs of a fine, old pavement towards the well-lit window of a restaurant. It’s a small place, and at a table tucked into the window we see CHRIS and JULIA, one each side of an intimate table, both noticeably better dressed and less awkward than they were at their first meeting. Candlelight glints off the wine glasses they’re sipping from, and they both lean back as the waiter arrives with plates of food, though they don’t take their eyes off each other. They look warm, cosy and very happy.

  DYING JULIA (V.O.)

  And it wasn’t too long before Chris was having to interview for a new office assistant, because I was promoted to the position of fiancée. He swept me off my feet. He expressed feelings for me that were so intense they were like nothing I’d experienced before. It was intoxicating. And with all the optimism of young love, we felt that we owned our lives, and our city, and that anything was possible, and that a future without one another would be impossible.

  Inside the restaurant, once the waiter has moved away, CHRIS takes a small box from his pocket and hands it to JULIA. She opens it and it is, of course, a ring, a beautiful, diamond ring. We see her delight, and how much this moves her as well. We see her mouth the word ‘yes’, and then the camera moves away from the restaurant window to show the street once again, and this time we might notice pretty Christmas lights, before the camera moves out further still, up and over Clifton Village to show us the Suspension Bridge, lit up spectacularly, and looking ethereal as it hangs over the deep gorge. It’s a romantic, gorgeous scene and we might even see a full moon hanging over it too, looking crisp and hopeful in the winter night.

  DYING JULIA (V.O.)

  It was one of the happiest nights of my life.

  INT. GOLDNEY HALL ORANGERY IN CLIFTON, BRISTOL. DAY.

  CHRIS and JULIA are standing in the middle of a fine, Georgian room lined with floor-to-ceiling sash windows overlooking a beautiful garden. Chandeliers hang above them and under their feet the floor is made from slabs of soft, golden stone.

  DYING JULIA (V.O.)

  Chris and I arranged the wedding together, every detail. He wanted the very best.

  JULIA takes CHRIS’s hand.

  JULIA

  Do you think it’s too big?

  CHRIS

  I think it’s perfect.

  And we can see from the excitement on JULIA’s face that she does too, but she wanted him to say it first.

  INT. GOLDNEY HALL. DAY.

  The hall is lavishly decorated for a wedding ceremony, and a modest number of people are gathered at one end, seated around CHRIS and JULIA, the bride and groom, who stand before them and hold hands as they face each other and say their vows.

  DYING JULIA (V.O.)

  Of course the room was too big for our little ceremony, but Chris invited a lot of colleagues to make up for the very small number of family both of us had. His parents weren’t there. He said that his family meant nothing to him, that he didn’t want to talk about them.

  We see the crowd consists of a large posse of well-dresse
d professional folk watching the ceremony.

  DYING JULIA (V.O.)

  My mother came. Alone, because since my father abandoned us when I was a baby, she said she preferred it.

  We see a rather lovely woman, JULIA’S MOTHER, sitting at the front where she has a good view of her daughter. She is dressed extremely plainly, wears only a little make-up but has beautiful flowers in the lapel of her jacket and wears a carefully positioned hat.

  DYING JULIA (V.O.)

  She was grateful to Chris for paying for the wedding, because her budget wouldn’t have run much past two dozen sausage rolls and a cash bar at the social club, and it made her proud to see me entering a marriage that had so much more hope than her own, because, if truth be told, I had figured prominently at her wedding, in the shape of a large bump, and was a source of shame to both parties. But we’ll gloss over that. And I was glad she came, because I loved her very much, and sadly she died shortly afterwards, but it meant the world to her to know that I was happily married before she went.

  We see a smile creep across JULIA’S MOTHER’s face and then the camera swings around to show us what she sees: it’s the bride and groom leaning in to kiss one another as the crowd claps.

  When they break away from each other CHRIS stands with his arm around JULIA, squeezing her tight and smiling broadly.

  CHRIS

  My wife! I’ve got a wife!

  And everybody laughs while JULIA looks a little embarrassed, but very happy.

  SUNDAY NIGHT

  After the Concert

  ZOE

  I stop reading because I hear my mum coming down the stairs, finally. The script is quite interesting but it’s mostly just a love story between Chris and Julia so far and it’s told in the voice of Lucas’s dying mum, which I find really weird, so I’m not one hundred per cent fully interested if I’m honest, also because I don’t see what it’s got to do with me.

  Really, I’m not exactly sure why Lucas was so keen for me and Mum to read it.

  I put my phone down, in fact I push it down the side of the sofa cushions because the panop thing is still making my palms sweat a bit so I don’t even really want to look at it, and I go and wait in the hall for my mum as she comes down the stairs, her hand trailing on the polished banister. When she gets to the bottom, she first puts her finger on her lips to keep me quiet so we don’t wake the baby, and then beckons me to follow her into the kitchen.

  I follow her in there, and she gets a wine glass out of the cupboard and pours herself a hefty slug from a bottle that starts to drip with condensation now that it’s out of the fridge. I wait, listening to the glass chinking on the granite, and I straighten my dress, because since we’ve been in the Second Chance Family she likes me to look nice, and I think I’m probably a bit mussed up from lying on the sofa.

  She drinks deeply, twice, then she says, ‘Zoe,’ and I say, ‘Yes,’ and I’m full of fear because this is the moment that she and I have to come together, so that we can decide what we have to do. From the railway-station-sized clock on the kitchen wall I estimate we have about seventeen minutes left to do it in before Tessa and the men get here.

  ‘I think…’ Mum says, and with her fingers and her palms she makes a motion that smooths her cheeks up; it’s a temporary facelift. And in spite of everything, a tiny part of me glows, because I feel a little bit happy that we’re going to do this together, that we’re going to do anything together in fact, because that hasn’t really happened for a very long time.

  And my heart’s pumping like the loud techno music beats that make cars shudder, because now’s the moment, but then she says, and her tone is as bright as Grace’s mobile: ‘Do you know what I think would be nice? I think we should make some bruschetta for the boys.’

  MONDAY MORNING

  SAM

  At Barnstaple Police Station, when I returned to talk to Zoe after the disclosure, I found her in exactly the same position as before, curled up in her plastic chair, social worker sitting silently beside her.

  Zoe watched me come in and sit down, hungover eyes following me like a cat’s under that glass-spangled hair.

  ‘Hello again,’ I said.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Now. Have you let anybody know that you’ve been arrested?’

  ‘They phoned Mum.’

  ‘Would you like your mum to be in here with us?’

  ‘No.’

  The social worker’s lips pursed, but she remained quiet.

  ‘Can you tell me why?’

  ‘I didn’t want her to know.’

  ‘She’s outside, Zoe, she knows you’re here, and she knows why. You’re not going to be able to keep this a secret from her.’

  An immediate firm shake of her head, so I didn’t push it. A fragment of glass fell out of her hair and on to the table in front of her and she put a finger on it, curious, almost hypnotised by the sight of it. It looked like a small diamond.

  ‘Don’t,’ I said, but I was too late. The glass cut her finger and she pulled it sharply away and put it into her mouth. The little shard skittered away across the table and onto the floor.

  ‘I’ll get the first-aider,’ said the social worker.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Zoe said. ‘It’s nothing.’ She held her finger up to show us just a tiny bead of blood welling there, then she sucked it away.

  The social worker rummaged in her bag and handed Zoe a tissue. We both watched her wrap it tightly around her finger until the tip went white.

  ‘Well, if you change your mind at any point then we can call Mum in. What about your dad?’

  Another head shake, even firmer this time.

  ‘Do you feel well enough to talk to me now?’ Close up, she looked worse than I’d thought. They told me that she’d puked at the hospital.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your welfare is important to everybody here so you must let me or…’

  ‘Ruth,’ said the social worker.

  ‘You must let me or Ruth know straight away if you’re too unwell to talk, or for any other reason. Ruth is here to support you, and I am, as I’ve told you, a solicitor, and that means that I want to make sure you get the right advice to help you in your situation and also to help you understand anything that happens this morning or that happened last night. And, most importantly, and this is why you need to tell us if you’re not coping at any point, I need to make sure that you completely understand what effects any statements or responses you give to the police might mean.’

  ‘I’m OK.’

  I wondered where this stoicism came from. I didn’t yet know about the piano, about her capacity for discipline and self-control, and her hunger for excellence, but the intelligence was beginning to emerge. There was sharp clarity in those eyes.

  ‘Do you live locally, Zoe?’

  ‘Between Hartland and Clovelly, at East Wildberry Farm.’

  ‘Near the Point?’

  ‘Yes. That’s where we were going.’

  ‘In the car? To the Point?’

  ‘To the lighthouse.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Jack said I could use his dad’s car to drive Gull home, but only on condition we went to the lighthouse on the way.’

  I thought of Hartland Point lighthouse, because I knew it well. To get to it you had to sneak past some locked gates and descend a rubbly, steep cliff path down to the shore, where black rocks lined the edges of the tide line like shark’s teeth and the lighthouse sat on an outcrop which was fortified by a sea wall, to save it from being beaten away by waves. It was no longer occupied and the light was about to be decommissioned entirely. There were empty buildings beside it, where the lighthouse keepers used to live.

  Four drunk teenagers planning to go down there on a dark, cold night sounded like a bad business to me.

  ‘Why did Jack want to go to the lighthouse?’

  She calculated something behind those eyes before she replied. ‘I don’t know.’

  I changed tack. ‘How do you kno
w how to drive?’

  ‘My dad taught me, on the farm.’

  ‘Why were you driving when Jack was old enough to have a licence?’

  ‘Jack was pissed. He was too pissed to drive.’

  ‘But you were drunk as well.’

  ‘I wasn’t. I only had a spritzer.’