S. Watson - Second Life

I see him relax. I smile, to show him any anger has vanished. He returns my smile, then kisses me. ‘I’m proud of you,’ he says. I feel guilt wash over me, but ride it out. ‘Well done.’

Now, I go over to my wardrobe. I must choose my clothes carefully. I have to convince Lukas I am who he thinks I am, that I want what he thinks I want.

I try my jeans with a white blouse, then a dress with tights and boots. I stand in front of the mirror. Better, I think. I choose a necklace and make up my face – not too much, it’s the middle of the day, after all – but enough for me not to feel like me any more.

Maybe that’s what I’m doing, really. Choosing the clothes that will turn me from Julia into that other person, the one Lukas has met online. Into Jayne.

I sit at the dressing table and spray my perfume, a squirt behind each ear, one more on each wrist. It smells buttery and sweet. It’s expensive, something Hugh bought me for Christmas a couple of years ago. Fracas. My mother used to wear it, and it was always Kate’s favourite, too. Its fragrance makes me feel closer to them both.

Finally, I’m ready. I look in the mirror. At my reflection. I think of my photo. Marcus in the Mirror . I remember that first time we had sex. I’ve never lacked confidence, but that night, even as he kissed me, I thought he might pull away. Even as he undressed me, I thought, this is the first time, and it will also be the last. Even as he entered me, I thought, I can’t possibly be good enough for this man.

And yet I was. We started seeing each other. We started missing meetings, now and again at first, then more often than not. And then we moved to Berlin. It was cold; I remember we slept rough that first night, and then hooked up with friends he had out there. A week of sleeping on floors turned into a month, and then we found a place of our own, and—

And I don’t want to think about it now. About how happy we were.

I stand up. I check my phone for messages. Part of me hopes he’s cancelled. I could undress then, take off the make-up, put on the jeans and shirt I was wearing when I said goodbye to Hugh this morning. I could make myself a cup of tea and sit in front of the television, or with a novel. This afternoon I could do some work, ring some people. Along with my relief I could nurse a quiet resentment, I could vow never to message him again and then go back to Hugh and spend the rest of my life wondering whether Lukas knew Kate, whether he might have led me to the man who killed her.

But there are no messages; he hasn’t changed his mind, and I’m not disappointed. For the first time in months I get the sense that something will happen, one way or another. I feel a kind of elasticity; the future is unknown, but it seems malleable, pliable. It has a softness, where before it’d felt as hard and unyielding as glass.

I take a taxi. It’s sticky with the heat, even with the window open. The sweat trickles down my back. In the cab there’s the same advert I saw on my way home from dinner with Adrienne. BE WHO YOU WANT TO BE.

We reach St Pancras. The car sweeps up the cobbled drive, the door is opened for me. I feel a breeze on my neck as I get out and go into the hotel. The doors slide open and marble stairs lead into the relief of the air-conditioned interior. The roof above us is glass, with iron girders, part of the old station, I guess. It’s all elegance here, cut flowers, the smell of lemon and leather and wealth. I look around the lobby; two men sit side by side on a green sofa; a woman in a suit reads the paper. There are signs: RESTAURANT, SPA, MEETING ROOMS. Behind the reception desk all is busy and efficient; I look at my watch and see that I’m early.

I take out my phone. No messages.

I wait for my breathing to slow, my heart to stop its insistent alarm, its attempts to warn. I slip off my wedding ring and put it in my purse. My hand feels naked now, as does the rest of me, but without my ring what I’m about to do feels less of a betrayal, somehow.

At the reception desk I ask for the bar. The guy is young and impossibly good-looking. He points me in the right direction and wishes me a nice day. I thank him and step away. His eyes burn into me as I retreat, as if he knows why I’m here. I want to turn round and tell him it’s not what he thinks, I’m not going to go through with it.

I’m only pretending.

Lukas is sitting at the bar, his back to me. I’d worried I wouldn’t recognize him, but he’s unmistakable. He’s wearing a tailored suit, though as I get closer I see he hasn’t bothered with the tie. Some effort, but not too much. Like me, I guess. I’m surprised to see a glass of champagne in front of him, another in front of the empty seat at his side. I remind myself I’m here for Kate.

Her face floats in front of me. She’s a little girl, seven or eight. Our father has told us he’s sending us to boarding school, just for a couple of years, though we both know it’ll be until Kate leaves home. She looks terrified, and once again I’m telling her it’ll work out. ‘You’ll have me,’ I say, ‘and you’ll make loads of other friends. I promise!’

I didn’t know whether she would, back then. She had a temper, was developing a wild streak. She could take things to heart and get herself in trouble. But she did make friends, eventually. One of them must have been Anna, but there were others. Life was difficult for her, but she wasn’t unhappy, not always. And I looked after her. I did my best. Until…

No, I think. I can’t think of that now. I can’t bring Marcus into the room. And so I push the image away and walk over.

Lukas hasn’t seen me yet, and I’m glad. I want to arrive suddenly, to be there before he’s had the chance to appraise me from a distance. He’s ten years younger than me, and looks it. I’m nervous enough, I don’t want to risk seeing a flash of disappointment as he sees me approach.

‘Hi!’ I say, when I reach him.

He looks up. His eyes are deep blue, even more striking in real life. For the briefest of moments his face is expressionless, his gaze invading, as if he’s unpicking me, learning me from within. He looks as if he has no idea who I am, or why I’m there, but then he breaks into a broad smile and stands up.

‘Jayne!’ I don’t correct him. There’s a momentary flicker of surprise and I realize he thought I wouldn’t come.

‘You made it!’ He’s grinning with relief, which makes me feel relieved, too. I sense we’re both nervous, which means neither of us has all the power.

‘Of course I did!’ I say. There’s an awkward moment. Should we kiss? Shake hands? He pushes my drink towards me.

‘Well, I’m glad.’ There’s another pause. ‘I got you some champagne. I wasn’t sure what you’d want.’

‘Thanks. I might just get some sparkling water.’

I slide into my seat and he orders my drink. I look at him, at this unshaven, blue-eyed man, and again ask myself why I’m here. I’ve been telling myself it’s to find out whether he knew my sister, but there’s more, of course there is.

I wonder whether I’m being naive. Whether it might be him she was going to meet that night. The thought assaults me. It’s brutal. The man in front of me looks incapable of violence, but that means nothing. It’s not only those who have shaved their heads or inked their bodies that are capable of wielding weapons.

I remind myself of what I’ve seen. Of where he was in February. I begin to calm down as my water arrives.

‘There you go. You’re not drinking?’

‘No. I don’t.’

I see the familiar readjustment that people make when I tell them. I know they’re trying to figure out whether I’m a puritan, possibly religious, or an addict.

As usual, I say nothing. I don’t need to make excuses. Instead I look around the bar. It used to be the ticket office; people would queue here before boarding their train, and many of the old features – the wood panelling, the huge clock on the wall above us – have been retained. It’s busy; people sit with their suitcases, or newspapers. They’re eating lunch, or afternoon tea. They’re in transit, or else staying in the hotel above. For a moment I wish I were one of them. I wish the reason I find myself here could be that uncomplicated.