S. Watson - Second Life

‘Shall we go? Unless you’d like lunch here, first?’

I shake my head. I don’t know what I’m going to do. ‘It’s fine.’

‘This is your day…’

‘I know.’ I’m desperately trying to think of an excuse, a way out of it. But there isn’t one; we’re already heading back through the lobby, towards the spa. I think of when I got dressed, just an hour or so ago, in the room with Lukas. I’d looked over my shoulder at my reflection in the full-length mirror. The bruises were dark and purpling, unmistakable.

He’s sitting by the pool, where he said he’d be. He’s ordered a juice for both of us – it’s green, and looks organic – and is sipping his. He’s wearing his shorts, the pair I bought for him just before our last holiday, to Turkey. Dimly, beneath the layers of worry, I’m aware that he looks good. He’s lost weight.

I sit down next to him. I’ve wrapped my towel around my chest.

‘Fancy a swim?’

I lie back on the lounger. ‘In a while.’ He puts his paper down.

‘Come on.’ He stands up. ‘There’s a jacuzzi. I’m going in now.’

He holds out his hand and I have no option but to take it. I feel a sense of dread, of inexorable momentum. And also guilt; only a couple of hours ago it’d been another man holding his hand out to me.

We go over and sit in the pool. The water is warm and clear. Hugh activates the jacuzzi and it begins to bubble. I lie back, staring at the light dancing on the ceiling, reflected from the thrashing water. The bruises on my back sting, as if I’ve been branded.

For a moment I want to tell him everything. About Lukas, and what I’ve been doing. It wasn’t my fault, I want to say. Kate died and I went off the rails, and…

And what? And it doesn’t mean anything? I genuinely thought I was trying to find out who killed her, for me, for her son? I thought I was doing the right thing?

But who am I trying to kid?

‘Hugh—’ I say, but he cuts me dead.

‘I want to talk to you.’

I look at him. This is it, I think.

It hits me. Connor saw it all, in the summer house at Carla’s party. He’s finally told his father.

Or someone has seen me, on the street, in a hotel lobby, kissing someone who is not my husband.

‘What is it?’

He reaches out, under the water, and takes my hand.

‘It’s about your drinking.’

Relief mixes with confusion. ‘What? What drinking?’

‘Julia, I’m worried.’ He looks uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as he should. I find myself wishing this were difficult for him, a tricky subject, but it’s not. Not really. He’s in his professional mode.

‘Hugh, you’ve nothing to worry about. I haven’t touched a drop.’

‘Julia, please don’t insult my intelligence. You told me. When you came back from Paris.’

‘I know, but I was letting off steam. It wasn’t an easy trip.’

‘I know. But I think you should start going to your meetings again. It’s been a few months…’

I think about the visits to the clinic when I got back from Berlin, the seats in a circle, being back on the twelve-step programme. I think about the days and weeks of cramps and sickness and feeling like I had the worst hangover, the worst morning sickness, and nothing, nothing would ever make me feel better. I think about the months of begging Hugh to help me, when in fact he already was.

‘Look, if either of us is an expert on addiction, I’d have thought it would be me.’

He’s silent.

‘My sister died. In case you’ve forgotten?’

‘Of course I haven’t forgotten,’ he snaps. This isn’t going as well as he’d thought. ‘You ask me all the time how the investigation is going. How can I have forgotten?’

‘Bringing that up now is low, Hugh. I care, that’s all.’

He hesitates. Why don’t you go to some meetings of your own, I want to say. To Al-Anon. Sort your own stuff out before you start on mine.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says eventually. ‘It’s just, I’m not sure it’s healthy for you. I wish you’d just trust me to handle it.’

‘I do,’ I say. ‘I will.’ I consider telling him it’s not just me who can’t find peace, who won’t rest until the person who killed Kate is caught. It’s Connor, too.

‘I just worry, that’s all.’

‘I haven’t had anything since then. Not a drop.’

He squeezes my hand. I’d forgotten he was holding it.

‘At Carla’s party…’

‘That was Paddy! He brought me a drink but I didn’t touch it. And then we were chatting, he spilled his drink on me.’

I look at him. Does he believe me?

His voice softens. ‘I just don’t want to see you go back there. I can’t. I won’t.’

‘I’m not going back anywhere—’

‘Then please tell me the truth.’

‘What?’

‘Did you fall?’

‘Sorry? Fall where?’

‘Did you have a fall? Did you have a drink with Adrienne?’

‘Hugh, what on earth are you—?’

‘Those bruises. I noticed them the other day. I saw how you were trying to cover them up today, too. So, what happened?’

The relief is almost overwhelming. He thinks a few too many glasses of wine is all he has to worry about.

‘Drunk, were you?’

‘Hugh,’ I say. ‘I fell. I wasn’t drunk .’ I see a way out. He’s seen the bruises, I can’t deny their existence. But I can explain why I’ve been hiding them.

I sigh. ‘I’d had a glass of wine. That’s all. I guess it doesn’t take much.’ I hesitate, then say, ‘I slipped on the escalator in the tube station.’

‘You didn’t tell me.’

I try to smile. ‘No. It was bloody mortifying, if you must know.’ Another pause. ‘Ask Adrienne, if you don’t believe me…’

Even as I say it I know it’s a mistake. There’s a chance he will. I’m trying too hard, adding extra details.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m embarrassed. I made a mistake.’

‘Another mistake.’

Fury rises within me. ‘Yes. Another mistake. Look, I feel bad enough as it is. I’ve said sorry. Can we just forget it?’

‘It’s not me you need to apologize to.’

‘Then who?’

‘Like I said, I think you should start going to your meetings.’

No, I think. No. I won’t. I’m not ready.

I shake my head.

‘Promise me you’ll at least think about it.’

No. I can’t stand the thought. I’d have to confess everything, all over again. I’d have to admit I’m back where I started.

‘I can’t.’

‘Why?’

‘I just…’

‘Just tell me you’ll think about it?’

I sigh. ‘Okay. I’ll think about it.’

‘Or at least talk to your therapist about it?’

‘I will…’

The anger melts from his face. He lets go of my hand and pats my thigh. ‘Darling, I just don’t want to see you go through it again…’

‘I won’t. And, anyway, that was a long time ago. I know better, now. And besides,’ I say lightly, ‘I’ve got you. Keeping me safe.’

I look him straight in the eye. I hold his gaze; it’s easier than I think, yet still I hate myself for doing it. It reminds me of the years I spent convincing people I didn’t have a problem, but the difference is, this time I don’t. I’m just pretending to.

‘I know,’ he says. His hand is still on my thigh. ‘I know.’ He’s quiet for a moment and I begin to relax. I realize I’m going to have to do something. Next time I might not be so lucky, and whatever is happening between me and Lukas, I can’t let it destroy what I have with Hugh.

I tip my head back, close my eyes. Am I being naive in thinking I can keep Lukas separate from my family? Do secrets always come out in the end?