S. Watson - Second Life

We walk to the cinema, across Islington Green. I realize it’s been a long time since we did this, just the two of us. I’ve missed it, and wonder whether he has, too. From nowhere I’m filled with a deep sense of love, and of guilt. It hits me that now Kate’s gone Connor is the only blood relation I have, the only person with whom I share DNA. I realize Kate was the link, to all of us. Our mother and father, me, her, and now Connor. She was the centre of it all.

I have to say something. The need is overpowering. ‘You know I love you,’ I say. ‘Don’t you?’ He looks at me; his expression is inscrutable, as if he’s slightly embarrassed. For a moment I see the vulnerable little boy inside him, the one trying to cope with the adult world in which he’s finding himself more enmeshed with each passing day. But then it passes and something else flashes briefly on his face. It’s pain, I think, followed a moment later by the resolve to conquer it.

‘Connor? Is everything all right?’

He nods, raising his eyebrows as he does. It’s a familiar gesture, meant to be reassuring but now too automatic for it really to mean anything at all. ‘I’m good.’ We cross the road, then on the other side we stop, both at the same time, as if we’d rehearsed it. ‘Honestly.’

I put my arms on his shoulders; sometimes he doesn’t like to be hugged, and I guess that standing in the middle of Upper Street might be one of those times. ‘You can talk to me, Con.’ I remember how long it’s been since I used to call him that. Did he ask me to stop, or did it just fade away? Perhaps that’s what always happens between mothers and sons. ‘Please remember that. I’m here for you. Always.’

I feel guilty as I say it. Am I there for him? I haven’t been, recently.

‘I know.’

‘The last few weeks… months…’ I begin, but I don’t know where I’m going. I’m trying to build the connection between us, one that I should never have put in jeopardy. ‘…they’ve not been easy. I know that. For any of us.’ He looks at me. I want him to forgive me, to tell me I’ve been there for him, that he’s all right. ‘I know they’ve been really shit for you, too, Connor. I want you to know that. I do understand.’

He shrugs, as I knew he would. He’s silent, but he looks at me with an expression of gratitude, and something passes between us. Something good.

In the cinema Connor goes to the bathroom while I buy our tickets at the machine then queue for the popcorn I’ve promised him. When he returns we make our way to the screen. I’d thought it would be busy, but it’s less than half full. People are dotted around – mostly couples – and I suggest that we head for an almost empty row about halfway back. Connor agrees and we settle ourselves. The film hasn’t yet started and the room is filled with the symphony of bottles being opened, drinks being slurped through straws, bags of sweets or crisps being torn into. I pass our popcorn to Connor. ‘Have you got everything you want?’ I whisper, and he says he has. He’s checking his phone and looks up guiltily. A message from his girlfriend, I suppose. Evie. He mentions her occasionally; he’s said she wasn’t at Carla’s party, but he’s evasive, still at that age where discussing a girlfriend with his parents is embarrassing. Without thinking, and to reassure him it’s fine, I pick up my bag and check mine.

I have a message, from Lukas. I’m relieved; our last few conversations have been frosty, and since I last saw him I’ve thrown an accusation at him and told him I didn’t want to see him today. I thought maybe he’d taken the decision to end things before I did, and to do it with silence. ‘How’s the shopping?’

I type my reply quickly.

‘Boring. But thanks for caring…’

I press send. Part of me is hoping he won’t respond, yet still I keep my phone in my hand in case he does. Sure enough, a moment later, there’s a reply.

‘I wish I was there with you.’

I smile to myself. He’s no longer angry with me, if he ever was. I was being ridiculous.

‘So do I.’ Once again I press send then I switch off my phone.

The film begins. It’s not my kind of thing at all, but I remind myself I’m here for Connor and when I look across at him I can see that he’s enjoying it. I try to settle. I try to stop thinking about Lukas, try to ignore the temptation to fish my phone out of my bag and check whether he’s replied. I concentrate on the movie.

A minute or so later Connor shifts his legs. Someone is pushing past him, murmuring, ‘Sorry,’ as he does so. It’s odd, I think. This new arrival is alone, there are plenty of seats. Why does he choose our row? I move out of the way, too, and he says sorry to me, though he’s looking at the screen while he does it. I’m even more surprised when he sits in the seat right next to me. I consider pointing out that there are plenty further along, but then think, really, what’s the harm? I go back to the film.

A few moments later I begin to feel a pressure on my leg. I’m not certain at first, but then it becomes definite. The newcomer is pressing his leg against mine; it feels deliberate, though I can’t be sure. I look down – his leg is bare; he’s wearing board shorts – then move my leg away, just an inch or so. It might’ve been accidental; I don’t want to make any kind of fuss. I pretend to be engrossed in the screen, but then the man’s leg moves to connect with mine again, more urgently this time, too deliberate for it to be coincidence.

I look over. The action on the screen is dark and I can’t see much. I make out thick-rimmed glasses and a baseball cap, one of the ones that’s rigid and sits tall on the front of the head. The man’s staring at the screen, rubbing the lower half of his face with his right hand, as if in deep contemplation.

I move my leg again and take a deep breath, readying myself to say something, to tell him to pack it in or get lost; I’m not sure which. At the same time the stranger drops his hand from his face and turns to me, and as he does the action on the screen moves overground, to a scene of lit brilliance, bathing the theatre with light. It’s then I see that the man sitting next to me is no stranger. It’s Lukas. He’s smiling.

I gasp, yet at the same time my stomach tips with desire. An abyss of fear opens in front of me and I begin to spiral towards it. What’s he doing here, in this cinema? What the fuck is going on? It can’t be a coincidence; it would be ridiculous. Yet how can it be anything else? He doesn’t know where I live: I’ve never told him, I know that. I’ve been careful all the way through.

Yet here he is. He’s looking back at the screen now. He’s moved his leg away, as if he’s now trying to avoid contact with me. I turn back to the movie, then a moment later glance at Connor, sitting on my other side. He’s noticed nothing.

My heart is beating too fast; I don’t know what to do. This is too far, I want to say. You’ve gone too far. Yet…

Yet he’s pressing his leg against mine once again, and this time I haven’t shifted away. His skin on mine is charged, I can feel every tiny hair, the warmth of his muscles. Even though my son is just inches away, I find I like it.

I close my eyes. My mind whirls in confusion. Just a few minutes ago he’d sent me a message, about the shopping I’d told him I was doing. He must have already known that was a lie, but how can he have known I was here?

I look over at Connor again. He’s engrossed in the film, his hand dipping occasionally into the bucket of popcorn on his lap. After a moment I turn to look at Lukas, who appears to be fixated, too. He must sense my gaze. Slowly he turns to me, so that he’s looking directly at me, as if he wants to make sure I know it’s him. I look into his eyes and ask the question wordlessly, and he begins to smile. There’s no warmth, and I feel a sick disappointment. I look back at the screen, then after a few moments at him again. This time he winks, still without warmth, then looks ahead once more, and after a few moments stands to leave. As he does he says, ‘Excuse me,’ and he pushes past my son with a ‘Hey, dude…’