S. Watson - Second Life

And then, as if he’d never been here, he’s gone.

I sit. My mind won’t be still, I can’t concentrate on the film. I’m thinking of Lukas, I can’t work out what he’d wanted, why he’d turned up.

Or how he’d known where I’d be.

My hand goes to the seat in which he’d been sitting, as if I might feel him there. It’s still warm, I haven’t imagined it. I begin to tremble. My mouth is dry and I take a sip of water from the bottle I’d bought with Connor’s popcorn. Nausea rises within me. I must calm down. I take a deep breath, but the air is syrupy with the smell of half-eaten hot dogs and belched ketchup. I feel sick. I close my eyes. I see Lukas.

I have to get out. I have to get some air.

‘Come on.’

‘What?’

‘We’re leaving.’

‘But Mum!’

‘This is rubbish,’ I say.

‘Well, I’m enjoying it.’ I’m aware we’re making a lot of noise; from somewhere behind, someone tuts.

I stand up. I need to keep moving. ‘Okay, stay here, then. I’ll be back in a minute.’

I go to the toilet. I’m nervous as I push the door open; he might be in here, I think, and straight away my mind goes to the time we had sex in the toilet cubicle near his hotel. But he isn’t. Just some girls, Connor’s age or a little older, fixing make-up, gossiping. Someone was fucking unbelievable ; someone else was apparently gonna make him pay . I ignore them and go into one of the cubicles. I lock the door and take out my phone. Nothing, just a message from Hugh. We’ve run out of milk. Can I pick some up?

I sit for a while, willing my phone to ring, or for there to be a message. A smiley face, a wink. Anything to reassure me that Lukas was just having a bit of fun. But there’s nothing. I don’t know what to think.

I call him. His phone goes straight to voicemail. I try again, and again, and again. And then, because there’s nothing else I can do, I give up. I put my phone in my bag and rejoin my son.

We get home. I’m numb, I can’t think. I’d hoped Connor hadn’t noticed Lukas, but as we walked home he said, ‘Didn’t you think that guy was weird?’

I was looking left and right, waiting to cross the road, but also looking out for Lukas. He was nowhere to be seen.

‘Sorry?’

‘That guy. The one who came in and sat right by us in a half-empty room?’

‘Oh, him ?’ I tried to sound natural, but had no idea whether I was succeeding. ‘People are odd.’

‘And then he leaves, before the film’s even over. What a freak!’

I wondered if that was it, part of the game. I wondered whether I was supposed to make an excuse to my son, follow Lukas, have him fuck me in the toilets. I wondered if, deep down, I’d really wanted to do just that.

Now, my mind spins. I don’t understand how he’s done this, much less why. Every time a possibility comes, a solution, I’m forced to reject it. If it was a coincidence, then why didn’t he say hello? If it was a game, then why didn’t he at least smile, let me know we were playing?

I keep returning to the same few thoughts. This shouldn’t have been possible. He doesn’t know where I live. He thought I was out shopping with Anna.

‘You all right, Mum?’ says Connor. I realize I’m still standing in the middle of the kitchen.

I force a smile. ‘I think I’m getting a migraine.’ Another wave of panic crashes in. I look at my son. He knows about you, now, I think. You’re no longer safe. I feel myself begin to suffocate.

‘Shall I get you some water?’ he says. He goes to the sink and picks two tumblers off the drainer.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’ I take the glass from him and sip; it’s lukewarm.

‘I think I’ll go and have a lie down.’

I go upstairs. Lukas still isn’t answering his phone, and there are no messages on mine. I open my computer and see he’s online. My fury is doubled.

– What was that all about? I type. I hesitate before pressing send. I ought to walk away, I want to walk away. But I can’t. There’s no way out, now. Everywhere I turn, he’s there.

His reply comes after only a moment.

– Did you enjoy it?

I gasp. He has no idea how I feel, what he’s done.

– How did you know where I’d be?

There’s no reply. For a long time, nothing. Damn you, I think. Damn you. And then, finally:

– I thought it would be a nice surprise.

A nice surprise? I’d laugh if my whole body wasn’t humming with fear.

– How did you know?

– I had to get creative.

– Meaning?

There’s an even longer pause.

– Don’t panic. I was in Islington. There’s an antiques shop there I go to occasionally. I saw you across the street. I followed you.

Antiques, I think. Since when has he been into antiques? I don’t know anything about this man.

– I thought it’d be fun.

– Fun? You scared me!

I read his messages again. I want to believe him, but I can’t. He happened to be shopping in Islington? Some coincidence. And even if it were true, then surely he’d have just messaged me?

Instead, he’d followed me, sat next to me, winked at me in the dark. He’d spoken only to my son, not to me, and his expression wasn’t that of someone giving someone else a nice surprise. It was the expression of someone who thinks they’ve found something out.

– Scared you? Why? What did you think I was going to do?

– I don’t know.

Suddenly I realize. It’s a moment of absolute clarity, when everything that had felt muddled and grey is as clear and colourless as ice-cold water. I’d become involved with him for the sake of my son, but now it was my son who was at risk. I have no choice. I’m going to have to end it.

I try to fix on the thought, but even as I do another, stronger, part of me is trying to push it away. Lukas sends me another message.

– What did you want me to do?

– What?

– In the cinema. Tell me.

I feel like screaming. How can I make him see this isn’t a game? There are things at stake here, things that might be lost for ever.

– Not now, Lukas. OK?

I press send. I sit back. I want him to understand what he’s done, how much it’d scared me. I want him to know there are lines we mustn’t cross.

His reply comes a few seconds later.

– Tell me how you wanted me to touch you, it says. Tell me you were imagining it, right there in front of all those people.

– No, I say.

– What’s wrong?

I don’t answer. There’s no avoiding it, and I don’t want to have this conversation online. I can’t make him understand what he’s done, not here, not now. I don’t want to see him again, but I have no choice.

– I want to see you. It’s important.

– Whatever you like.

There’s a long moment, then he sends another message.

– By the way, who’s the kid?

‘He’s my son.’ He’s sitting opposite me, we’re having lunch. My choice, even though now I’m here I wish I’d suggested somewhere more secluded. He’d wanted to meet in a hotel, but I knew that wouldn’t be a good idea. We’ve come to a restaurant just near the river. We’re sitting outside, under an umbrella. Commuters stream past on their way to the station.

I haven’t even asked about his hunt for more of Kate’s online profiles. I suspect he’s given up. I doubt he was ever looking very hard.

‘Your son?’ he says. For a moment I think he doesn’t believe me. ‘You didn’t tell me.’

‘No,’ I sigh. I have to be honest. It’s time for that, at least. ‘I wanted to keep him out of it.’

And I failed. Lukas knows everything, now, and it’s too much. What had seemed manageable is now out of control, what had been in a box has now broken free.