S. Watson - Second Life

I make my decision.

‘I don’t want this to be over. But what you did the other day… Don’t do it again. Okay? I won’t have Connor brought into this.’

‘Okay.’

‘I mean it. I’ll just walk away.’

‘Okay.’ He looks anxious, and as I see this I start to relax. The balance of power has shifted, yet it’s more than that.

I realize this is what I wanted, all along. I wanted to see him bothered, I wanted to know that he understood what was at stake, I wanted to see him frightened that he might lose me. I wanted to see my own insecurities reflected in him.

I soften my voice. ‘No more games. Okay? All that stuff we’ve been talking about’ – I lower my voice – ‘the playacting, the rough sex. It has to stop.’

‘Okay.’

‘I can’t have you turning up unannounced. I can’t go back home covered in bruises…’

‘Whatever you say, as long as it isn’t over.’

I reach across and take his hand. ‘How can it be over?’

‘What happens now?’

‘Now? I go home.’

‘Will I see you on Tuesday?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

He looks relieved.

‘I’m sorry. About the games, and stuff. I guess I’m not so good at romance.’ He pauses. ‘We’ll do something. Next time. Something lovely. Leave it with me.’

A week passes. Connor goes back to school, a year nearer to his exams, to adulthood and whatever comes with it, a year nearer to moving away from me. I’ve had his blazer dry-cleaned and taken him shopping for shirts and a new pair of shoes. He’s not enthusiastic about going back, but I know that will only last a day or so. He’ll be reunited with his friends, with his routine. He’ll remember how he enjoys his studies. Hugh’s right when he says he’s a good kid.

On his first day back I go to the window and watch him walk down the street; by the time he’s gone a few feet, barely past the end of the drive, he’s loosened his tie, and just at the corner he waits for a moment. One of his friends arrives, they clap each other on the shoulder, then set off together. He’s becoming a man.

I turn away from the window. I have another job tomorrow – the woman whose family I photographed a few weeks ago has recommended me to a friend – and another next week. The hole in my soul is closing, yet part of me still feels empty. Kate’s death still haunts everything I do. When Connor goes, I don’t know how I’ll cope.

I try not to think about it. Today’s Tuesday. I’m meeting Lukas. I have the morning to myself, hours to get ready. It’s like the first time we met, all those weeks and months ago, back when I thought it would be a one-off, nothing more than an opportunity to find out what happened to my sister.

How that has changed.

Yet I know it has to end. Sometimes I think about that moment, when we separate, finally and for ever, and wonder if it’ll be something I’ll be able to survive. Yet separate we must; my relationship with Lukas has no happy ending. I’m married. I’m a mother. I love my husband, and my son, and I can’t have everything.

When I leave the house Adrienne is pulling up in a car. It’s a surprise, not like her at all. I wave and she opens the car door. Her face is grave, set in a hard line, and I’m nervous.

‘New car?’

‘Whatever. Darling, can I come in?’

‘What is it? You’re scaring me.’

‘I thought I’d ask you the same question.’ She points back the way I’d just come. ‘Shall we?’

I stay where I am.

‘Adrienne? What is it?’

‘You’re ignoring me. Why?’

‘Darling, I’m—’

‘Julia. I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days.’

‘Sorry. I’ve not been well.’

Another lie. I feel wretched.

‘Is something going on? Dee says you’re not returning her calls either. And Ali said she invited you to a party and you didn’t even reply.’

Did she? I can’t even remember. I feel something give, as if something in my head has slipped, some kind of defence. My mind begins to flood. Yes, I want to say. Something’s going on. I want to tell her everything, I want it all to come out.

But I know what she’ll say.

‘Going on? Like what?’

She shakes her head. ‘Oh, darling…’

‘What?’

‘Bob’s seen you.’

I flinch. It’s not the enveloping fog of guilt, or shame. This is something else, razor sharp, a scalpel on my skin.

‘Seen what?’

‘You with some guy. He said you were having lunch.’

I shake my head.

‘By the river?’

I tense. I’m flooded with adrenalin. I can’t let her see. ‘Last week?’ I say. ‘Yes, I was having lunch with a friend. Why didn’t he say hello?’

‘He was in a taxi. A friend? He said he didn’t recognize him.’

I try to laugh. ‘Bob doesn’t know all my friends, you know!’

I see her begin to soften. ‘A man friend. He said it looked pretty intimate. Who was it?’

‘Just someone I met. I took a photograph of him and his wife.’ I take a risk. ‘She was with us.’

‘He said it was just the two of you.’

‘She must’ve been in the loo. What’s this about? You think I’m having an affair?’

She looks right at me. ‘Are you?’

‘No!’

I hold her gaze.

‘Adrienne, I’m telling the truth.’

‘I hope so,’ she says.

I don’t look away. I am , I want to say. I want to plead my innocence.

But is that because I want it to be true, or because I want to wriggle off the hook?

‘I’m really sorry, but I have to go. I have a shoot.’

I’m carrying no equipment. I see her notice.

‘Later, I mean. I have to get some things first. Some shopping.’

She sighs. ‘Okay. But call me. We’ll talk properly.’

I tell her I will.

‘Where are you off to? Do you want a lift?’

I tell her, ‘No, no I’m fine.’

‘Promise you’ll call me,’ she says, and then she’s gone.

Now I’m in a taxi. I feel jumpy, anxious. Bob has seen me and Lukas. A lucky escape, I think, but next time? Next time it might be Adrienne herself, or even Hugh.

I’ve been neglecting him. I know that. I have to give Lukas up.

Either that or I have to start being more careful. I’m not sure which I want more.

I pull up to the St Pancras hotel and go into the lobby. It reminds me of the first time I came here. There’s the same sense of danger, and excitement. The same notion that everything might be about to change.

I go to the reception desk and give my name. The woman behind the desk nods. ‘For Mr Lukas?’ she says.

‘Yes, that’s right.’

She smiles. ‘There’s a package for you.’ She reaches under the desk, then hands me a parcel. It’s a little bigger than a shoebox, wrapped in brown paper, sealed with packing tape. My name is scrawled on the front in black marker pen. ‘And Mr Lukas asked me to give you a message,’ she says. She hands me a slip of paper. ‘Running late,’ it says. ‘There’s champagne on ice behind the bar. Hope you like the gift.’

I thank her. I wonder why he’s bought us champagne when he knows I don’t drink. I begin to turn away. ‘Oh,’ I say, turning back, ‘do you have some scissors?’

‘Of course.’ She hands over a pair. I stand at the desk and slit through the tape. I think of Hugh as I do so; I imagine myself touching a scalpel to yellow-stained flesh, watching as the skin yields then gives with a swell of red. I hand the scissors back to her then take the box to one of the chairs nearby. I want to be alone when I open my gift.

I take a deep breath and fold back the flaps. A smell hits me – not unpleasant, stale air, a faint, floral trace of perfume. Inside, there’s tissue, a sealed envelope. It’s this I open first.