S. Watson - Second Life

There’s a postcard inside. It’s plain, creamy white. I think back to the cards that were put through my letterbox, the ones I’d told him might have been from Paddy, but there’s no woman in lingerie, no breasts, no pouting girl who looks not quite old enough to be holding the pose she’s holding, wearing the expression she has on her face.

I flip the card over. On one side is a message.

‘A little gift,’ it says. ‘See you soon. Wear this. Lukas.’

I put the note to one side. If he’s crammed an outfit into the box, there can’t be much to it. I lift out the bundle and tear through the tissue paper it’s wrapped in.

It’s a dress. Bright red. A mini-dress, short, with long sleeves and a low-cut back. I can already see how tight it’s going to be, how it will hug my body, hiding nothing, only accentuating the curves of my flesh. I check and find he’s picked the right size, but it’s not the kind of thing I’d wear at all, which must be why he’s chosen it. Beneath it there’s a pair of shoes. They’re black, high-heeled, almost four inches I guess, much higher than I’m comfortable in, with a tiny bow on the toe. I take them out; they’re beautiful. They look expensive.

At the bottom of the box is one more thing. A padded jewellery case in soft red leather. My heart beats with childish excitement as I flip it open. Inside there’s a pair of earrings. Gold drop with a four-leaf-clover design and, unlike the shoes, they look inexpensive.

I react instinctively. My heart thuds, I snap the box closed. They’re similar to the ones Kate was wearing. It’s coincidence, I think. It has to be. He’s forgotten. It’s like when Hugh casually mentioned that Paddy had been mugged but nothing had been taken. I’m over-sensitive. I have to pull myself together.

I find the bathroom. I’m nervous, unmoored. Something doesn’t feel right. It’s the dress, the shoes. The earrings. They’re beautiful, but they’re not gifts one buys for someone they care about. They’re a costume. A disguise. This time he’s making explicit what until now has been implied: this is unreal, a fantasy. I must become other. I must take off my wedding ring, even though he knows I’m married. I must pretend to be someone I’m not. This is a game, a masquerade. It’s exactly what I’d told him I don’t want.

So why am I getting changed? Why am I wearing the dress? I can’t say; it’s almost as though there’s no other option. What’s happening has its own momentum, a pull too powerful to resist. I’m heading into the unknowable, the foreign. I’m light, being drawn into the blackness.

I take the furthest cubicle from the door and lock it behind me. I take off the clothes I’m wearing then hold the dress up in front of me. It unfurls itself, a curtain of red, and I slip it over my head before shimmying the zip closed. I put the heels on the floor then step into them. The height lifts me into another space, a place where I am strong. I take off my earrings and replace them with the ones he’s given me. The transformation is complete. I am other. Julia is no longer here.

I step out of the cubicle and go over to the mirror. My perspective has shifted; everything is different. I no longer know who I am, and I’m glad.

I smile at my reflection and a stranger returns my gaze. She’s beautiful, and utterly confident. She looks a little bit like Kate, though thinner, and older. The bathroom door closes behind me with a sigh.

At the bar I begin to relax. My heart slows to its normal pace, my breathing becomes deeper. Before I can stop him, the waiter has poured some of the champagne Lukas has left, but I ask for water as well. I look around. The bar isn’t busy, just a few people dotted around. I put down my glass. I want to look comfortable when Lukas arrives. Composed. As in something that’s made up, created. Something that’s a fiction.

I drink the water slowly, yet still Lukas hasn’t arrived by the time I finish the first glass. I pour myself another as I look again at the clock on my phone. He’s very late now, and there’re still no messages. I sip my drink and rearrange my dress. I wonder what’s holding him up. I wish I were wearing my own clothes.

A moment later I realize there’s somebody behind me, leaning on the bar. I can’t see him but I know it’s a man – there’s a solidity to him, the space he occupies he does so confidently. Lukas, I think. I begin to smile as I turn, but I’m disappointed. It’s not him. This man is larger than Lukas; he’s wearing a grey suit, holding a glass of beer. He’s alone, or appears to be. He turns and smiles at me. It’s obvious, unsubtle and I’m not used to it. Yet it’s flattering. He’s young, attractive, with a beard, a strong jaw, a nose that’s been broken. I smile back, because it would be rude not to, and look away.

He must take my smile as an invitation. He turns his body to face me, says, ‘How’re you?’

‘I’m fine.’ I think of Lukas, resist the temptation to tell him I’m waiting for someone. ‘Thanks.’

His face opens. He grins, says, ‘D’you mind?’ He’s indicating the empty seat between us but before I can tell him I’m saving it for someone he’s already sitting down. I’m irritated, but only mildly so.

‘I’m David.’ He shakes my hand. His palms have a roughness not suggested by his clothes. I see his eyes sweep my body, travel from my neck, to my arms, to my ringless finger. It’s only when they come to rest once again on my face that I realize he’s still holding my hand.

I’m impatient. It’s Lukas I want to be holding. His flesh, not this man’s.

But he isn’t here, and I’m annoyed, even if I don’t want to admit it.

‘I’m Jayne,’ I say.

‘You’re alone?’

A breeze caresses the back of my neck. I think of Hugh first, and then Lukas.

‘For now,’ I say.

‘Well, I’m very pleased to meet you, Jayne,’ he says. He holds my gaze. He’s reaching inside me. It’s an offer, a proposition. I’m under no illusions, I know it’s because of the clothes I’m wearing. I might not have even noticed it a few months ago; Lukas has sensitized me to it.

But I don’t feel the same thrill that I did when I met Lukas – the thrill of being desired but also of feeling desire. This time it’s slightly uncomfortable. Again I think of telling him I’m waiting for someone, or that I’m married, but for some reason I don’t. That would be hiding behind a man. You can’t have me, because I’m promised to another . It would make me weak. He shifts his weight on the stool so that his right knee is close enough to brush against my left and I get a sudden thrill, so intense it shocks me.

‘Likewise,’ I say. He asks me whether I’m staying in the hotel, whether I’m here on business. I say no. I don’t want to lead him on.

‘How about you?’ I say.

‘Oh, I’m in finance,’ he says. ‘It’s very boring.’

‘Travelling?’

‘Yes. I live in Washington DC.’

‘Really?’ I say.

He nods. ‘What’re you having?’

‘I have a drink already,’ I say. There’s a look of mock-disappointment on his face. I smile, then glance at the time on my phone. Lukas is late and hasn’t sent a further message.

‘Then I’ll have the same.’

There’s a swell and fizz as the drink is poured. We chink glasses, but I don’t drink. Dimly, I’m aware of how this will look when Lukas arrives, which surely can’t be long now. It pleases me. I’d rather this than he sees me alone, desperate, waiting for him.

Yet at the same time I wonder how easy this guy – David – will be to get rid of.

‘So,’ he says, ‘tell me about you. Where are you from?’

‘Me? Nowhere, in particular.’ He looks confused, and I smile. I won’t tell him the truth, but neither do I want to make anything up. ‘I moved around a lot as a child.’