S. Watson - Second Life

‘No!’ I speak a little too harshly, then turn back to Anna and soften my voice. ‘Honestly. You go ahead.’

They stand and we all move into the hallway. Anna turns to me, smiles. ‘Well…’ she says. She holds out her hands, I step forward, into her embrace, while Hugh and Lukas shake hands. ‘It’s all been too quick!’ says Anna. She can tell something is wrong. ‘Promise me you’ll come and see me soon. Bring Connor! Promise me! And I have to let you know about the wedding, as soon as we start to plan. You will come, won’t you?’

I look over to Lukas. He’s smiling, waiting for my answer.

‘Of course I will. I’m seeing you on Saturday, anyway. But I’ll call before then. Soon. Later. Okay?’ She releases me. I want to hold on to her, to tell her to be careful, to warn her, but I don’t want to frighten her. In any case, Lukas is stepping forward.

‘Well. It was great to meet you. I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you.’ For the briefest moment I think he’s talking about the attack, but then I realize he’s talking about Kate.

‘I’m not upset.’ I hold out my hand. The last thing I want is for him to touch me, but it wouldn’t be right for me to avoid him so obviously. ‘You, too.’ He takes my hand and pulls me towards him; I realize he means to embrace me, as if we’ve bonded, as if we’re now best friends. I don’t want to feel him, feel his body, and I resist. But he’s powerful. He hugs me tight, then kisses me. First one cheek, then the other. I can feel the muscles of his chest; despite everything I can’t help the barest fluttering of desire. He holds me for a moment, and I freeze. I’m hollow, scooped out. I’m aware that Anna and Hugh are saying their own goodbye, laughing about something, oblivious to what’s going on.

He whispers into my ear. ‘Tell her and I’ll kill you.’ I feel cold, paralysed, but then a moment later he lets go. He smiles at me once more, then takes Anna’s hand and squeezes my arm.

‘It’s been so great to meet you!’ he says, and then they both turn away and, with another flurry of smiles and waves, Hugh and I are on our own.

I close the door. I hear Lukas and Anna’s footsteps as they walk down the path to the street, and then I hear them laugh. They sound so happy, so at peace with a life that they are living together. I can almost believe Ryan really is who he says he is, that the last half-hour has been imagined. I can almost convince myself that my affair with Lukas is a thing of the past, that Anna’s engagement has just begun and these two things are totally unrelated.

But they aren’t. His final words still ring in my ears.

I turn to Hugh. He’s standing behind me, where he’d said goodbye to our guests. He hasn’t moved. ‘What on earth has got into you?’ He’s speaking quietly, so that only I can hear, but his tone is one of fury.

I can’t let him know. I can’t have him suspecting. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ I go into the living room.

He follows me. ‘What was that all about?’

I pick up a plate, a glass.

‘What?’

‘I know it’s annoying when people say “passed on”, but these euphemisms are pretty common, you know. I hear them all the time. He meant well.’

I can’t even begin to tell him the truth.

‘I’m just… I just get sick of it. You know? She hasn’t passed on , she hasn’t gone to a better place . She was murdered. That guy hit her over the head, with God knows what, until her skull caved in and she bled to death on the ground in an alleyway in… in… fucking Paris .’

He takes a step towards me. I can see he’s trying to calm down now, to be placatory. ‘Darling, I know you’re angry, but that was no reason to take it out on our guest. And think of Connor—’

‘Hugh. For God’s sake!’

I’m shaking, he can see how upset I am; I don’t want him even to suspect what it’s about. I don’t want him to connect it with my behaviour in the hallway when Lukas arrived.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes. I try to take myself out of my anger.

‘Look, I’m sorry.’

He smiles, but it’s a sad smile.

‘You’re not all right, Julia.’ I know where this is going.

‘Don’t start, Hugh!’ I turn to face him, trembling with rage, my heart hammering as though it’s about to explode.

‘I just—’ he begins and I turn round, slam out of the living room, storm up the stairs. I know Connor will be able to hear, but right now I don’t care; I no longer even have the capacity to consider my son.

I get to the bedroom and close the door. I stand still, paralysed. I don’t know what to do. I hear him follow me, stand at the top of the stairs.

I have to warn Anna. Even if it destroys our friendship. I have no choice.

‘Julia?’

‘I’m fine !’ I shout. ‘Just give me a minute. Please.’

I think again of what he said. I’ll kill you . I feel the bruises on my back, my arms, my thighs; they begin to pulse again, as if they were still fresh. I remember what he did to me in that hotel room, how he made me feel. I feel used; used and then discarded.

But kill me? He can’t have meant it.

I hear Hugh retreat. I try to calm down. I tell myself that Kate’s killer is in custody but, over and over, the thought keeps coming back. He did it. They’ve made a mistake. They’ve got the wrong guy.

My mind will not be still, will not be rational. This is what he’s done to me. This is how low he’s brought me. I’m rejecting all sense.

My heart hammers. I remember logging on to Facebook, navigating to his page. I’d scrolled back to the photos of him in Australia, in Sydney, in front of Uluru. The dates tallied. I clicked on his friends, the ones he was with, and saw they’d posted more pictures from that holiday. One of him on a beach, another in which he’s surfing, a third of him snorkelling off a boat. The evidence had been there.

If he had anything at all to do with Kate’s death, then half of his friends must’ve been in on it.

I feel my breathing go back to normal. He’s not a killer, just a nasty piece of work. Scaring me because he knew my sister had been killed. Maybe it’s his revenge, for ending it, for running out on him. How he must hate me.

There must be a way to warn my friend. I pick my phone up from the bedside table and scroll quickly through to Anna’s name. Without hesitating, I press call; I don’t think as it rings out, but then it goes to voicemail. It’s as if she’s silenced it, and I wonder what they’re doing. Maybe they’ve skipped Ronnie Scott’s, or wherever they’ve gone instead, and are on their way back to the hotel.

I picture them. She’ll be under him, kissing him as he enters her, running her fingers down the muscles of his back.

Or maybe she’ll be cowering, in terror, a bruise already forming.

A wave of nausea hits me and I swallow it down. I have to believe he loves her. I have to. Their relationship is genuine; he’s just someone who saw a photo of me – perhaps the one that Anna took when I was over in Paris – and decided he wanted me.

I imagine the conversation. Anna telling him she met me, showing him the snap. ‘She’s really nice,’ she says, and he agrees. And then he comes for me, and I was only too willing to let him have me.

That must be it. He won’t attack her.

But then my own memory surfaces again. The carpet beneath me in the hotel room, the burns on my wrists. I know what he’s capable of. I have to warn her. She has to know before they’re even married that he’s prepared to do something like that.

I pick up my phone once more. This time I leave a message. ‘Call me.’ I try to control my voice, make it sound like I’m not nervous, not scared. ‘It’s urgent,’ I add. ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about.’ I lower my voice, even though Hugh is still downstairs and can’t possibly hear me. ‘It’s about that guy I was seeing. It’s about Lukas.’ I wince when I say his name. ‘Please call me.’