S. Watson - Second Life

I stand up. I can’t leave it here. I imagine Connor picking it up, taking a look. What would he say? What would he think? I find it and go upstairs. I put it in my drawer; tomorrow I’ll take it out, throw it in the canal or under the wheels of a bus. I want a drink, yet am aware it’s the last thing I ought to do. Once I start I might not be able to stop. I run a shower instead, as hot as I can bear it. Still my skin has never felt less alive. It’s only when the water is so hot it nearly scalds that I feel anything at all.

For the next two days I don’t sleep. I call Anna, over and over, but she doesn’t answer. I’m on edge. I startle at every noise, wondering if it’s Lukas. I dread every call or message, every package in the post. I’m not sure what to do. I call Adrienne, but I can’t tell her what’s wrong. I just say I’m not well, I have a virus, I’ll talk to her next week. She’s going to be away for a few days anyway, she says. Bob’s taking her to Florence.

I decide I’ll turn up for lunch with Anna, at her hotel as we arranged. He might be there, of course, or she might not want to speak to me, but I have no other option. In any case, I decide a severance might actually be better; I could go back to my own life, then, concentrate on Connor and Hugh.

Still I can’t settle. I want to leave the house but can think of nowhere to go. I want to switch my phone off, but daren’t in case I miss a call from Anna. By Thursday Hugh has noticed; he tells me I need to get out, to do something to take my mind off Kate. ‘You’ve just taken a step backwards,’ he says. He thinks the grief has returned, and in a way he’s right. There’s the grief he knows about, and also the grief he doesn’t.

I take Connor out for supper. I choose a bun-free burger and a salad, though when I look over at Connor’s meal, all melting cheese and twice-fried chips, I wonder why I’m bothered. My life is falling apart, my affair about to be exposed in the worst possible way. Why do I care what I look like, what I eat?

Perhaps Kate had the right idea. Eat, drink, fuck who you like and never mind the consequences.

And then die.

I reach over and grab a couple of Connor’s fries. He looks up from his phone, his brow furrowed, his face a picture of mock-indignation. ‘Mum!’ he says, but he’s laughing. It’s a tiny moment of pleasure, seeing him happy. I wonder if it’s the first time since we told him they’d caught Kate’s killer.

I nod at his phone. ‘What’re you up to?’ I say.

He puts his phone back on the table. Within reach, face down. It buzzes almost straight away.

‘It’s just Facebook. And I’ve got a chess game going.’

‘With Dad?’

‘No. Hugh only likes to play in real life.’

‘Hugh?’ I’m shocked, momentarily.

‘He said I could call him that, if I wanted. He said he didn’t mind.’

It bothers me. He’s growing up, but also pushing away from us. The first is inevitable, but like every parent I’d hoped to avoid the second, for a little while longer at least.

But in a way it’s good to be upset by this. After the horrors of the last few days, the worry about Anna and the pictures Lukas has on his computer, this is something mundane and easily sorted. It feels normal. Family stuff.

‘Just don’t ask to call me Julia.’ I’m Mum, I want to add.

‘Okay.’

I smile. I want him to know I understand, that I remember being a teenager; that desperate hunger for adulthood and responsibility. I want him to know I’m part of his world, that I love him. He takes a huge bite of his burger; juice runs down his chin. He wipes it with the back of his hand and I pass him a napkin. I can’t help myself. He takes it from me but doesn’t use it. I pick at my salad, casting around for something to talk about.

‘How’s football?’

‘I was picked for the team again. I’m playing next Saturday.’

He pauses, then says, ‘Oh! Did I tell you?’

I put down my fork. The noise in the restaurant seems suddenly to increase. He’s looking at me, expectantly, his eyebrows raised, and I shake my head.

He takes another bite of his burger, a few fries.

‘Well…’ he begins. I’m about to tell him to please finish chewing before beginning to speak but something, some kind of premonition, stops me. ‘You remember when we went to see Planet of the Apes ?’

I feel myself tense. ‘Uh-huh?’

He reaches for the mayonnaise. ‘Well, you remember the creepy guy? The guy who came in and sat right by us and then just left?’

I try to sound as though I’m struggling to recall. ‘Oh, yes,’ I hear myself say. I don’t recognize my own voice; it sounds filtered, distorted, as if it’s coming from some distance away. ‘I’d completely forgotten about him,’ I add. There’s a catch in my voice and it sounds false, even to me. Yet he doesn’t seem to notice. I watch, silently, bile rising to my throat, waiting for him to continue as he squirts mayonnaise on to his plate, then goes for the ketchup. As he speaks he mixes the two to a marbled pink mush. I want him to hurry up with whatever he’s got to tell me.

‘Last night I saw him again,’ he says. ‘You remember I went bowling? With Dylan and Molly and the others? Well, he was there. Over in the next alley.’ He picks up a handful of fries, dips them in the pink sauce. ‘I noticed him first of all ’cos it looked like he was there on his own. Y’know, no kids or anything. We thought he was waiting for someone, but nobody turned up. He just stood there bowling by himself. Then he left. Weird, eh? I mean, who does that? Molly thought he looked like a paedo.’

My head begins to spin. I flush, as if all the blood in my body were rushing to my head and neck, then a moment later everything – Connor, the rest of the restaurant – begins to recede, as if disappearing down a tunnel.

‘Mum?’ says Connor. ‘Are you okay?’

I reach for the glass of water in front of me. It’s cool to the touch; I bring it to my mouth. The movement is mechanical, I do it without thinking. I sip, and some spills from the overfull glass. I barely notice; it’s as if I’m watching myself from the other side of the room.

‘Mum?’ says Connor, more urgently. He looks worried, but I can do nothing to allay his fears.

My head spins with images of Lukas. I should’ve known. I should have protected my son. I’ve let him down, just like Kate and Anna. I force myself back to the present.

‘Yes?’ I realize water is dripping down my chin. I wipe it. ‘I’m fine. Sorry? Go on…’

‘Well, that’s it. He just turned up and bowled and—’

Another rush of panic hits. ‘How did you know it was him?’

‘Oh, y’know?’ He picks up another couple of fries. I grab his hand.

‘Connor. How did you… are you sure?’

He looks at my hand on his arm, then up to my face. ‘Yes, Mum. I recognized him. He was wearing the same cap. Remember? The Vans trucker? It was a classic patch—’

I don’t know what he’s talking about. I must look puzzled; he seems to be about to describe it to me when he changes his mind. ‘Anyway. He had the same cap on.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes!’

‘Did he say anything to you?’

‘Not really…’

Anger begins to displace the panic. Anger with myself, with Lukas, with Connor. ‘Not really? Is that not really yes, or not really no? Which is it, Connor?’

My voice has risen, in both pitch and volume. I fight to control it.

‘He just said sorry.’ Already he sounds resentful, sulky. He’s looking at me as if I’ve gone crazy. I can see he wishes he hadn’t mentioned it. ‘He spilled his beer over me. That’s all. It was an accident. Anyway…’

It’s clear he wants to change the subject, but I ignore him. ‘So what did this guy say?’