S. Watson - Second Life

‘Where does she live?’

He says nothing.

‘Connor,’ I say again. ‘Where does she live?’

He remains silent. I can see that he won’t tell me. ‘I’m guessing from the bag that it’s not up the road,’ I say. ‘So how’re you going to get there? Eh?’

Connor knows he’s beaten. He can’t survive without me, not yet.

‘I want to go and see her!’ His voice rises, it takes on a pleading edge, and I’m taken back to when he was a child, to when he wanted an ice cream or another bag of sweets, to stay up late to watch some show on TV. ‘Everything else this year’s been shit!’ he says. ‘Except for her! And you know why, Mum!’ It’s an accusation, hurled; it hurts because it’s true, and he knows it. It crosses my mind he did see the kiss I shared with Paddy after all; he’s been storing it up, it’s now when he’ll tell his father. I shake my head. I want him to cry, to turn back into the child I know how to comfort, but he remains resolute. He’s determined.

‘I hate you. I wish you’d never taken me. I wish you’d left me with my real mother!’

It breaks. Whatever I’d been holding in check, it finally breaks. I slap him, hard, across the face.

‘You ungrateful little shit .’ I hate myself as soon as it’s out of my mouth, but it’s too late. His eyes are smarting, but he’s smiling. He knows he’s won. I’ve lost my temper. He’s become the adult and I’m the child.

I hold out my hand. ‘Give me your phone.’

‘No.’

‘Connor.’ Still he doesn’t move. ‘Your phone.’

‘No!’

I look round, at Hugh. My head is tilted, imploring. I hate having to make this request for him to step in, but this is a battle I can’t afford to lose. He hesitates; there’s a long moment when I’m not sure what he’s going to say or do, then he speaks.

‘Give your mother your phone, Connor. You’re grounded for a week.’

Hugh and I sit on the sofa. Together, but separate. We’re not touching. Connor is upstairs. Sulking. He’s surrendered his phone, dug out his old model from one of his drawers, which we’ve told him he can keep. It has no internet connection; he can make calls, receive texts, take pictures. But that’s it. No Facebook. No Twitter. We’ve left his computer in his room, but I’ve told him he has to delete every friend he doesn’t know in real life. He complained, but I told him it was that or I’d take away his computer altogether. He’s behaving as if we’ve cut off a limb.

‘So…’ I begin. Hugh looks at me with something like pity. There’s a calmness in the room, despite the music Connor has insisted on playing loudly upstairs. In an odd way it’s refreshing that Hugh and I are united on something.

‘It’ll blow over. I promise you.’

Shall I tell him? I think. I could, even though it would end it all. My marriage, this life I’ve built, my relationship with Connor. All of it would go.

Yet still I imagine it. I’d take his hand, look him in the eye. ‘Hugh,’ I’d say. ‘There’s something you need to know.’ He’d know, of course, that something was wrong, that it was something bad. I wonder what he’d think: I’m ill, I’m leaving him, I want to move out of London? I wonder what his deepest fears are, where his mind would race. ‘Darling,’ he’d say, ‘what is it?’ And then I suppose I’d say something about how I love him and always have and that hasn’t changed. He’d nod, waiting for the blow, and then, eventually, once I’ve prepared the ground, I’d tell him. ‘I met someone. I met someone and we’ve been having sex, but it’s over. And it turns out that he was already engaged, to Anna of all people, and he has pictures and now he’s trying to blackmail me.’

What would he do? We’d row. Of course we would. Things might be thrown. He’d blame the fact that I’d had a drink, I guess. And my duty would be to let him explode, to let him be angry and accuse me of whatever he wanted, to duck the crockery and to remain silent while he blows off his rage and Connor hears it all.

And then, if I’m lucky, we might be able to figure out what to do, how to stay together. Or – just as likely, if not more so – that would be it. I’ve betrayed him. I know what he’d say. He’d tell me I could have let him help me cope with Kate’s death, but instead I’d run. First, in Paris, I ran to the bottle, back here I ran to the internet, then to bed with a stranger. I’ve no doubt he’d help me to sort out whatever mess I’m in, help Anna, but that would be it. Our relationship would be over.

And he’d want to take Connor, and Connor would want to go with him, and I’d be powerless to stop them. My life would be over. Everything gone. Even the thought of it is utterly unbearable.

‘This Evie,’ I say.

‘The girlfriend?’

‘You know he’s never met her? Hugh? Doesn’t that bother you?’

‘It’s just what they do. Isn’t it?’

‘Do we even know she is who she says she is?’

‘What?’

‘You hear stories, these days.’ I’m treading carefully. This is a story he can’t know I’m part of. ‘All kinds of things,’ I say. ‘There are horror stories. Adrienne’s told me. Kids being groomed…’

‘Well, Adrienne can be a bit melodramatic at times. He’s a sensible boy.’

‘It happens, though.’

I picture Lukas, sitting at a computer, talking to my son.

‘We don’t even know she’s a girl.’

‘You’re the last person I’d have thought would have been bothered about that!’

I realize what he means. ‘No, I’m not talking about him being gay .’ I could cope with that, I think. That would be easy, compared to this, at least. ‘I mean, do we even know this Evie is the person Connor thinks she is. She might be older, a bloke, anything.’

I realize I’m closer than I thought to telling him. It’d be easy, now. I could just say it. I think I know who it is. I think it’s this guy. I’m sorry, Hugh, but…

‘Well…’ He draws breath. ‘I’ve spoken to her…’

A mixture of emotions hits at once. Relief, first, that Connor is safe, but also annoyance. Hugh has been allowed into a part of our son’s life to which I’ve been denied access.

‘What? When?’

‘I can’t remember. She called. The night you went out with Adrienne, I think. She wanted to speak to Connor.’

‘And…?’

‘And what you’re asking is if she’s a girl? Yes. She is.’

‘How old?’

‘I don’t know! I didn’t ask. She sounds about – I don’t know – seventeen?’

‘What did she say?’

He laughs. He tries to sound flippant. He’s trying to reassure me. ‘She said she’d tried his mobile, it was just ringing out, he must have it on silent or something. She asked if he was there. I said yes, we were halfway through a game of chess—’

‘I bet he loved that…’

‘What d’you mean?’

I shrug. I don’t want Hugh to know that none of Connor’s friends knows he plays chess with his father. ‘Carry on. What happened?’

‘Nothing. I gave the phone to him, he took it into his room.’

I’m angry, yet relieved.

‘You should’ve told me.’

‘You’ve been very distracted,’ he replies. ‘There never seems to be a moment to talk. Anyway, he’s growing up. It’s really important that we allow him his privacy. He’s had a really tough time. We should be proud of him, and we must tell him that.’

I say nothing. Silence hangs between us, sticky and viscous, yet familiar and not altogether uncomfortable.

‘Julia. What’s wrong?’

If only I could say. Life is spiralling. I see danger everywhere, I’m paranoid, hysterical.

I don’t speak. A single tear forms.