S. Watson - Second Life

‘Julia?’

‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Nothing. I…’

I let the sentence disappear. Again I wish I could tell him, but how can I? All this has happened because I tried to take more than I was owed. More than I deserved. I had my second chance, my second life, and it wasn’t enough. I wanted more.

And now, if I tell my husband, I’ll lose my son.

I go upstairs. There’s a message on my phone, one that I suppose I’ve been expecting.

It’s from Lukas. My heart leaps, though now my response is Pavlovian, meaningless, and as soon as it forms it disappears and turns to terror.

You’ve won, I think. Okay, you’ve won.

I want to delete it unread, but I can’t. I’m compelled, driven. I marvel at Lukas’s timing, almost as if he knows exactly when I’m most vulnerable. I wonder if Connor’s somehow back on Facebook already, broadcasting to the world.

I click on the message.

There’s a map. ‘Meet me here.’ It’s just like the old days, except this time the message continues.

‘Noon. Tomorrow.’

I hate him, yet I look at the map. It’s Vauxhall, a place I don’t know well.

I type quickly.

– No, I say. Not there. Forget it.

I wait, then a message appears.

– Yes.

I feel hate, nothing but hate. It’s the first time my feelings for him have been wholly, unambiguously, negative. Far from giving me strength, for the briefest of moments it saddens me.

A moment later an image appears. Me, on my hands and knees, in front of him.

Bastard, I think. I delete it.

– What d’you want from me?

– Meet me tomorrow, he replies. And you’ll find out.

There’s a pause, and then:

– Oh, and surely you don’t need me to tell you to come alone?

I don’t sleep. Morning comes, my family eats breakfast. I claim a headache and more or less leave Hugh to make sure Connor gets ready for school. I feel nothing. I’m numb with fear. Unable to think of anything other than what I have to do today.

I take the tube. I’m thinking back to Lukas’s last message. Who would I bring, anyway? Does he think I know someone who could be trusted with this? Anna still isn’t answering my calls, and even if I felt I could confide in Adrienne, she’s away until next week. I realize again how grief has overwhelmed me, has taken everything, and in its place there’s nothing but emptiness. And so I’m here, facing Lukas, alone.

I emerge from the tube station into the clear light of a sunny day. There are people everywhere, on their way to lunch, pushing prams, smoking on office steps and outside the station. Ahead of me there are blocks of flats, silver and glistening after a misting of rain, and beyond them the river. I follow the map on my phone and walk through a tunnel, lit with neon, as trains roll overhead, and emerge to traffic and more noise. There are alleyways, graffiti, refuse bins everywhere, but the area has a strange beauty. It’s rough, it has edges. It’s real. In different circumstances I would have wished I’d remembered my camera; as it is, I couldn’t care less.

I check my phone again. I’m here, more or less, the corner of Kennington Lane and Goding Street. The Royal Vauxhall Tavern stands alone; beyond it is a park. I wonder if that’s where Lukas intends us to go. I tell myself I’ll refuse, if so. It’s too dangerous.

I light a cigarette, my third of the day. I guess this means I’ve started smoking again. I inhale. Hold. Exhale. Its rhythms calm me, even in these desperate circumstances; I can’t believe how much I’ve missed it. I look at my watch.

I’m late. He’s even later, I think, but then I feel his gaze burning into me and I know. He’s here, out of sight, watching me.

Suddenly I see him approach. He’s in front of me, wearing a blue parka jacket. He’s walking slowly, his head up. I’m aware my hands are shaking. Instinctively I put my hand in my pocket, feel for my phone, just as I’ve been practising. By the time he’s level with me I’m ready, composed. For a long moment we stare at each other, then he speaks.

‘Hello, Julia.’ He glances at what I’m wearing: jeans, a sweater, my Converse trainers. I tell myself not to react. I mustn’t let him make me angry. I’m here to find out exactly what he wants, to make him stop.

I notice the red mark on his cheek. I open my mouth to speak when he lunges for me. He grabs my arm, I yelp.

‘What the—?’ I begin, but he silences me. His grip is strong, and then he kisses me on the cheek. It’s rough, unpleasant, yet brief. Even so, every part of my body reacts powerfully, reflexively. I pull away.

‘For old time’s sake. Come on.’

He tries to direct me down Goding Street, towards the arches under the railway. A street of bike shops and storerooms, the shuttered rear entrances of the bars and clubs of the Albert Embankment. I resist. ‘What’s down there?’ I say, my voice high and anxious. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘Somewhere quiet,’ he says.

I have visions of being found, my neck broken, bleeding, gutted like one of Hugh’s patients. I have to remind myself again that he didn’t kill Kate, that I mustn’t let him see my fear. Whatever else he did, he didn’t do that. I repeat it like a mantra.

I shake my arm free. I could run, I think. Into the pub, though its shuttered windows suggest it might not be open.

‘Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘Just stay away from me.’ I’m shaking with fear, my voice is unsteady. ‘We can talk here—’

‘You want me to stay away from you ?’ He looks incredulous. ‘I want you to stay away from me , and from Anna.’ I begin to protest, but he continues. ‘You’re the one who’s messaging me non-stop, who’s ringing me up day and fucking night, over and over. I had to change my fucking number, just to get rid of you.’

I stare at him. We’re both totally still, as if locked in stalemate, then I speak. ‘No,’ I say. ‘No.’

‘So, you’re the one who won’t leave me alone.’ He points to his cheek. ‘I mean, look at this. Crazy. You’re crazy.’

The wound has healed, more or less. It’s superficial. Soon it won’t be visible at all.

‘You did that.’

He laughs. ‘Are you mad? I brought the knife down with me to protect myself, not so that I could stab myself! I didn’t know you were going to lose it and try to grab it out of my hand…’

‘No. No, no…’ I take a step back. I remind myself why I’m here. To protect Connor. ‘You’re stalking my son!’

‘What?’

‘The bowling alley. He told me.’

He laughs. ‘You’re crazier than I thought! So keep away from me, okay? Or else—’

‘Or else what?’

‘Haven’t you worked it out yet? I can do anything. Anything at all… Hugh? Anna? I can destroy them both. Unless there’s a way you could make it worth my while not to…’

‘You’re wrong.’ I try to keep my voice steady. I want it to have a strength I don’t feel. I want him to think I’m telling the truth. ‘You think I care, but I don’t. Hugh and I are only staying together because of Connor. I’ve already told him all about you. He understands. So,’ – I shrug – ‘what you’re trying won’t work. Show those photos to anyone you like…’

‘Anyone?’

I nod.

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘How about Connor?’

I try not to recoil, but I can’t help it. He sees it.

‘Connor’s grounded. You won’t get near him again. Coincidentally or not.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. Me and Connor? We have history now. We’re virtually friends.’

I feel a chill. What does he mean? Is there something else, something I don’t know about? Again the fear comes, that he’s got something to do with Evie. I have to remind myself that Hugh’s spoken to her, in real life. He’s heard her voice. It can’t be Lukas. I have to remember that.