S. Watson - Second Life

Then she speaks.

‘I don’t believe you. It doesn’t even sound like him. Ryan’s right.’

I see the doubt on her face. She’s not sure.

‘Listen again. Listen—’

‘It’s not him.’ Her voice falters, broken. ‘It can’t be.’

Her free hand goes to my phone, though. She presses the play button, tries to turn up the volume.

‘Love Anna?… I don’t love her.’

‘Anna. Please…’ There’s a hand on my arm, someone tugging at the sleeve of my jacket, trying to drag me away.

‘Anna?’

She looks up at me, then. The expression on her face is chilling, her eyes wide with disbelief and pure horror. It’s as if I’m watching all of her plans evaporate, taking flight like nervous birds, leaving nothing behind.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘We need to talk.’ It’s so quiet I can barely hear her. The crowd around us senses the breaking tension and begins to move, to go back to their day. The bubble of drama that had formed in front of them has burst. Anna turns to the official standing between us and says, ‘Can you let me back through? Please? I need to talk to my friend…’

Time seems to speed up. The world has been on pause, held in the thrall of her fury, and my desperation. But now it’s all been released; it crashes in. The noise of the station, the bustle and chatter, the old piano that’s been installed on the concourse and which somebody is playing badly, the same phrase, again and again. I take her arm and she doesn’t resist; together we go, up the escalator, supporting each other. We’re silent. I suggest a coffee, but she shakes her head, says she needs a drink. I need one, too, I tell myself I could, just this once, but I force the thought away. Anna is crying, her voice cracks as she tries to speak. She fumbles for a tissue and we go upstairs to the bar. I feel wretched, my guilt is almost overwhelming. All I can think is, I’ve done this. This is my fault .

We sit under the umbrellas. Behind me the door leads to the hotel, to the room in which Lukas and I first had sex. Memories of our affair are everywhere, and I look away, trying to ignore them. Anna is murmuring something about her train. ‘I’m going to miss it,’ she says, stating the obvious. ‘I want to go home.’

I hand her a tissue. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll help. You can stay with me, or—’

‘No. Why would I want to do that?’

She looks angry. It’s as if things are finally coalescing for her, the hurt she feels condensing, becoming easier to comprehend. I want to do something, make some small gesture, however meaningless.

‘Then I’ll pay for you to go on the next train. But Anna, you have to let me explain. I didn’t want any of this to happen…’

‘I can pay for my own ticket.’ She’s defiant, but then she looks down at her lap. I imagine she wonders how she could ever have got herself into this situation, how she could have let herself trust Ryan. And also how she could have ever trusted me. The waiter comes over and I order some water and a glass of white wine. He asks which we want, whether we’d like to see the list. ‘Anything. Just the house white is fine…’

Anna looks up once he’s moved away. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. Believe me. I never knew… I didn’t know that that man, Lukas was seeing you. If I had, I’d never have dreamt—’

‘You mean he didn’t tell you? He didn’t tell you he was engaged? To me?’

‘No.’ I’m emphatic. ‘Of course not.’ I want to make her understand; right now it’s all that seems to matter.

‘And you didn’t think to ask?’

‘Anna, no. I didn’t. He was wearing a wedding ring—’

She interrupts me, shocked.

‘A ring?’

‘Yes. He told me he’d been married, once, but that his wife had died. That was it. I thought he was single. I didn’t… I wouldn’t have seen him if I’d known he was involved with someone else. Least of all you…’

Even as I say it I wonder if it’s true. Am I kidding myself? My relationship with Lukas had developed incrementally, had started off with my search for the truth, developed into chatting online, and from there had turned into what it became. Even if he had been married, or engaged, at what point would I have stopped it, said, no, this far but no further? At what point should I have done that?

There’s a point when an online dalliance might become dangerous, but who can really say when it is?

‘I swear.’

‘And I’m supposed to believe that?’

I feel a flicker of anger, of injured pride, but her face is impassive.

‘He pursued me, Anna. You might not want to hear that, and I’m sorry, but you need to know. He came after me.’

She blinks. ‘You’re lying. He wouldn’t.’

Her words are a slap. They sting. Why not? I want to say. Why wouldn’t he? I’m aware again of the way he’d made me feel. Young, desirable. Alive.

‘Because of my age?’

She sighs. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t mean that. I just meant…’ The sentence dissolves, her head sags to her chest. She looks exhausted. ‘I don’t know what to think.’

‘Anna—’

She raises her head. She looks defeated, she’s searching for help, for somewhere to turn. ‘Tell me what happened. I want it all.’

And so I do. I tell everything, in great detail. She’s silent as I talk. Five minutes. Ten. The waiter comes with the glass of wine and my water, but I push my drink away and keep talking. There are things she’s heard before, and things she hasn’t, yet this is the first time she’s known the story is not about me and a stranger but about me and her fiancé. I find it hard enough; for her the pain must be unbearable. Every time I ask her if she’d like me to stop she shakes her head. She says she needs to hear it. I tell her about Lukas’s first approach. I tell her that we’d started to message regularly, that I thought he lived abroad, in Milan, that he told me he travelled a lot. I explained that he’d asked me to go and meet him, in real life, and because I’d thought it could only happen once and might lead me to the truth about my sister I’d done so.

‘And you had sex?’ Her lips are set in a hard line. I hesitate. She knows we did.

I nod.

‘What was it like?’

‘Anna. Please… I’m not sure it’s a good idea—’

‘No. Tell me.’

I know she wants to hear that it was disappointing. That we didn’t click, that it was obvious his heart wasn’t in it. She wants to be allowed to think what they have is special, and that what happened between me and him was a one-off, nothing.

I can’t lie, but neither do I want to make her feel any worse than she already does.

I look away. Unwittingly, my eyes are drawn to the statue across the platforms. ‘It was… all right.’

‘All right. So you never saw him again, after that one time. Right?’

Her sarcasm is caustic. She knows I did.

‘I never intended for it to become an affair. I never intended any of it.’

‘And yet here we are.’

‘Yes. Here we are. But you must understand, Anna, I didn’t know he even knew you. I promise. What can I swear on?’ I whisper. ‘Connor’s life? Believe me, if that’s what it takes I will.’

She looks at the wine in the glass in front of her, then back up to me. She seems to make a decision. ‘Why? Why is he doing this?’

‘I don’t know. Money?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘He knows Kate left money to you, and to Connor. Maybe he was hoping to get his hands on Connor’s share as well as yours—’

‘He isn’t going to get his hands on mine!’ She sounds shocked, affronted. ‘We’re getting married!’

‘I’m sorry. You know what I mean.’