S. Watson - Second Life

‘And how would he get his hands on yours, anyway?’

Once again I look away. ‘He has pictures. Pictures of us. Of me…’

‘Having sex?’ She sounds devastated, the words are seeping out.

I nod. I lower my voice. ‘He’s threatened to show them to people. To Hugh.’

I see Hugh’s face, sitting at the dining table, looking at the pictures. He looks confused, then shocked, then angry. ‘How could you do this?’ he’s saying. ‘How could you?’

‘He’s asked you for Connor’s money?’ says Anna. I think about blackmail. If I let it start, it’d never stop. He’d just demand more and more and more.

‘Not yet. But he might.’

She looks down again. Her eyes seem to lose their focus. She slowly nods her head. She’s remembering, piecing things together.

‘That recording,’ she says eventually. ‘He says he doesn’t love me.’

I reach across the table and take her hand.

‘None of this is your fault. Remember that. He could be anyone. He’s probably not called Ryan or Lukas. We don’t know who he is, Anna. Neither of us does…’ I take a deep breath, this is painful. I’m trying to support her when I have no strength left myself.

But I have to do this.

‘Anna,’ I say. I hate myself for asking her, but know I must. ‘Has he ever hurt you?’

‘Hurt me? No. Why?’

‘During sex, I mean?’

‘No!’ She answers a little too quickly, and I wonder whether she’s telling me the whole truth.

‘I just wanted to make sure—’

She looks horrified. ‘Oh my God. You still think he killed Kate?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m certain he didn’t. He can’t have—’

‘You’re crazy,’ she says, but at the same time I see horror flash on her face. It’s as if I can see her faith, her belief in her fiancé, disappear.

‘He killed Kate,’ she says.

‘No. He can’t have—’

She interrupts.

‘No! You don’t understand,’ she says. She’s speaking quickly, caught up in the whirring cogs of her own fantasy. I’d done it myself, not long ago. Tried to make his behaviour fit into a pattern I could recognize. ‘He might’ve met her, online, then found out about the money. He might’ve got close to me just to get to her, then killed her, and—’

‘No. No, it’s coincidence. Lukas was in Australia when Kate died. And anyway—’

‘But we don’t know that! He might’ve lied to both of us…’

‘They’ve caught the man who killed her. Remember?’

She still looks unconvinced. I go on. ‘Anyway, there’re photos. They show him, in Australia. They’re dated from the time that Kate was killed…’

‘Is that conclusive? I mean, can’t you alter those things?’

I don’t answer. ‘But the main thing is they caught him, Anna. They caught the man who killed her.’

It seems finally to sink in. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she says. A low moan starts in her throat; I think she’s going to scream. ‘How could he do this to me? How could he?’

‘It’ll be okay. I promise.’

‘I have to end it, don’t I?’ I nod. She reaches for her bag. ‘I’ll do it now…’

‘No! No, you mustn’t. He can’t know I’ve told you. He said if I told you he’d show Hugh those pictures. Anna, we have to be clever about this…’

‘How?’

I’m silent. I know what I want her to do. To wait for a while, to pretend to the man she calls Ryan that she’s still in love with him. And then to end it, in a way that seemingly has nothing to do with me.

Yet how can I ask her to do that? I can’t. The idea is monstrous. She has to realize it for herself.

‘I don’t know. But if you end it now he’ll know I had something to do with it.’

She’s incredulous. ‘You want me to carry on seeing him?’

‘Not exactly—’

‘You do!’

‘No, Anna. No… I don’t know…’

Her face collapses. All her defiance rushes out, replaced by bitterness and regret.

‘What am I going to do?’ She opens her eyes. ‘Tell me! What am I going to do?’

I reach out to her. I’m relieved when she doesn’t push me away. Sadness fills her face. She looks much older, nearer to my age than to Kate’s.

‘It’s up to you.’

‘I need to think about it. Give me a few days.’

I’ll have to live with the uncertainty. But next to what she has to live with, that’s nothing.

‘I wish this had never happened. I wish it could be different.’

‘I know,’ she says.

We sit for a while. I’m drained, without energy, and when I look at her I see she is, too. The station seems less crowded, though that might be my imagination; the lunchtime rush can hardly make any difference to somewhere so perpetually busy. Nevertheless, a quietness descends. Anna finishes her drink then says she has to leave. ‘There’ll be another train soon. I need to go and get a ticket…’

We stand. We grip our chairs for support, as if the world has tilted to a new axis. ‘Do you want me to help? I really don’t mind paying—’

‘No. It’s fine. I’m fine. You don’t have to do that.’

She smiles. She knows I feel guilty, that the offer of money is my attempt to assuage that guilt.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say again. I desperately need to know I have her friendship, but for a long moment she doesn’t move. Then she’s melting into me. We hug. I think she’s going to start crying again, but she doesn’t.

‘I’ll call you. In a day or so?’

I nod. ‘You’ll be okay?’ I’m aware of how trite the question sounds, how meaningless, yet I’m exhausted. I just want her to know I care.

She nods. ‘Yes.’ Then she lets go. ‘Will you?’

‘Yes.’ I’m far from certain it’s the truth. She picks up her case. ‘Go. I’ll get this. And good luck.’

She kisses me again. Wordlessly, she turns to leave. I watch as she crosses the concourse, heads for the stairs that lead down to the ticket offices. She rounds the corner and goes out of sight. I feel suddenly, terribly, alone.

Monday. Hugh is due to have a meeting about his case today; he’ll find out whether his statement has satisfied the chief executive, the medical director, the clinical governance team. If it has, they’ll refute the claim; if not, they’ll concede that he made a mistake. ‘And then they’ll close ranks,’ he said. ‘It’ll all be about preserving the reputation of the hospital. I’ll probably be disciplined.’

‘But you won’t lose your job?’

‘Doubtful. But they’re saying I might.’

I couldn’t imagine it. His job is his life. If he were to lose it the repercussions would be catastrophic, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to cope with something like that hitting our family. Not with everything else that’s going on.

Yet I’d have to, there wouldn’t be a choice. I clung to the word ‘doubtful’.

I have to be strong.

‘Are you all right?’ I said.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, tilting his head back. ‘I am. I have to be. I have to go into theatre this morning. I have to operate on a woman who’ll most likely be dead within weeks if nothing is done. And I have to do that with a clear head, no matter what else is going on.’ He shook his head. He looked angry. ‘That’s what really pisses me off. I haven’t done anything wrong. You know that? I forgot to warn them that for a few weeks their father might forget where he’d put the remote control. No’ – he corrected himself – ‘I didn’t even do that. I forgot to write down that I’d warned them. That’s what this amounts to. I was too busy worrying about the operation itself to write the details of some trivial conversation down in the notes.’