S. Watson - Second Life

‘I’d better not—’

He interrupts. ‘Please? Just a coffee? I only want to talk to you.’

It sounds ominous; certainly it’s not casual. How can I say no?

‘Okay.’

That evening I tell Hugh. ‘Paddy?’ he says. I nod. ‘But what does he want to see you for?’

I tell him I don’t know. I ask him why he wants to know; we’re friends, after all, it shouldn’t be that shocking.

He shrugs but looks worried. ‘Just wondered.’

It crosses my mind that Connor did see something that day. Maybe he’s told his father but Hugh has decided to say nothing as long as things don’t progress.

Or maybe he’s worried that we’ll go to a bar, that I’ll be persuaded to drink alcohol.

‘There’s nothing going on between me and Paddy Renouf,’ I say. ‘We’re just going for a coffee. And it will be a coffee. I promise.’

‘Okay,’ he says. But he still doesn’t look convinced.

We arrange to meet in a Starbucks in town. It’s cold, raining, and he’s late. I’m sitting with a drink by the time he arrives. The last time I saw him he was bruised, his face swollen, but that was weeks ago and he looks back to normal now.

We kiss awkwardly before sitting down. A friendly kiss, a peck on each cheek. I think of the time we kissed in Carla’s summer house. How different that had been. It crosses my mind that it would have been better if I’d slept with him, rather than Lukas. But then that might have turned out worse. How do I know?

‘How are you?’

I sip my drink. ‘I’m all right.’ The atmosphere is heavy, awkward. I hadn’t known quite what to expect, but it hadn’t been this. It’s obvious he’s here for a reason. He has something to tell me.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.’ It’s a surprise, him apologizing to me.

I look down at my drink. A hot chocolate, with whipped cream swirled on top.

‘For what?’

‘What happened, over the summer. You know. At Carla’s party. And then—’

I interrupt. ‘Forget it.’ But he continues:

‘—and then not ringing you. All summer, I’ve wanted to apologize. I’d had too much to drink, but it was no excuse. I guess I was embarrassed.’

I look at him. I can see what this honesty is costing him, yet I can’t reciprocate. For a moment I’d like to. I’d like to tell him everything. I’d like to tell him he has nothing to apologize for because, next to mine, his transgressions are insignificant.

But I don’t. I can’t. These are things I’ll never be able to tell anyone.

‘Honestly. It’s fine—’

‘I haven’t been a good friend.’

It’s been an odd time, I want to say. I haven’t been a good friend either.

But I don’t.

He looks at me. ‘How’re you doing now?’

‘Not bad.’ I realize it’s mostly true; my grief hasn’t gone, but I’m beginning to see a way I can live with it. ‘You know they caught the guy who killed my sister.’

He shakes his head. Hugh must not have told Maria, or else Maria hasn’t told her husband. I tell him the story, and in doing so realize that the fog of Kate’s death is lifting. The pain is still there, but for the first time since February it’s no longer the prism through which everything else is refracted. I’m not stuck, wading through a life that’s become thickened with grief and anger, or else ricocheting out of control, and I’m no longer angry – with her for getting herself killed, with myself for not being able to do anything to protect her.

‘It still hurts,’ I say. ‘But it’s getting better.’

‘Good.’ He pauses. We’re building up to something. ‘You have friends around you?’

Do I? Adrienne, yes, we’ve spoken in the last couple of days, but there’s still some way to go to reverse the damage done. ‘I have friends, yes. Why?’ He looks oddly relieved, and I realize the reason he’s here involves me, somehow.

‘What is it, Paddy?’

His face is expressionless for a few moments, then he seems to make a final decision.

‘I have something to tell you.’

I try to focus, to pull myself into the present. ‘What is it?’

I don’t breathe. The air between us is as thick as oil.

‘Maria told me she slept with someone.’

I nod slowly, and then I know what’s coming. Some part of me – some buried part, some reptilian part – knows exactly what he’s going to say.

He opens his mouth to speak. It seems to take for ever. I say it for him.

‘Hugh.’

His face breaks into relief. Still part of me hopes he’ll contradict me, but he doesn’t. I wonder when he’d known.

‘Yes. She told me she slept with Hugh.’

I can’t work out how I feel. I’m not shocked; it’s like I’ve known all along. It’s nearer to numbness, an absence of feeling. I take a deep breath. The air fills my lungs. I expand, I wonder if I could keep breathing in until I’m bigger than the pain.

‘When?’ My voice echoes off the walls.

‘In Geneva. She says it was just once. Apparently, it hasn’t happened since.’ He stops speaking. I wonder if he’s waiting for me to say something. I don’t have anything to say. Just once? I wonder if he believes his wife. I wonder if I do.

‘Hugh hasn’t told you?’

‘No.’ So that’s why Hugh hasn’t invited them round for months. It has nothing to do with what Connor may or may not have seen in the summer house.

I feel cold, as if I’m sitting in a draught. Hugh and I have always told each other the truth. Why hasn’t he told me this?

But then, look at what I haven’t told him.

‘I’m sorry.’

I look at him. He’s in more pain than I am. He looks empty, hollow. I can see he hasn’t slept.

Then, I realize. That’s why he kissed me. He knew, or suspected at least. I was his revenge.

I don’t blame him. I ought to reach out and hold him and tell him it’ll be all right, the way I tell Connor things will be all right. Because I have to. Because it’s my job, whether I believe it or not.

But I don’t. I keep my hands on the table.

‘Thank you for telling me.’

‘I thought I ought to. I’m sorry.’

We sit for a moment. The space between us seems to expand. We should be able to help each other, but we can’t.

‘No, you did the right thing.’ I pause. But did he? It’s not so clear cut; sometimes there are things it’s better off not knowing. ‘What’re you going to do?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t decided. Maria and I have some talking to do, but I know that. I suppose we all make mistakes.’ He’s talking to himself, not to me. ‘Don’t we?’

I nod. ‘We do.’

On the way home I call Hugh. I feel different, in some way I can’t quite determine. It’s as if something has shifted within me, there’s been some violent rearrangement and things haven’t yet settled. I’m furious, yes, but it’s more than that. My fury is mixed with something else, something I can’t quite identify. Jealousy, that Hugh’s affair has been short-lived and uncomplicated? Relief, that my husband has a secret of his own, one that almost matches mine, and now I don’t have to feel quite so bad?

His phone rings out. I’m still not sure what I’m going to say to him when we speak and I’m relieved when it clicks through to voicemail.

I hear myself speak. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were okay.’ I realize that’s all I’d really called for. To hear his voice. To make sure he still exists, and hasn’t been swept away by the tidal wave that has threatened everything else. ‘Phone me back, when you get the chance.’

I end the call. I wonder how I’d feel if he didn’t ring back, if he were never to ring back again. I imagine a car smashing into him, a terrorist bomb, or something as mundane as a heart attack, a stroke. I imagine trying to live with myself, knowing during the last months of his life I’d been resenting him, suspecting him, looking elsewhere so that I could avoid confronting myself. As I try, I realize I can’t. He’s always there. He always has been. I still remember getting off that flight – the one he’d paid for, the one that brought me home. He was waiting for me, not with flowers, not even with love, but with something far simpler, and far more important back then. Acceptance. That night he took me to his home, not to his bed, but to the spare room. He let me cry, and sleep, and he sat with me when I wanted him to and left me alone when I didn’t. The next morning he set about getting me help. He demanded nothing, not even answers to his questions. He promised to tell no one I was there, until I felt strong, until I felt ready.