S. Watson - Second Life

‘He just hasn’t come back from lunch.’

‘Okay,’ I say again. I close my eyes as another wave of panic washes on the shore. Have I been worrying too much about what’s happening in Paris, not enough about what’s in front of me?

‘Mrs Wilding?’

‘Thanks for letting me know,’ I say.

She sounds relieved I’m still here.

‘Oh, it’s fine. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be having a word with him about it on Monday, so it’d be great if you could talk to him over the weekend.’

‘I will.’

‘You will let me know when you find him?’

‘Of course.’

‘It’s just there are procedures. If he disappears from the school grounds, I mean.’

‘Of course,’ I say again. ‘I’ll let you know.’

We say goodbye. Without thinking, I call Connor. His phone rings out then goes to voicemail, so I try Hugh. He answers straight away.

‘Julia?’ I can hear a discussion in the background; he’s not alone in the office. Vaguely, I wonder if he’s with Maria, but I hardly care.

My words tumble over each other, my voice cracks. ‘Connor’s gone missing.’

‘What?’

I repeat myself.

‘What do you mean, missing ?’

‘The school secretary rang. Mrs Flynn. He was in school this morning, but he hasn’t gone back this afternoon.’

As I say it I see an image. Lukas, bundling him into a car, driving him off. I can’t shake the feeling that something dreadful is happening, and that Lukas is behind it, somehow. I thought I’d escaped, but he’s still there, a malevolent force, a siren pulling me into a nightmare.

I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, though I don’t believe it.

‘Have you called him?’

‘Yes. Of course I have. He didn’t answer. Has he phoned you?’

‘No.’ I picture him shaking his head.

‘When did you last speak to him?’

‘Calm down,’ he says. I hadn’t realized how panicked I sounded. He coughs, then lowers his voice. ‘It’ll be fine. Just calm down.’

‘He’s run away.’

‘He’s just bunking off school. Have you tried his friends?’

‘No, not yet—’

‘Dylan? He’s been hanging round with him a fair bit.’

I imagine the two of them in the park, drinking from a cheap bottle of cider, my son getting hit by a car as he crosses the road. Or maybe they’re messing about on a railway bridge, daring each other to go over the edge, to dodge an oncoming train.

‘Or Evie. Can’t you call her mother?’

Of course I can’t call her mother, I want to say. I don’t know who her mother is.

Again I see Lukas, this time standing over Connor. I blink the image away.

‘I don’t have her number. You think he’s with her?’

‘I don’t know.’

I think back to the other day, after he left me in the restaurant. He’d been packing his bag. I’m going to see Evie!

‘He’s with her.’ I begin to head up the stairs, towards his bedroom. ‘We need to find her.’

‘We don’t know that—’ says Hugh, but I’m taking the stairs two at a time, already ending the call.

I hesitate in the doorway of my son’s room, looking helplessly for some kind of clue. His bed is unmade, piles of clothes sit unhappily on his desk and chair, an empty glass is by the bed, a plateful of crumbs. He’s become more private in the last few weeks, I guess worried I’ll find a stash of magazines or a semen-encrusted T-shirt thrown under his bed, not realizing that the more private he becomes the harder I find it not to look.

I take a step in, and then stop. I call him again, but this time his phone is switched off. I try a third time, and a fourth, and this time I leave a message: ‘Darling, please call me.’ I try to keep my voice even, to keep everything from it but my concern. I don’t want him to hear anything he might mistake for anger, even for a moment. ‘Just let me know you’re all right?’

I go further into his room. I know why he’s doing this. I’d stopped him from running to Evie that day; now he’s showing me that if he wants to do something he will. There’s nothing I can do about it.

I look in his wardrobe first, then under his bed. Piles of clothes, old trainers, CDs and video games, but the bag isn’t there. He must have taken it to school, already packed. ‘ Fuck! ’ I say to myself. I stand in the middle of the room in the fading light of the afternoon. I’m drowning, helpless.

I open his computer and navigate first to his emails. There are hundreds, from Molly and Dylan and Sahil and lots of others, yet none from his girlfriend. I try Skype next, and then Facebook. He’s back online, of course. In the search box at the top of the screen I type ‘Evie’.

Her name appears, next to her photograph. It’s a different picture to the one he’s shown me; she looks a little older and is smiling happily. It’s not the girl at Carla’s party, I realize, though they don’t look dissimilar.

But in the background is the Sacré-Coeur.

I feel another tug downwards, another sickening plunge.

It’s nothing, nothing at all. I hear myself talking out loud. Lots of kids have been to Paris. The Sacré-Coeur is somewhere to visit, absolutely on the tourist trail, something to have your photograph taken in front of. It’s just coincidence that it’s also where Lukas proposed to Anna. It has to be.

A moment later the machine pings and a box appears in the bottom of the screen. It’s a new message. From Evie.

– You’re online! it says. Immediately, I’m back in the middle of my affair with Lukas. So many conversations that started with those words, or similar. So many times I let myself be drawn in.

Yet I’d wanted it, at the time. Hadn’t I? I’d wanted it all.

I push the thoughts away. I have to focus. I have to answer Evie’s message.

I remind myself she thinks she’s talking to my son. I could tell her she’s wrong, or I could find out what’s going on.

– Yes! I type.

– On your phone?

For a moment I don’t understand the relevance of her question, but then I realize. She’s assuming he’s not at his computer, not at home.

– Yes.

– I love you.

I don’t know what to say. Again I’m being slammed backwards, into the past, with a ferocity that leaves me breathless.

– Tell me you love me, too.

I have to focus on Connor. This girl thinks she loves him, or tells him so at least.

– I love you, I say.

– You got out of school okay? Are you on your way?

So it’s true. He’s bunking off, he’s gone to meet this girl. I’m about to reply when my phone rings. It sounds way too loud and I startle before snatching it up. ‘Connor?’ I say, but it’s not him. It’s Anna.

‘Julia,’ she says. She sounds hurried, breathless with anxiety, but I can’t deal with her right now. Next to Connor she seems utterly unimportant.

‘I can’t talk now. I’m sorry.’

‘But—’

‘Connor’s missing. It’s complicated. I’ll call you right back, I promise. I’m sorry.’

I end the call before she can reply, then type again.

– Yes. I’m on my way.

– I can’t believe I’m finally going to get to meet you! I can’t believe we’ve found him!

I feel myself contract, my skin pulls tight. Found who?

– Just imagine! After all this time! Your dad!

The trapdoor opens. I plunge.

So this is what he’s been doing? Trying to find his father.

Succeeding.

But how?

I force myself to stay in the present. I have to. I force myself to imagine what my son might write.

– I know! It’s going to be amazing! Where shall I meet you again?

I press send. A moment later she replies.