Текст книги "Second Life"

Автор книги: S. J. Watson

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Chapter Nineteen

Connor arrives home late the next morning. Dylan’s with him and the two of them crash in, talking non-stop. I’m waiting for the kettle to boil when they land in the kitchen.

My son. I’ve missed him; he’s all I’d wanted when I got in last night, the only thing in my life I still think I have a chance of getting right.

‘Hi, Mum!’ he says. He seems surprised that I’m there, and for a moment I think he’s going to ask me if I’m okay. I’m not sure what I’ll say if he does. Dylan stands behind him, and when I smile at him says, ‘Hi, Mrs Wilding.’

‘We might go upstairs?’ says Connor.

I force a smile. ‘Okay. Did you have fun?’

‘Yeah.’ He doesn’t elaborate.

‘Want anything to eat?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘Dylan?’

The other boy shakes his head and mumbles something. He’s even skinnier than I remember.

‘We had something earlier,’ says Connor. ‘Can we watch a DVD?’

‘Sure. Let me know if you want anything,’ I say as they disappear upstairs. I turn back to the kettle and make my drink.

I know what I have to do. I’ve been putting it off all morning. I sit down at the table and phone Lukas.

‘Morning, beautiful. I was just thinking about you, too.’

Normally that comment would thrill me, but today I barely notice it. I’m too wound up, too anxious. I’ve run out of energy. I’ve spent all night thinking about him and Paddy, about what he might’ve done. What I might have done. I’m exhausted.

‘Lukas. We need to talk.’

I sense him shift a gear. I imagine him lying in bed, then abruptly sitting upright. I try to picture it, but fail. I’ve never seen his bedroom, never seen his house. It’s nice, he’s told me, semi-detached, with three bedrooms. ‘Modern, but with some character.’ He’s always sounded proud of it, so why haven’t I been there?

I wonder if he keeps it tidy. A man, living alone; I wonder if he even makes his bed. Connor wouldn’t, if I didn’t insist.

‘What is it? Is everything okay?’

I feel a sudden rush. I want to shout, scream. I want to tell him, No, no, it isn’t!

I take a deep breath and try to calm myself.

‘Paddy was attacked.’

Even saying the words hurts. It reminds me too much of Kate.

‘Who?’

‘Paddy.’ I’m annoyed, and at the same time frightened. Has he forgotten? Or is this all part of some game? ‘The person I told you about. The friend I told you had kissed me.’ I hesitate. My voice wavers. ‘He’s been beaten up.’

‘Jesus …’ He sounds concerned. It’s genuine, I think, but how do I know? I don’t know anything. ‘Are you all right, Julia?’

I don’t want to ask the question, but it’s a weight, pressing down on me, and I have no choice. It’s the reason I called him, after all.

‘Did you have anything to do with it?’

There’s silence. Saying it out loud has made it seem real. The suspicion has become a certainty.

I picture him, shaking his head in disbelief. Every muscle in my body is tensed, then he speaks.

‘Me? What on earth—?’

I interrupt. I don’t want to, but I can’t help it. I say it again, louder this time. ‘Did you have anything to do with it?’

His reply comes more quickly this time. He’s rushing to his own defence.

‘No, of course I didn’t.’ I can’t decide whether he sounds angry or just emphatic. ‘Is he going to be all right?’

The words rush out, tumbling over each other. ‘It just seems a coincidence, that’s all. I mean, I tell you last week, and then this week—’

‘Listen. Calm down—’

‘—this week,’ I continue, ‘this week, this happens.’

I stop speaking. My body is suddenly alive. I can feel his hands on me, my skin sings with the rough urgency of the sex in the toilet cubicle, my wrists carry a dull ache where he’d gripped them. I think back to what he’d said.

‘You asked me if I wanted you to teach him a lesson.’

‘I know,’ he says. ‘And, if you remember, you said yes.’

I collapse inwards. I’m almost breathless, with panic, and rage.

‘I didn’t mean it, though! We were just messing around. It was play-acting!’

‘Was it?’ His voice has taken on an edge; he sounds different. Not like him at all. ‘You know,’ he says, ‘you have to be careful what you wish for, Julia. Very careful …’

Fear hits me. Terror. It’s real, physical. I’m on fire, my phone is alive, dangerous. I want to hurl it across the room. I wish I’d never met him. I don’t know who he is, this man, this person I’ve let into my life. I want everything to go back to how it was before.

‘Lukas!’ My voice is pleading, I’m almost shouting, only vaguely aware that Connor is upstairs. Right now I’d sacrifice anything to be certain that what happened to Paddy had nothing to do with Lukas. Almost anything. ‘Please …’

I stop. He’s making a noise; at first I can’t tell what it is, but then I realize. He’s laughing, almost to himself. I’m flooded with light, with air.

‘Lukas?’

‘Relax. I’m joking …’

‘Joking? What’s so funny?’

‘Julia, I think you need to calm down. Think about it. Aren’t you being a little paranoid here? I mean, you only told me about this guy last week. Do you think I marched straight round there and beat him up? How could I? You didn’t tell me where he lives. You didn’t even tell me his full name. For God’s sake, I only found out your real name yesterday.’

He’s right. It can’t have been him. But can it really be coincidence?

‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’

‘I’m sorry, too. For laughing. For not taking it seriously.’ There’s a pause. He sounds contrite. ‘When did it happen?’

‘On Friday night, I think.’

‘I was in Cambridge on Friday. Out with a bunch of mates.’ He hesitates. ‘You can check on Facebook, if you like. Ade has put shitloads of pictures up.’

My computer’s in front of me. I open it up.

‘Julia, this man, you’re sure he’s going to be okay?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I think so.’ I open Facebook and navigate to his timeline. Friday night. It’s true. There are photos of him.

I feel awful. Guilty. Filled with an overwhelming desire to make everything better. ‘I’ve been really stupid. I’m sorry.’

‘You do trust me, don’t you?’ His voice is calm, now. Kind. Soothing. The voice I’m used to. Yet from nowhere I flash on a vision. Him saying exactly the same thing, but to Kate.

‘Julia? Are you there?’

I realize I haven’t answered him.

‘Yes. I’m sorry. I just panicked, that’s all.’ Relief floods my veins as I realize the truth of what I’m saying. A brightness returns to the world, one I hadn’t noticed had disappeared. I go on. ‘I’m sorry. All this fantasy talk, I suppose I was worried …’

‘It’s okay …’

‘I should never have accused you.’ Pleasure floods my veins. The pleasure of tension released. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’

‘It’s okay. Calm down, Julia. It’s all going to be okay.’

Is it? I want it to be. I think of all the good times we’ve had, all the support he’s given me over Kate. I get the sense that if anyone can make it okay, then it’s him.

It’s his voice. He does that. He makes me feel better, calmer.

‘Listen,’ he says. ‘I might’ve found out something. About Kate.’

My heart surges. ‘What? What is it?’

His answer seems to take for ever.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘What? What is it?’

‘It’s probably nothing.’

‘What have you found?’

Again I hear him hesitate. He doesn’t want to raise my hopes.

‘There’s a site—’

‘What site?’

‘I don’t remember. But I found someone on there. She’s using the name Julia.’

‘Julia?’

‘Yes. It’s why I looked twice. There’s no photo, but she’s about twenty-eight or twenty-nine. She lives in Paris. And …’

‘And?’

‘Well, the thing is, she hasn’t logged on since the end of January.’

‘What’s the name of the site?’

‘Why?’

‘Because I want to try the login details that worked with encountrz. I want to know if it’s her.’

‘Why don’t you leave it to me?’

Because I want to know.

‘Please, Lukas. Just tell me what it’s called. I’ll take a look …’

He sighs, loudly. I can almost hear him try to decide what’s for the best.

‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea,’ he begins. ‘You’ll just get upset, and—’

‘Lukas!’

‘Hear me out. Here’s what I think we should do. I’ll send this person a message. If they reply we’ll know it’s not Kate.’

‘But they haven’t even logged on since January …’

‘Okay. Well, why don’t you give me Kate’s login details? I’ll try them for you.’

So this is it, I think. I have to decide now. Do I trust him, or not?

What choice do I have, really? I give him the password. Jasper1234.

‘It’s the name of our dog, growing up. Promise me you’ll try it.’

He calls me back an hour later. I haven’t been able to settle. I’ve just been pacing, sitting at my computer, trying to work, failing. When my phone rings I snatch at it.

‘Hello?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You didn’t get in.’

‘No—’

‘She might have used a different password—’

‘Julia, wait. This woman responded to my message. I asked her for a picture and she sent me one. It’s not Kate.’

‘Can I see the picture? It might be someone impersonating her …’

‘It’s not,’ he says. ‘This woman’s black.’

I feel utterly flat. It’s not worth it, this false raising of my hopes, when it leads only to crushing disappointment. Anything feels better. Even emptiness.

‘I’ll keep looking. If you want me to?’

I tell him. ‘I’m just disappointed.’

‘Try not to be. Will I see you next week? Tuesday?’

I hesitate. Everything is too bright, too intense. I want normality, stability. I think back to the visceral love I feel for my son, the way in which I missed him last night after finding out about Paddy’s attack. As if for the first time, I realize this love isn’t compatible with what I’m doing.

I remind myself why I chatted to Lukas in the first place, why I first met him. To find my sister’s killer, for the sake of Connor, for the family.

But that’s got me nowhere, and now Connor needs something else from me. A trip to the cinema. A burger. Mother and son. I make my decision.

‘I can’t. Not Tuesday. I’m busy.’

I have the sense of a grip suddenly relaxed. I’m relieved. It’s a good feeling. I’ve been selfish; now, I’m doing the right thing.

‘Busy?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry.’

I realize I’m holding my breath. Part of me wants him to argue, to protest, the rest hopes he’ll just suggest another day. I want to make sure I can last a week without seeing him.

Silence. I need an excuse. ‘It’s just that I have a friend. Anna. She wants me to help her look for a wedding dress.’

‘She can’t do a different day?’

‘No. I’m sorry …’

‘Okay.’ I want him to argue some more. I want him to try and persuade me, to ask me who’s more important, him or Anna.

But he doesn’t. He’s saying goodbye and a moment later the call is over.

Chapter Twenty

Tuesday comes. It’s Connor’s day, and I decide we’ll do whatever he wants. I owe it to him; he deserves it. He seems more cheerful, is talking more now, more like his old self.

At the weekend we went to see Paddy. Hugh’s idea. He didn’t look as bad as I was expecting. His eyes were swollen and bruised, there was a graze on his cheek. He couldn’t tell how many people had attacked him, or even if it was more than one. They took nothing, just knocked him out. He didn’t look at me once the whole time we were there.

I get up early. I haven’t slept well; last night I’d seen the figure again, outside my window. It looked more real this time, it had more substance. I even thought I saw the glow of a cigarette, but once again, once I’d looked away to talk to Hugh then gone back, he’d gone. If he’d ever been there at all.

I’m blurry eyed as I go downstairs. I find my phone and see I missed another call from Adrienne last night. I feel guilty. She’s been travelling; she wants to know if I got my present, a silver necklace I admired months ago when we were out shopping. ‘Just let me know,’ she’d said, in her last message. ‘And let’s meet up. I’m busy, as ever, but dying to see you! Call me back.’

I haven’t done so, and I’m not sure why. Maybe because she knows me too well; she’d see straight through me if I tried to hide anything from her. Plus, there’s the lie I told Hugh, about me falling on the escalator. I need to put a bit of distance between us. It’s easier to avoid her, just for a little while.

Connor and I have breakfast in front of the television. When we finish I ask him what he wants to do today, and he says maybe we could go and see a film. ‘Sure!’ I say. I tell him to choose one. ‘Whatever you like.’ He picks the new Planet of the Apes film. I’m disappointed, but I’m careful not to let it show.

We walk to the cinema, across Islington Green. I realize it’s been a long time since we did this, just the two of us. I’ve missed it, and wonder whether he has, too. From nowhere I’m filled with a deep sense of love, and of guilt. It hits me that now Kate’s gone Connor is the only blood relation I have, the only person with whom I share DNA. I realize Kate was the link, to all of us. Our mother and father, me, her, and now Connor. She was the centre of it all.

I have to say something. The need is overpowering. ‘You know I love you,’ I say. ‘Don’t you?’ He looks at me; his expression is inscrutable, as if he’s slightly embarrassed. For a moment I see the vulnerable little boy inside him, the one trying to cope with the adult world in which he’s finding himself more enmeshed with each passing day. But then it passes and something else flashes briefly on his face. It’s pain, I think, followed a moment later by the resolve to conquer it.

‘Connor? Is everything all right?’

He nods, raising his eyebrows as he does. It’s a familiar gesture, meant to be reassuring but now too automatic for it really to mean anything at all. ‘I’m good.’ We cross the road, then on the other side we stop, both at the same time, as if we’d rehearsed it. ‘Honestly.’

I put my arms on his shoulders; sometimes he doesn’t like to be hugged, and I guess that standing in the middle of Upper Street might be one of those times. ‘You can talk to me, Con.’ I remember how long it’s been since I used to call him that. Did he ask me to stop, or did it just fade away? Perhaps that’s what always happens between mothers and sons. ‘Please remember that. I’m here for you. Always.’

I feel guilty as I say it. Am I there for him? I haven’t been, recently.

‘I know.’

‘The last few weeks … months …’ I begin, but I don’t know where I’m going. I’m trying to build the connection between us, one that I should never have put in jeopardy. ‘… they’ve not been easy. I know that. For any of us.’ He looks at me. I want him to forgive me, to tell me I’ve been there for him, that he’s all right. ‘I know they’ve been really shit for you, too, Connor. I want you to know that. I do understand.’

He shrugs, as I knew he would. He’s silent, but he looks at me with an expression of gratitude, and something passes between us. Something good.

In the cinema Connor goes to the bathroom while I buy our tickets at the machine then queue for the popcorn I’ve promised him. When he returns we make our way to the screen. I’d thought it would be busy, but it’s less than half full. People are dotted around – mostly couples – and I suggest that we head for an almost empty row about halfway back. Connor agrees and we settle ourselves. The film hasn’t yet started and the room is filled with the symphony of bottles being opened, drinks being slurped through straws, bags of sweets or crisps being torn into. I pass our popcorn to Connor. ‘Have you got everything you want?’ I whisper, and he says he has. He’s checking his phone and looks up guiltily. A message from his girlfriend, I suppose. Evie. He mentions her occasionally; he’s said she wasn’t at Carla’s party, but he’s evasive, still at that age where discussing a girlfriend with his parents is embarrassing. Without thinking, and to reassure him it’s fine, I pick up my bag and check mine.

I have a message, from Lukas. I’m relieved; our last few conversations have been frosty, and since I last saw him I’ve thrown an accusation at him and told him I didn’t want to see him today. I thought maybe he’d taken the decision to end things before I did, and to do it with silence. ‘How’s the shopping?’

I type my reply quickly.

‘Boring. But thanks for caring …’

I press send. Part of me is hoping he won’t respond, yet still I keep my phone in my hand in case he does. Sure enough, a moment later, there’s a reply.

‘I wish I was there with you.’

I smile to myself. He’s no longer angry with me, if he ever was. I was being ridiculous.

‘So do I.’ Once again I press send then I switch off my phone.

The film begins. It’s not my kind of thing at all, but I remind myself I’m here for Connor and when I look across at him I can see that he’s enjoying it. I try to settle. I try to stop thinking about Lukas, try to ignore the temptation to fish my phone out of my bag and check whether he’s replied. I concentrate on the movie.

A minute or so later Connor shifts his legs. Someone is pushing past him, murmuring, ‘Sorry,’ as he does so. It’s odd, I think. This new arrival is alone, there are plenty of seats. Why does he choose our row? I move out of the way, too, and he says sorry to me, though he’s looking at the screen while he does it. I’m even more surprised when he sits in the seat right next to me. I consider pointing out that there are plenty further along, but then think, really, what’s the harm? I go back to the film.

A few moments later I begin to feel a pressure on my leg. I’m not certain at first, but then it becomes definite. The newcomer is pressing his leg against mine; it feels deliberate, though I can’t be sure. I look down – his leg is bare; he’s wearing board shorts – then move my leg away, just an inch or so. It might’ve been accidental; I don’t want to make any kind of fuss. I pretend to be engrossed in the screen, but then the man’s leg moves to connect with mine again, more urgently this time, too deliberate for it to be coincidence.

I look over. The action on the screen is dark and I can’t see much. I make out thick-rimmed glasses and a baseball cap, one of the ones that’s rigid and sits tall on the front of the head. The man’s staring at the screen, rubbing the lower half of his face with his right hand, as if in deep contemplation.

I move my leg again and take a deep breath, readying myself to say something, to tell him to pack it in or get lost; I’m not sure which. At the same time the stranger drops his hand from his face and turns to me, and as he does the action on the screen moves overground, to a scene of lit brilliance, bathing the theatre with light. It’s then I see that the man sitting next to me is no stranger. It’s Lukas. He’s smiling.

I gasp, yet at the same time my stomach tips with desire. An abyss of fear opens in front of me and I begin to spiral towards it. What’s he doing here, in this cinema? What the fuck is going on? It can’t be a coincidence; it would be ridiculous. Yet how can it be anything else? He doesn’t know where I live: I’ve never told him, I know that. I’ve been careful all the way through.

Yet here he is. He’s looking back at the screen now. He’s moved his leg away, as if he’s now trying to avoid contact with me. I turn back to the movie, then a moment later glance at Connor, sitting on my other side. He’s noticed nothing.

My heart is beating too fast; I don’t know what to do. This is too far, I want to say. You’ve gone too far. Yet …

Yet he’s pressing his leg against mine once again, and this time I haven’t shifted away. His skin on mine is charged, I can feel every tiny hair, the warmth of his muscles. Even though my son is just inches away, I find I like it.

I close my eyes. My mind whirls in confusion. Just a few minutes ago he’d sent me a message, about the shopping I’d told him I was doing. He must have already known that was a lie, but how can he have known I was here?

I look over at Connor again. He’s engrossed in the film, his hand dipping occasionally into the bucket of popcorn on his lap. After a moment I turn to look at Lukas, who appears to be fixated, too. He must sense my gaze. Slowly he turns to me, so that he’s looking directly at me, as if he wants to make sure I know it’s him. I look into his eyes and ask the question wordlessly, and he begins to smile. There’s no warmth, and I feel a sick disappointment. I look back at the screen, then after a few moments at him again. This time he winks, still without warmth, then looks ahead once more, and after a few moments stands to leave. As he does he says, ‘Excuse me,’ and he pushes past my son with a ‘Hey, dude …’

And then, as if he’d never been here, he’s gone.

I sit. My mind won’t be still, I can’t concentrate on the film. I’m thinking of Lukas, I can’t work out what he’d wanted, why he’d turned up.

Or how he’d known where I’d be.

My hand goes to the seat in which he’d been sitting, as if I might feel him there. It’s still warm, I haven’t imagined it. I begin to tremble. My mouth is dry and I take a sip of water from the bottle I’d bought with Connor’s popcorn. Nausea rises within me. I must calm down. I take a deep breath, but the air is syrupy with the smell of half-eaten hot dogs and belched ketchup. I feel sick. I close my eyes. I see Lukas.

I have to get out. I have to get some air.

‘Come on.’

‘What?’

‘We’re leaving.’

‘But Mum!’

‘This is rubbish,’ I say.

‘Well, I’m enjoying it.’ I’m aware we’re making a lot of noise; from somewhere behind, someone tuts.

I stand up. I need to keep moving. ‘Okay, stay here, then. I’ll be back in a minute.’

I go to the toilet. I’m nervous as I push the door open; he might be in here, I think, and straight away my mind goes to the time we had sex in the toilet cubicle near his hotel. But he isn’t. Just some girls, Connor’s age or a little older, fixing make-up, gossiping. Someone was fucking unbelievable; someone else was apparently gonna make him pay. I ignore them and go into one of the cubicles. I lock the door and take out my phone. Nothing, just a message from Hugh. We’ve run out of milk. Can I pick some up?

I sit for a while, willing my phone to ring, or for there to be a message. A smiley face, a wink. Anything to reassure me that Lukas was just having a bit of fun. But there’s nothing. I don’t know what to think.

I call him. His phone goes straight to voicemail. I try again, and again, and again. And then, because there’s nothing else I can do, I give up. I put my phone in my bag and rejoin my son.