Текст книги "Second Life"

Автор книги: S. J. Watson

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-One

We get home. I’m numb, I can’t think. I’d hoped Connor hadn’t noticed Lukas, but as we walked home he said, ‘Didn’t you think that guy was weird?’

I was looking left and right, waiting to cross the road, but also looking out for Lukas. He was nowhere to be seen.

‘Sorry?’

‘That guy. The one who came in and sat right by us in a half-empty room?’

‘Oh, him?’ I tried to sound natural, but had no idea whether I was succeeding. ‘People are odd.’

‘And then he leaves, before the film’s even over. What a freak!’

I wondered if that was it, part of the game. I wondered whether I was supposed to make an excuse to my son, follow Lukas, have him fuck me in the toilets. I wondered if, deep down, I’d really wanted to do just that.

Now, my mind spins. I don’t understand how he’s done this, much less why. Every time a possibility comes, a solution, I’m forced to reject it. If it was a coincidence, then why didn’t he say hello? If it was a game, then why didn’t he at least smile, let me know we were playing?

I keep returning to the same few thoughts. This shouldn’t have been possible. He doesn’t know where I live. He thought I was out shopping with Anna.

‘You all right, Mum?’ says Connor. I realize I’m still standing in the middle of the kitchen.

I force a smile. ‘I think I’m getting a migraine.’ Another wave of panic crashes in. I look at my son. He knows about you, now, I think. You’re no longer safe. I feel myself begin to suffocate.

‘Shall I get you some water?’ he says. He goes to the sink and picks two tumblers off the drainer.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’ I take the glass from him and sip; it’s lukewarm.

‘I think I’ll go and have a lie down.’

I go upstairs. Lukas still isn’t answering his phone, and there are no messages on mine. I open my computer and see he’s online. My fury is doubled.

– What was that all about? I type. I hesitate before pressing send. I ought to walk away, I want to walk away. But I can’t. There’s no way out, now. Everywhere I turn, he’s there.

His reply comes after only a moment.

– Did you enjoy it?

I gasp. He has no idea how I feel, what he’s done.

– How did you know where I’d be?

There’s no reply. For a long time, nothing. Damn you, I think. Damn you. And then, finally:

– I thought it would be a nice surprise.

A nice surprise? I’d laugh if my whole body wasn’t humming with fear.

– How did you know?

– I had to get creative.

– Meaning?

There’s an even longer pause.

– Don’t panic. I was in Islington. There’s an antiques shop there I go to occasionally. I saw you across the street. I followed you.

Antiques, I think. Since when has he been into antiques? I don’t know anything about this man.

– I thought it’d be fun.

– Fun? You scared me!

I read his messages again. I want to believe him, but I can’t. He happened to be shopping in Islington? Some coincidence. And even if it were true, then surely he’d have just messaged me?

Instead, he’d followed me, sat next to me, winked at me in the dark. He’d spoken only to my son, not to me, and his expression wasn’t that of someone giving someone else a nice surprise. It was the expression of someone who thinks they’ve found something out.

– Scared you? Why? What did you think I was going to do?

– I don’t know.

Suddenly I realize. It’s a moment of absolute clarity, when everything that had felt muddled and grey is as clear and colourless as ice-cold water. I’d become involved with him for the sake of my son, but now it was my son who was at risk. I have no choice. I’m going to have to end it.

I try to fix on the thought, but even as I do another, stronger, part of me is trying to push it away. Lukas sends me another message.

– What did you want me to do?

– What?

– In the cinema. Tell me.

I feel like screaming. How can I make him see this isn’t a game? There are things at stake here, things that might be lost for ever.

– Not now, Lukas. OK?

I press send. I sit back. I want him to understand what he’s done, how much it’d scared me. I want him to know there are lines we mustn’t cross.

His reply comes a few seconds later.

– Tell me how you wanted me to touch you, it says. Tell me you were imagining it, right there in front of all those people.

– No, I say.

– What’s wrong?

I don’t answer. There’s no avoiding it, and I don’t want to have this conversation online. I can’t make him understand what he’s done, not here, not now. I don’t want to see him again, but I have no choice.

– I want to see you. It’s important.

– Whatever you like.

There’s a long moment, then he sends another message.

– By the way, who’s the kid?

‘He’s my son.’ He’s sitting opposite me, we’re having lunch. My choice, even though now I’m here I wish I’d suggested somewhere more secluded. He’d wanted to meet in a hotel, but I knew that wouldn’t be a good idea. We’ve come to a restaurant just near the river. We’re sitting outside, under an umbrella. Commuters stream past on their way to the station.

I haven’t even asked about his hunt for more of Kate’s online profiles. I suspect he’s given up. I doubt he was ever looking very hard.

‘Your son?’ he says. For a moment I think he doesn’t believe me. ‘You didn’t tell me.’

‘No,’ I sigh. I have to be honest. It’s time for that, at least. ‘I wanted to keep him out of it.’

And I failed. Lukas knows everything, now, and it’s too much. What had seemed manageable is now out of control, what had been in a box has now broken free.

I look at this man. It’s almost as if he owns me, and I must claim myself back.

‘What’s his name?’

I flinch. It’s a protective instinct; I’m angrier than I thought.

I look away. On the other side of the road a guy in Lycra remonstrates with a driver who must’ve almost knocked him off his bike.

‘No.’ I turn back. ‘Like I said, I want to keep him out of it.’

‘You don’t trust me.’

‘Lukas. It’s not as simple as that. What we had, I wanted to keep it separate from my real life. I wanted to keep it apart. I didn’t want to have to think about my husband, and certainly not my son.’

‘What we had.’ It’s a statement, not a question.

‘Sorry?’

‘You said, “What we had.” Past tense. So I’m guessing it’s over?’

I don’t answer; my choice of words had been uncalculated, my mistake Freudian. But it’s made, and now a single word is all it would take. I could say yes, then stand up. I could walk away, change my phone number, never log on to those websites, then all this would be in the past. A mistake, but one that’s easily undone. He’s never been to my house, never even seen it; nor I to his. We’re entangled, but not so much that one single decisive action wouldn’t separate us, cleanly and for ever.

But is that what I want? On the way here I’d thought it was, but now I can’t be sure. Sitting here now, I’m in two minds. Would he really hurt anyone? He seems so gentle, so loving. I think of the long nights of loneliness. I think of going back to the days when a new message on my phone would be nothing more exciting than Hugh telling me he’ll be late again or Connor asking whether he can stay out longer.

‘Look.’ He shifts his weight, opens his arms to shrug his shoulders. I’m struck again by his presence, his flesh, right in front of me. It glows; it’s in three dimensions, where everything else seems in two. ‘I fucked up. In the cinema. I’m sorry. I really thought you’d like it.’

‘I didn’t.’ I glance briefly over his shoulder at the argument that’s only now beginning to lose momentum, then look back at him.

‘It was a coincidence, that’s all. I was in Islington. I didn’t even know you lived round there.’

‘Lukas …’

‘You don’t believe me?’

‘What were you doing in Islington?’

He hesitates. It’s just a fraction of a second, but long enough for it to sound like a lie. ‘I told you. Shopping. I go quite often, when I’m in town.’

‘So why were you in town?’

‘I come in every Tuesday, if you hadn’t noticed. Usually it’s to see you. It was force of habit, I suppose.’ He sighs. ‘I missed you. My day felt kind of wasted without you, so I thought I’d come up to town anyway.’

‘You expect me to believe that?’

‘I was upset, I guess. I wanted to see you. It was our day. You cancelled on me.’

‘So you were in Islington, completely randomly, where I was taking my son to the cinema?’

‘Coincidences do happen, you know.’

I find myself beginning to wish I could believe him.

‘You think I’ve been following you? You really are paranoid.’

‘That’s an unkind thing to say.’

‘I’m sorry. Listen, I saw you. Honestly. Crossing the street. And I’d thought of nothing else but you for a whole week, so I followed you. Maybe it was a mistake—’

‘It was.’

‘But I’m going crazy. You’re all I think about.’

‘Lukas—’

‘Tell me you’ve been thinking of me.’

‘Of course I have. But—’

‘So, what’s the problem?’

‘I don’t know. I just … it freaked me out. It was … risky.’

‘I thought you liked risk? I thought you liked danger?’

‘Not like that—’

‘It’s what you’ve been telling me.’

I raise my voice. ‘Not like that. Not when it involves Connor.’

Shit, I think. I’ve told him my son’s name. It’s too late now.

He says nothing. We’re both silent for a moment. Neither of us has started to eat the food in front of us. A sandwich for him, a salad for me. It occurs to me we’ve never had a meal together, not properly. We never will.

‘How did you know what film we were going to see? Or were you looking over my shoulder as I bought the tickets?’

He still doesn’t answer.

‘I want to trust you, Lukas.’

‘Then trust me. I’ve never lied to you. I made a mistake, that’s all. I’m not stalking you. I didn’t attack your friend. I mean, after what you’ve been through?’

He looks angry, but also deeply hurt. It’s this that comes closest to convincing me. Yet still I’m not certain. Not quite.

I came here wanting to end it between us, to get out, but now I’m not sure I can. Not yet.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You have to trust me, Julia,’ he says.

I look down at my plate. ‘I find it difficult to do that with anyone, I suppose.’

He reaches out to take my hand. ‘Connor,’ he says, as if he’s trying the name out for size, seeing how it feels, how it sounds. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you had a son?’

I look at the wedding ring he’s wearing. You didn’t tell me you had a wife, I want to say. Things start to add up. The ring, first, plus the fact he’s never – not once – suggested we go to Cambridge, even though it isn’t far away.

‘You’re married, aren’t you?’ I speak softly, quietly, as if I don’t really want him to hear.

‘I was. You know that.’

‘I mean, you still are. Admit it.’

‘No!’ He looks angry. Shocked. How could I suggest such a thing?

‘I told you the truth. I wouldn’t lie about that. Ever.’

I watch as his anger turns to pain. It’s visceral, unmistakable. The pain of loss, something I know only too well, and for a moment I feel guilty, and desperately sorry for him. I can’t help it. I wish I’d let him in. I wish I’d told him about my son, right from the beginning.

‘Promise me.’

He takes my hand between his. ‘I promise.’

I realize I believe him.

‘Look, my son – Connor – has been through a lot. I wanted to protect him—’

‘You think I’d hurt him?’

‘No. But it’s not so much people I’m trying to protect him from, but situations. He needs stability.’ I take a deep breath. ‘It’s complicated. Connor’s adopted. He … his mother was my sister.’

I wait while he absorbs what I’ve told him.

‘The sister who was killed?’

‘Yes.’

A long moment.

‘When did you adopt him?’

‘When he was very little. My sister couldn’t cope, so we took care of him.’

‘He knows?’

I nod. He’s silent for a moment, then says, ‘I’m sorry.’

He looks at me. I have nothing else to say. I’m spent, empty. I begin to pick at my salad. After a minute or two he says, ‘So, is this it, then?’

‘Is what it?’

‘That use of the past tense back there. This conversation. The fact you didn’t want to go to a hotel. You want me to leave you alone.’

The answer should be yes, but I hesitate. I don’t know why. I’ll miss feeling desire; I’ll miss having it reciprocated. I’ll miss being able to talk to him about things I can tell no one else.

I want to keep hold of all that, even for just a few more minutes.

‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s all right. I had a feeling this was going to be one of those “I’m sorry, but …” conversations. You know. “I can’t do this any more.” That kind of thing.’

Have you had many of those? I think fleetingly. And, if so, how recently, and from which side? Dumping, or being dumped?

I look away. I think back, to everything that’s happened. I realize the dark place my grief has taken me. I’ve become fragile. Paranoid. I see danger everywhere. There’s a man standing outside my window, my lover has attacked someone when he doesn’t even know their full name, much less where he lives. If I’m not careful I will push away everything that is good in my life.

I make my decision.

‘I don’t want this to be over. But what you did the other day … Don’t do it again. Okay? I won’t have Connor brought into this.’

‘Okay.’

‘I mean it. I’ll just walk away.’

‘Okay.’ He looks anxious, and as I see this I start to relax. The balance of power has shifted, yet it’s more than that.

I realize this is what I wanted, all along. I wanted to see him bothered, I wanted to know that he understood what was at stake, I wanted to see him frightened that he might lose me. I wanted to see my own insecurities reflected in him.

I soften my voice. ‘No more games. Okay? All that stuff we’ve been talking about’ – I lower my voice – ‘the playacting, the rough sex. It has to stop.’

‘Okay.’

‘I can’t have you turning up unannounced. I can’t go back home covered in bruises …’

‘Whatever you say, as long as it isn’t over.’

I reach across and take his hand. ‘How can it be over?’

‘What happens now?’

‘Now? I go home.’

‘Will I see you on Tuesday?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

He looks relieved.

‘I’m sorry. About the games, and stuff. I guess I’m not so good at romance.’ He pauses. ‘We’ll do something. Next time. Something lovely. Leave it with me.’

Chapter Twenty-Two

A week passes. Connor goes back to school, a year nearer to his exams, to adulthood and whatever comes with it, a year nearer to moving away from me. I’ve had his blazer dry-cleaned and taken him shopping for shirts and a new pair of shoes. He’s not enthusiastic about going back, but I know that will only last a day or so. He’ll be reunited with his friends, with his routine. He’ll remember how he enjoys his studies. Hugh’s right when he says he’s a good kid.

On his first day back I go to the window and watch him walk down the street; by the time he’s gone a few feet, barely past the end of the drive, he’s loosened his tie, and just at the corner he waits for a moment. One of his friends arrives, they clap each other on the shoulder, then set off together. He’s becoming a man.

I turn away from the window. I have another job tomorrow – the woman whose family I photographed a few weeks ago has recommended me to a friend – and another next week. The hole in my soul is closing, yet part of me still feels empty. Kate’s death still haunts everything I do. When Connor goes, I don’t know how I’ll cope.

I try not to think about it. Today’s Tuesday. I’m meeting Lukas. I have the morning to myself, hours to get ready. It’s like the first time we met, all those weeks and months ago, back when I thought it would be a one-off, nothing more than an opportunity to find out what happened to my sister.

How that has changed.

Yet I know it has to end. Sometimes I think about that moment, when we separate, finally and for ever, and wonder if it’ll be something I’ll be able to survive. Yet separate we must; my relationship with Lukas has no happy ending. I’m married. I’m a mother. I love my husband, and my son, and I can’t have everything.

When I leave the house Adrienne is pulling up in a car. It’s a surprise, not like her at all. I wave and she opens the car door. Her face is grave, set in a hard line, and I’m nervous.

‘New car?’

‘Whatever. Darling, can I come in?’

‘What is it? You’re scaring me.’

‘I thought I’d ask you the same question.’ She points back the way I’d just come. ‘Shall we?’

I stay where I am.

‘Adrienne? What is it?’

‘You’re ignoring me. Why?’

‘Darling, I’m—’

‘Julia. I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days.’

‘Sorry. I’ve not been well.’

Another lie. I feel wretched.

‘Is something going on? Dee says you’re not returning her calls either. And Ali said she invited you to a party and you didn’t even reply.’

Did she? I can’t even remember. I feel something give, as if something in my head has slipped, some kind of defence. My mind begins to flood. Yes, I want to say. Something’s going on. I want to tell her everything, I want it all to come out.

But I know what she’ll say.

‘Going on? Like what?’

She shakes her head. ‘Oh, darling …’

‘What?’

‘Bob’s seen you.’

I flinch. It’s not the enveloping fog of guilt, or shame. This is something else, razor sharp, a scalpel on my skin.

‘Seen what?’

‘You with some guy. He said you were having lunch.’

I shake my head.

‘By the river?’

I tense. I’m flooded with adrenalin. I can’t let her see. ‘Last week?’ I say. ‘Yes, I was having lunch with a friend. Why didn’t he say hello?’

‘He was in a taxi. A friend? He said he didn’t recognize him.’

I try to laugh. ‘Bob doesn’t know all my friends, you know!’

I see her begin to soften. ‘A man friend. He said it looked pretty intimate. Who was it?’

‘Just someone I met. I took a photograph of him and his wife.’ I take a risk. ‘She was with us.’

‘He said it was just the two of you.’

‘She must’ve been in the loo. What’s this about? You think I’m having an affair?’

She looks right at me. ‘Are you?’

‘No!’

I hold her gaze.

‘Adrienne, I’m telling the truth.’

‘I hope so,’ she says.

I don’t look away. I am, I want to say. I want to plead my innocence.

But is that because I want it to be true, or because I want to wriggle off the hook?

‘I’m really sorry, but I have to go. I have a shoot.’

I’m carrying no equipment. I see her notice.

‘Later, I mean. I have to get some things first. Some shopping.’

She sighs. ‘Okay. But call me. We’ll talk properly.’

I tell her I will.

‘Where are you off to? Do you want a lift?’

I tell her, ‘No, no I’m fine.’

‘Promise you’ll call me,’ she says, and then she’s gone.

Now I’m in a taxi. I feel jumpy, anxious. Bob has seen me and Lukas. A lucky escape, I think, but next time? Next time it might be Adrienne herself, or even Hugh.

I’ve been neglecting him. I know that. I have to give Lukas up.

Either that or I have to start being more careful. I’m not sure which I want more.

I pull up to the St Pancras hotel and go into the lobby. It reminds me of the first time I came here. There’s the same sense of danger, and excitement. The same notion that everything might be about to change.

I go to the reception desk and give my name. The woman behind the desk nods. ‘For Mr Lukas?’ she says.

‘Yes, that’s right.’

She smiles. ‘There’s a package for you.’ She reaches under the desk, then hands me a parcel. It’s a little bigger than a shoebox, wrapped in brown paper, sealed with packing tape. My name is scrawled on the front in black marker pen. ‘And Mr Lukas asked me to give you a message,’ she says. She hands me a slip of paper. ‘Running late,’ it says. ‘There’s champagne on ice behind the bar. Hope you like the gift.’

I thank her. I wonder why he’s bought us champagne when he knows I don’t drink. I begin to turn away. ‘Oh,’ I say, turning back, ‘do you have some scissors?’

‘Of course.’ She hands over a pair. I stand at the desk and slit through the tape. I think of Hugh as I do so; I imagine myself touching a scalpel to yellow-stained flesh, watching as the skin yields then gives with a swell of red. I hand the scissors back to her then take the box to one of the chairs nearby. I want to be alone when I open my gift.

I take a deep breath and fold back the flaps. A smell hits me – not unpleasant, stale air, a faint, floral trace of perfume. Inside, there’s tissue, a sealed envelope. It’s this I open first.

There’s a postcard inside. It’s plain, creamy white. I think back to the cards that were put through my letterbox, the ones I’d told him might have been from Paddy, but there’s no woman in lingerie, no breasts, no pouting girl who looks not quite old enough to be holding the pose she’s holding, wearing the expression she has on her face.

I flip the card over. On one side is a message.

‘A little gift,’ it says. ‘See you soon. Wear this. Lukas.’

I put the note to one side. If he’s crammed an outfit into the box, there can’t be much to it. I lift out the bundle and tear through the tissue paper it’s wrapped in.

It’s a dress. Bright red. A mini-dress, short, with long sleeves and a low-cut back. I can already see how tight it’s going to be, how it will hug my body, hiding nothing, only accentuating the curves of my flesh. I check and find he’s picked the right size, but it’s not the kind of thing I’d wear at all, which must be why he’s chosen it. Beneath it there’s a pair of shoes. They’re black, high-heeled, almost four inches I guess, much higher than I’m comfortable in, with a tiny bow on the toe. I take them out; they’re beautiful. They look expensive.

At the bottom of the box is one more thing. A padded jewellery case in soft red leather. My heart beats with childish excitement as I flip it open. Inside there’s a pair of earrings. Gold drop with a four-leaf-clover design and, unlike the shoes, they look inexpensive.

I react instinctively. My heart thuds, I snap the box closed. They’re similar to the ones Kate was wearing. It’s coincidence, I think. It has to be. He’s forgotten. It’s like when Hugh casually mentioned that Paddy had been mugged but nothing had been taken. I’m over-sensitive. I have to pull myself together.

I find the bathroom. I’m nervous, unmoored. Something doesn’t feel right. It’s the dress, the shoes. The earrings. They’re beautiful, but they’re not gifts one buys for someone they care about. They’re a costume. A disguise. This time he’s making explicit what until now has been implied: this is unreal, a fantasy. I must become other. I must take off my wedding ring, even though he knows I’m married. I must pretend to be someone I’m not. This is a game, a masquerade. It’s exactly what I’d told him I don’t want.

So why am I getting changed? Why am I wearing the dress? I can’t say; it’s almost as though there’s no other option. What’s happening has its own momentum, a pull too powerful to resist. I’m heading into the unknowable, the foreign. I’m light, being drawn into the blackness.

I take the furthest cubicle from the door and lock it behind me. I take off the clothes I’m wearing then hold the dress up in front of me. It unfurls itself, a curtain of red, and I slip it over my head before shimmying the zip closed. I put the heels on the floor then step into them. The height lifts me into another space, a place where I am strong. I take off my earrings and replace them with the ones he’s given me. The transformation is complete. I am other. Julia is no longer here.

I step out of the cubicle and go over to the mirror. My perspective has shifted; everything is different. I no longer know who I am, and I’m glad.

I smile at my reflection and a stranger returns my gaze. She’s beautiful, and utterly confident. She looks a little bit like Kate, though thinner, and older. The bathroom door closes behind me with a sigh.

At the bar I begin to relax. My heart slows to its normal pace, my breathing becomes deeper. Before I can stop him, the waiter has poured some of the champagne Lukas has left, but I ask for water as well. I look around. The bar isn’t busy, just a few people dotted around. I put down my glass. I want to look comfortable when Lukas arrives. Composed. As in something that’s made up, created. Something that’s a fiction.

I drink the water slowly, yet still Lukas hasn’t arrived by the time I finish the first glass. I pour myself another as I look again at the clock on my phone. He’s very late now, and there’re still no messages. I sip my drink and rearrange my dress. I wonder what’s holding him up. I wish I were wearing my own clothes.

A moment later I realize there’s somebody behind me, leaning on the bar. I can’t see him but I know it’s a man – there’s a solidity to him, the space he occupies he does so confidently. Lukas, I think. I begin to smile as I turn, but I’m disappointed. It’s not him. This man is larger than Lukas; he’s wearing a grey suit, holding a glass of beer. He’s alone, or appears to be. He turns and smiles at me. It’s obvious, unsubtle and I’m not used to it. Yet it’s flattering. He’s young, attractive, with a beard, a strong jaw, a nose that’s been broken. I smile back, because it would be rude not to, and look away.

He must take my smile as an invitation. He turns his body to face me, says, ‘How’re you?’

‘I’m fine.’ I think of Lukas, resist the temptation to tell him I’m waiting for someone. ‘Thanks.’

His face opens. He grins, says, ‘D’you mind?’ He’s indicating the empty seat between us but before I can tell him I’m saving it for someone he’s already sitting down. I’m irritated, but only mildly so.

‘I’m David.’ He shakes my hand. His palms have a roughness not suggested by his clothes. I see his eyes sweep my body, travel from my neck, to my arms, to my ringless finger. It’s only when they come to rest once again on my face that I realize he’s still holding my hand.

I’m impatient. It’s Lukas I want to be holding. His flesh, not this man’s.

But he isn’t here, and I’m annoyed, even if I don’t want to admit it.

‘I’m Jayne,’ I say.

‘You’re alone?’

A breeze caresses the back of my neck. I think of Hugh first, and then Lukas.

‘For now,’ I say.

‘Well, I’m very pleased to meet you, Jayne,’ he says. He holds my gaze. He’s reaching inside me. It’s an offer, a proposition. I’m under no illusions, I know it’s because of the clothes I’m wearing. I might not have even noticed it a few months ago; Lukas has sensitized me to it.

But I don’t feel the same thrill that I did when I met Lukas – the thrill of being desired but also of feeling desire. This time it’s slightly uncomfortable. Again I think of telling him I’m waiting for someone, or that I’m married, but for some reason I don’t. That would be hiding behind a man. You can’t have me, because I’m promised to another. It would make me weak. He shifts his weight on the stool so that his right knee is close enough to brush against my left and I get a sudden thrill, so intense it shocks me.

‘Likewise,’ I say. He asks me whether I’m staying in the hotel, whether I’m here on business. I say no. I don’t want to lead him on.

‘How about you?’ I say.

‘Oh, I’m in finance,’ he says. ‘It’s very boring.’

‘Travelling?’

‘Yes. I live in Washington DC.’

‘Really?’ I say.

He nods. ‘What’re you having?’

‘I have a drink already,’ I say. There’s a look of mock-disappointment on his face. I smile, then glance at the time on my phone. Lukas is late and hasn’t sent a further message.

‘Then I’ll have the same.’

There’s a swell and fizz as the drink is poured. We chink glasses, but I don’t drink. Dimly, I’m aware of how this will look when Lukas arrives, which surely can’t be long now. It pleases me. I’d rather this than he sees me alone, desperate, waiting for him.

Yet at the same time I wonder how easy this guy – David – will be to get rid of.

‘So,’ he says, ‘tell me about you. Where are you from?’

‘Me? Nowhere, in particular.’ He looks confused, and I smile. I won’t tell him the truth, but neither do I want to make anything up. ‘I moved around a lot as a child.’

‘D’you have any brothers or sisters?’

‘No,’ I say. I don’t want Kate in the room. ‘It was just me.’

I look up, into his eyes. They’re wide; the expression of sincerity on his face is so perfect it can only be fake. I realize we’re sitting close. His hand is resting on his thigh, his knee still pressed against mine. It’s intensely sexual. The room seems to be tipping, off balance. Something is very wrong.

‘Excuse me,’ I say. ‘I think I’ll just use the Ladies.’

I stand. I’m unsteady. It’s as if I really have been drinking, rather than just bringing it to my lips and putting it down again. In the bathroom I look at myself in the mirror, trying to reclaim the confidence I felt earlier, but I can’t. Julia is returning; she’s just wearing someone else’s clothes.

I take out my phone, dial Lukas; there’s no answer so I leave him a message. I splash water on my face, take a few deep breaths and gather myself.

When I return David is still sitting on the stool, still leaning against the bar. He watches me approach. He smiles. His legs are spread – to balance himself, I suppose, though I wonder if he’s also offering himself in some primitive, animal way. I take my seat.

He smiles, lowers his voice, leans forward. For a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, but he says, ‘I thought we could take this upstairs. Somewhere more private?’

I can’t help it. There’s a tingle, an excitement. I realize I like the thought of Lukas being upset by me wanting someone else. Yet he doesn’t know, and fear is also flooding in. This isn’t what I came here for. This isn’t supposed to happen. This man looks strong. He’s not someone I could fend off, even if I had to. Plus, we’re in public and I don’t want to cause a scene. I play for time.

‘Here?’ I say. ‘In the hotel?’ He nods. I tell myself to concentrate. ‘I’m sorry,’ I begin, ‘but …’

I shrug, but he doesn’t stop smiling. I think of the girls at school, and what the boys called them when they didn’t go as far as they’d unwittingly promised. ‘Cock-teasers’, they said.

He doesn’t seem to get the message. He puts his hand on my knee, moves it a fraction up, towards my thigh. He leans forward. I can smell him, pepper and wood, leathery, like old books. He begins to stroke the inside of my wrist. I know he’s going to try and kiss me, that in a moment he’ll close his eyes and open his mouth, just slightly, and I’ll be expected to do the same.

I cough, and look towards the bar. He touches my arm. There’s another tiny crackle of static.

He whispers. ‘I know who you are,’ he says, as if he’s read my mind. He smiles, baring his teeth, as if he’s growling. He’s still stroking my skin.