Текст книги "Second Life"

Автор книги: S. J. Watson

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‘And you had sex?’ Her lips are set in a hard line. I hesitate. She knows we did.

I nod.

‘What was it like?’

‘Anna. Please … I’m not sure it’s a good idea—’

‘No. Tell me.’

I know she wants to hear that it was disappointing. That we didn’t click, that it was obvious his heart wasn’t in it. She wants to be allowed to think what they have is special, and that what happened between me and him was a one-off, nothing.

I can’t lie, but neither do I want to make her feel any worse than she already does.

I look away. Unwittingly, my eyes are drawn to the statue across the platforms. ‘It was … all right.’

‘All right. So you never saw him again, after that one time. Right?’

Her sarcasm is caustic. She knows I did.

‘I never intended for it to become an affair. I never intended any of it.’

‘And yet here we are.’

‘Yes. Here we are. But you must understand, Anna, I didn’t know he even knew you. I promise. What can I swear on?’ I whisper. ‘Connor’s life? Believe me, if that’s what it takes I will.’

She looks at the wine in the glass in front of her, then back up to me. She seems to make a decision. ‘Why? Why is he doing this?’

‘I don’t know. Money?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘He knows Kate left money to you, and to Connor. Maybe he was hoping to get his hands on Connor’s share as well as yours—’

‘He isn’t going to get his hands on mine!’ She sounds shocked, affronted. ‘We’re getting married!’

‘I’m sorry. You know what I mean.’

‘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.

PART FIVE

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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.’

I smiled, sadly. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ll call me?’

He said he would, but now the phone is ringing and it’s not him.

‘Anna?’

She’s hesitant. When she does speak she sounds distant, upset.

‘How’re you?’

‘Fine,’ I say. I want her to tell me what she’s decided. For two days I’ve been convincing myself that she’s reconsidered, or hasn’t believed me at all. I’ve imagined her talking to Lukas, telling him that I’d caught up with her at the station, recounting what I’d said.

I daren’t imagine what his next move would be then.

‘How are you feeling?’

She doesn’t answer. ‘I’ve been thinking. Ryan’s away for another week. He’s staying in London. I need a week after he gets back.’

I’m not sure what she means.

‘A week?’

‘I need to finish it with him. But I need to make him think it has nothing to do with you at all. I’ve already told him I haven’t seen you since the other night at the hotel, that you haven’t been in touch. I told him I thought you were a freak, and that I didn’t want anything else to do with you. When he comes back I’ll just have to be busy, I’ll pretend I’ve got a lot on at work or something. I can manage it for a week, I think.’

‘And then?’

‘Then I’ll end it.’

She sounds defiant. Absolutely certain.

‘I’ll get the pictures – the ones he’s got of you – and delete them from his computer. I’ll find a way, I have a key to his flat, it shouldn’t be too difficult. Then, even if he does suspect, it’ll be too late to do anything about it.’

I close my eyes. I’m so grateful, so relieved. It might work. It has to work.

‘You’ll be all right?’

She sighs. ‘Not really. But I suppose I kind of knew, really. There was always something about him, I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was. He’d always be travelling, at short notice. I should’ve known.’

I’m not sure I believe her. It sounds like justification after the fact.

She carries on. ‘Maybe when all this is over we can get together and go out for a drink. Not lose our friendship because of it.’

‘I want that, too,’ I say. ‘Will we stay in touch? Over the next couple of weeks, I mean?’

‘It wouldn’t be good if Ryan finds out we’re speaking.’

‘No.’

‘I’ll try and call you, when I can.’

‘Okay.’

‘You’ll have to trust me,’ she says.

We talk for a minute or so more, then she says goodbye. Before we end the call we agree to reconnect on Find Friends. Afterwards I sit for a moment as relief floods me, relief and fear, then I call Hugh. I’m not sure why. I want to hear his voice. I want to show that I support him, that I haven’t forgotten what he’s going through today. His secretary answers; he’s still in his meeting.

‘Will you ask him to call me when he gets out?’

She says she will. Almost on a whim I ask if I can speak to Maria. I want to know that Paddy’s okay, that he’s recovered.

I think of the steps. I’ve made my moral inventory now; without even being conscious of it, I’m working on making amends.

‘She’s not in today,’ she says. I ask if she’s on holiday. ‘No, some problem at home.’ She lowers her voice. ‘She sounded very upset.’

I put the phone down. I’m uneasy. Hugh has always said that Maria can be relied upon; she’s never sick, never late. I can’t imagine what might be going on. An illness? Paddy, or her parents, perhaps? They’re not elderly, but that rules nothing out, I should know that as much as anyone.

I almost call her at home but then decide against it. I have plenty going on as it is, and what could I say to her? We’re not friends, not really. I haven’t seen her since we visited Paddy, weeks ago. Hugh hasn’t invited them round, or maybe he has and they haven’t come. I wonder if that was Paddy’s decision, and if so what excuses he may have given his wife.

I spend the afternoon working. Connor arrives home and goes upstairs. Doing his homework, he says, though I’m not sure I believe him. I suspect he usually spends hours online – with his friends, Dylan, his girlfriend – and even now, every time I go up, to check if he wants a drink, to try to persuade him down for dinner, to make some sort of a connection, he seems to make a point of being cool towards me. He’s still angry over the grounding, I guess; even though it’s only for a week, it seems to be taking a long time to wear off.

Maybe it’s something else. He’s still upset that the arrest of the man who killed Kate hasn’t brought him the relief he’d hoped. He’s looking elsewhere, now. ‘Do you know who my real dad is?’ he said the other day, and when I said no, he said, ‘Would you tell me, if you did?’ Of course you wouldn’t, he seemed to be saying, but I tried to stay calm. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, of course I would. But I don’t know.’

I want to tell him it won’t change anything. I want to say, Your father – whoever he is, whoever he was – was probably very young. He abandoned your mother, or more likely didn’t even know she was pregnant. ‘We’re your family,’ I said instead, but he just looked at me, as if that was no longer enough.

It’s upsetting, but I tell myself it’s normal, he’s a teenager. He’s just growing up, away from me. Before I know it he’ll be sitting exams, then leaving home. It’ll just be me and his father, then, and who knows if he’ll even come back to see us? All children go through a phase of hating their parents, but they say adopted children can find it all too easy to break away. Sometimes the severance is permanent.

I’m not sure I could cope with that. I’m not sure it wouldn’t kill me.

I’m in the kitchen when Hugh gets home. He kisses me, then goes straight to the fridge and gets himself a drink. He looks angry. I ask him how it went.

‘They’re making them an offer. Out-of-court settlement.’

‘Do they think the family will take it?’

I wait while he empties his glass and pours another. ‘Hope so. If it goes to court I’m fucked.’

‘What?’

‘I’m in the wrong. It’s unequivocal, to them at least. I made a mistake. If it goes to court we’ll lose, and they’ll have to make some kind of example of me.’

‘Oh, darling …’

‘Next week I have to go on a course.’ He smiles, bitterly. ‘Record keeping. I have to cancel surgery to go and learn how to write a set of bloody notes.’

I sit opposite him. I can see how injured he is. It seems so unfair; after all, no one is dead. It’s not as if he made a mistake during surgery.

I try to look hopeful. ‘I’m sure everything will be okay.’

He sighs. ‘One way or the other. And bloody Maria didn’t turn up today.’

‘I know.’

‘You know?’

‘I called. They said she wasn’t in. What’s going on?’

He takes out his phone and makes a call. ‘No idea. But I hope she’s intending to come in tomorrow.’ He puts the phone to his ear. After a few rings it’s answered, a faint hello. Maria’s voice. ‘Maria? Listen …’ He glances at me, then stands up. ‘How’re things?’

I don’t hear her reply. He’s turned away and is walking out of the room, his attention completely focussed on his colleague. I go back to preparing the meal. Hugh, Connor, Anna. I just hope everything will be all right.

Two days later Paddy calls. It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice in weeks, and he sounds different, somehow. I wonder if something’s happened to Maria, but he says no, no she’s fine. ‘I just thought you might want to meet up. Lunch, or something?’

Is that what all this is about? Does he want to make another attempt at seduction?

‘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.

He was there for me in the most real, the most honest, way possible. And still he’s the person I go to, the person I trust. The person who I want the best for, and want to be the best for, as he does for me.

I love him; finding out he’s slept with someone else – even boring Maria – has somehow made that feel more real. It’s reminded me he’s desirable, capable of passion.

I close my eyes. I wonder if they really have slept together only once. Either way, he’s had an affair that goes some way to countering my own. One of the holds Lukas thought he had over me is shrugged off, as simply as that. Anna will erase the photos and get him out of her life, and mine. For the first time in months I imagine emerging into a future without Lukas, clean and pure and free.

Hugh comes home. He’s late; a case had overrun. ‘Sorry, darling,’ he says when he comes into the kitchen. ‘Nightmare day. And Maria let me down again, at the last minute.’ He kisses me. Again I’m relieved. ‘Some crisis at home.’

So she hasn’t told Hugh that Paddy knows everything. I wonder why she told her husband, what prompted her confession. Guilt, I guess. That’s what it always boils down to, in the end.

‘How was your coffee with Paddy?’

It occurs to me that if I’m going to tell Hugh, this would be the moment. I know about you and Maria, I could say. Paddy told me. And I have something I want to tell you.

‘Hugh?’ He looks at me.

‘Uh-huh?’

I pause. I’m serving dinner. I wonder what would happen, if I went ahead. If I told him about Lukas. I wonder if he’d understand, if maybe he’s already guessed. I wonder if he’d forgive me, as I realize I’ve already forgiven him.

I change my mind. The secret I now know he’s keeping makes Lukas’s hold over me feel somehow diminished. I love Hugh, and I don’t want to give that up. Two wrongs don’t make anything right, but maybe they make things more equal.

‘Call Connor down, would you?’

He does, and a few minutes later our son comes downstairs. We eat together, sitting at the dining table. As we do, I watch my family. I’ve been a fool, an idiot. I’ve come close to losing everything. But I’ve learned my lesson – what good would a confession do now?

That night we go to bed early. I tell him I love him, and he tells me he loves me too, and we mean it. It’s not automatic, a call and response. It comes from a place of truth, deep and unknowable.

He kisses me, and I kiss him back. We’re truly together, at last.