Текст книги "Second Life"

Автор книги: S. J. Watson

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-Two

We emerge from the tunnel into dusk. I grab my phone but there’s still no signal, and as I wait I look out of the window.

The French landscape looks unreal, shrouded in a thin gauze. I see the desolate hypermarkets, their huge car parks without a sign of the shoppers who’ve driven there. The train seems to have a different rhythm now, as if the mere fact of travelling to a different country has caused the world to shift, just slightly. I put my watch forward by an hour; my phone has set itself automatically. A minute later I see three bars in the display and a second after that my phone beeps with a waiting voicemail. It’s from Anna.

I listen to it. ‘Julia!’ she begins. Already I’m searching for clues; in the background I can hear what sounds like the bustle of the station, and she sounds excited. Good news? Can it be? She goes on.

‘I’ve got him! He was just getting off the train as I got here.’ Her voice is muffled, as if she’s holding her phone against her chest, then, ‘Sorry, but he won’t speak to you.’ She lowers her voice. ‘He’s embarrassed, I think. Anyway, we’re just sitting here having a milkshake, and when we’ve finished we’ll head back to my place. Ring me, when you get this, and we’ll see you there.’

Relief mixes with anxiety. I wish she’d sit with him, where she is, or take him somewhere else. Anywhere but back to her flat, I want to say. She doesn’t understand the danger she’s in.

I call her back; the phone rings out. Come on, I say to myself, over and over, but she doesn’t answer. I try her again, then a third time. Still nothing. It’s no good. I leave a message, it’s all I can do, and then I try Hugh.

No answer there either; his phone goes straight to voicemail. I guess he’s on a train behind me, with no reception. I leave a message, asking him to call me. I’m on my own.

I sit where I am. I concentrate on my breathing, on staying calm. I concentrate on not wanting a drink.

I try to work out why he’s doing it. Why he’s pretending to be my son’s girlfriend, why he’s luring him to Paris.

I think of the dogs. Largos86.

Finally my mind settles on the last truth it’s been avoiding.

Lukas is Connor’s father.

The elements begin to slot into place. He must’ve befriended Kate, first, maybe Anna around the same time. It’s possible neither knew of the existence of him in the other’s life; perhaps he was friends with Kate online only. He’d have been the one persuading her to try to get Connor back, and then, just when it looked like it might be about to succeed, she’d been killed.

And so he came after my son using the only other route open to him. Through me.

Why didn’t I see it? I think of all the times I’d suspected that there was more to our relationship than I knew, all the things I’d glimpsed, and then avoided.

I wonder what Lukas thought would happen. I wonder if he’d hoped I’d end my marriage to be with him, that we’d all become one big happy family.

I think back to those times. Kate, calling me. I want him back. He’s my son. You can’t keep him. I wish I’d never let you take him from me.

Now I know it was him. Lukas, telling her what to say. Lukas, who’d come back for his son. My son.

‘I want Connor,’ she’d said, over and over, night after night.

Deep down, I know she’d still be alive if I hadn’t said no.

We reach Gare du Nord and I step off the train and get a taxi. It’s dark now, rain falls on the silvered streets of Paris as we glide towards the eleventh arrondissement. I’ve called Hugh and given him Anna’s address; he said he’ll meet us there. Now I try Anna again. I have to speak to my son.

The screen shows that she’s online, available for a video chat. I press call and a few moments later a window opens on my screen. I can see Anna’s living room, the same furniture I’m used to, the same pictures on the walls. A moment later she appears.

‘Thank God. Anna—’

I freeze. She looks distressed, her eyes are wide, tinged with red. She looks terrified.

‘What’s wrong? Where’s Connor?’

She leans in close to the screen. She’s been crying.

‘What’s happened? Where’s my son!’

‘He’s here,’ she says, but she’s shaking her head. ‘Ryan came back. He was angry—’

I interrupt. ‘But you had Connor with you!’

‘No, no. Connor was waiting outside. But … I couldn’t stop him. The pictures on his computer … I think he’s going to send them to Hugh. And … and he hit me.’

She looks numb, almost as if she’s been anaesthetized.

I think of the time with David, the incident in the car, the knife.

‘He was angry.’

‘That’s no excuse! Anna, you have to get out of there!’

She leans in, close to the machine. ‘I’m okay. Listen’ – she looks over her shoulder – ‘I haven’t got long. I need to tell you something. I have a gun.’

At first I think I’ve misheard her, but her face is grave. I realize I haven’t, and she’s serious.

‘What …? A gun? What d’you mean?’

She begins speaking quickly. ‘When Kate died … a friend of mine … he said he could get me one. For protection. And I said no, but …’

‘But what?’

‘But then, this stuff with Ryan. I was scared. I …’

‘You said yes.’

She nods. I wonder how it came to this, and whether there’s anything she’s not telling me about Ryan. About what he might’ve done already.

‘But …’ I say. ‘A gun?’

She doesn’t answer. I see her look over her shoulder. There’s been a noise, and then it comes again. A thudding.

‘Listen …’ She’s speaking quickly, whispering. I struggle to make out what she’s saying. ‘There’s something else. Hugh made me promise not to tell you, but I have to—’

‘Hugh?’ His name is the last I expected to hear.

‘—it’s about Kate. The guy. The one they found with the earring. It wasn’t him.’

I shake my head. No. No, this can’t be.

‘What do you mean, it wasn’t him?’

‘He had an alibi.’

‘Hugh would’ve told me. He wouldn’t let me go on thinking …’

The sentence peters out. Maybe he would. For the sake of peace.

‘I’m sorry, but it’s true. He said—’ There’s a noise at her end, loud. It sounds like a door slamming, a voice, though I can’t make out what’s being said.

‘I’ve got to go. He’s back.’

‘Anna—!’ I begin. ‘Don’t—’

I never finish the sentence. Over her shoulder I see Lukas. He’s shouting, he looks furious. There’s a flash of something in his hand, but I can’t tell what it is. Anna stands, blocking my view. I hear him ask who she’s talking to, I hear the words ‘Who the fuck?’, and ‘kid’. She gasps, and the screen goes dark. I realize he’s pushed her into the table, she’s fallen against the laptop and blocked the camera. When the image returns the computer is on the floor and through its camera I can see the floorboards, a rug, the edge of one of the chairs.

Yet I can hear what’s going on. I can hear him saying he’s going to kill her, and her, gasping, crying, saying ‘No!’, over and over. I call out her name, but it’s no use. I hear a thud, a body against the wall, or the floor. I’m unable to take my eyes off the screen. Anna’s computer is knocked, the image changes. Her head appears, flung to the floor. She gasps, and then a moment later is jerked violently backwards. There’s a thud as his fist connects with her, a sickening crunch. I call out her name, but all I can do is watch as her head is jerked back again and again until, eventually, she’s silent.

I stare at the screen. The room is quiet. Empty. And still there’s no sign of Connor. Terror descends.

Desperate, I end the call. In terrible French I ask the driver how long we’re likely to be, and he says five minutes, possibly fifteen. I’m frantic, every nerve hums with energy that won’t be contained. I want to open the car door, to leap out into the traffic, to run to our destination, but I know even if I could it would be no quicker. And so I sit back and will the traffic to clear, the cars to go faster.

I dial Hugh. Still no answer.

‘Fuck!’ I say, but there’s nothing I can do. After a while I begin to recognize the streets. I remember walking here, back in April. Consumed by grief, burning in a fire that I’d fooled myself into thinking I had managed to avoid. How simple things had been back then – all I had to do was get through it, survive the pain – yet I hadn’t even seen it.

Finally we arrive in Anna’s street. I see the laundrette, still closed, and opposite there’s a boulangerie where, last time, we bought fresh bread for our breakfast. I need to be cautious.

I ask the driver to stop a few doors down from Anna’s building; it might be better if I surprise them. He does so, and I pay him. A moment after he pulls away my phone rings.

It’s Hugh. ‘I’ve just arrived in France. Where are you?’

‘At Anna’s,’ I say. ‘I think Connor’s here.’

I tell him what I’ve seen, ask him to call the police.

‘Anna was attacked,’ I say. ‘I’ll have to explain the rest later. And Hugh?’

‘Yes?’

I don’t want to ask him, but I know that I must.

‘The guy they arrested. What happened?’

‘What do you mean, what happened?’

Tell me the truth, I think. Tell me the truth, without me demanding it, and maybe we still have a chance.

‘You told me they charged him.’

He’s silent, and I know what Anna told me is right, and Hugh knows I know it, too.

I hear him cough. ‘I’m sorry.’

I don’t speak. I can hardly breathe, but I have to stay calm.

‘I thought I was doing the right thing. Julia?’

I tell myself everything will be fine. Hugh will call the police, they’ll be on their way soon. I try to tell myself that whatever he’s done, Lukas is Connor’s father. He might take him somewhere, but he won’t hurt him.

I should tell him. I should tell Hugh why we’re here. But I can’t. Not like this.

‘Just call the police and get here. Please.’

I run up to Anna’s building, then try the handle. I’m in luck. The digital entry lock is broken, as she told me it often is. The door opens and I step inside, closing it softly behind me.

I don’t turn on the light but climb the stairs. On the first landing I see Anna’s door, just as I remember it. A dull light shines through the glass panels, but when I stand beside it and listen I hear no sound. No voices, no shouting. Nothing. I go over to the writing bureau and, as softly as I can, pull out the drawer, praying that the key Anna stowed under it hasn’t been removed, and that she hasn’t changed her locks since I was last here.

My luck holds. It’s there, taped to the underside. I take it and stand once again outside Anna’s door. Still no sound. I let myself in. The light in the hallway is on, there’s a vase of dead flowers on the side table. I step forward; the creak of my shoes sounds improbably loud in the silence.

The apartment seems much larger in the dark. It takes all my willpower not to shout out, not to ask if anyone’s there. I realize I don’t know which I’m hoping for more; that someone is, or that the place is empty.

I search the apartment. One room at a time. The TV is on in the living room – some news channel, but muted – and in the kitchen I see that a chair is overturned and the sticky brown remains of a meal smear the walls. My foot crunches underfoot; when I look down I see the remains of the striped blue bowl that must have once contained it.

I carry on. I look in Kate’s bedroom then move on to Anna’s. I hesitate outside. I wonder what I might find in there. I picture Kate, with her head staved in, her hair matted with blood, her eyes open and limbs twisted.

I take a breath and swallow. I push open the door.

The bed glows blood red in the dim light, but when I flick on the light it’s just the duvet cover, slipped off the end of the bed. The room is as empty as the rest of the apartment.

I don’t understand. I take out my phone, switch on Find Friends. The purple dot still blinks, now superimposed on mine, right here, right where I’m standing. She should be here.

I press call. For a second I hear the international tone, and then there’s a buzzing, low and insistent, from somewhere near my feet. I bend down. A phone is rattling across the floor under the bed, flashing as it goes. It must’ve fallen to the floor, been kicked under there. I get on to my hands and knees and grab it, and at the same time see that there’s something else under there, too, something shiny and metallic. The gun.

I freeze. I don’t want to touch it. I wonder how it got here, under the bed. I imagine her and Lukas fighting, Anna going for the gun, trying to threaten him. Maybe it was kicked under here in the struggle. Or maybe she never got that far. Maybe she kept the gun here and didn’t even have the chance to go for it.

But where’s Connor?

I feel the world collapsing, begin to disintegrate. I breathe deeply and tell myself I have to stay calm. I sit on the bed, the gun beside me. Anna’s phone shows my missed call, but there’s another message, a text that has been sent to the phone from a number I don’t recognize. ‘Julia,’ it says. ‘If you want to find Connor, return this call.’

I hesitate, but only for a moment. I have no choice. I swipe the screen and the phone connects.

It’s a video call. After a moment, it’s answered; the outline of a face appears. It’s Lukas, he’s sitting in darkness, in front of a window. His body is blocking what little light comes in from the street outside, throwing him into silhouette. For a second I’m reminded of those true-crime TV shows, the victim unrecognizable, her voice disguised, but then my mind goes to the times we’ve chatted on video before.

‘You found the phone.’

I take a deep breath, try to muster as much courage as I can. I put my hand on the gun beside me; it gives me some kind of strength. ‘What d’you want?’ My voice still cracks. I’m aware of how impotent the question sounds.

He leans forward. His face is illuminated by the glow from his screen. He’s smiling.

He’s unchanged, yet I don’t recognize him at all. The Lukas I knew has gone completely.

‘Where’s Connor?’

‘I have no idea.’

His words are loaded with threat.

‘Let me see him.’

He ignores me. ‘Like I said, I’ve decided I want Connor’s share of your sister’s money.’

I know he’s lying. His words are flat, and unconvincing. Even if I didn’t know the truth, I’d be able to tell.

‘This isn’t about money. I know who you are.’

‘Really?’

I close my eyes. Hatred pours into me; my mind will not be still. How long has this man been talking to my son? His father, pretending to be his girlfriend.

For a moment I feel huge, unstoppable, as if my hatred is limitless and I could transcend the hardware that links us, the fibre optics, the satellites, and destroy him simply by willing it.

Yet I know I can’t. I force myself to refocus on the screen. Lukas is still talking, but I can’t hear him.

‘Let him go,’ I say. ‘Let them both go. What have they ever done to you?’

He doesn’t answer. He ignores me. He holds up the memory stick. ‘I told you what would happen if you didn’t leave me and Anna alone …’

An image swims into view. Me and him, in a hotel room, fucking. I have one hand on the headboard; he’s behind me. I feel sick.

‘Don’t do this. Please. Let me see Connor.’

He laughs. ‘Too late. I told you I’d tell your family the truth.’

He stands up, holding his camera phone in front of him so that his face remains static. It looks as though it’s the background that’s wheeling violently, a ship upturned. A bare light bulb spins into view – dead, I guess, or not switched on – and then a glass-panelled doorway, beyond which must be another room, and next to it a cooker.

‘Julia …’ he says. The image spins again, then freezes; he’s standing still, as if deep in thought. Over his shoulder I can see a window, through it the street. ‘I want Connor’s share of your sister’s money. It seems only fair, as I won’t be getting Anna’s any more.’

I can’t understand why he’s doing this. ‘I know this isn’t about the fucking money!’ I’m shouting, my anger coursing through me, a boiling intensity. ‘I know who you are, you creep!’

He ignores me. ‘Don’t forget those pictures. Tell you what. Why don’t you stay there tonight? Make yourself at home, I’m sure Anna won’t mind. Then tomorrow, first thing, I’ll come round. You can give me the money, and then you can have this.’ He holds up the memory stick once again. ‘Or else I can give it to your family. It’s up to you.’

I’m silent. I have nothing to say, nowhere to turn.

‘Right. Until tomorrow, then.’ He laughs. I’m about to answer when he says, ‘And if you like we can have one last fuck, just for old time’s sake.’

And then he’s gone.

I stand up. My rage is volcanic, yet impotent. I want to lash out, to smash and destroy, but there’s nothing I can do. I look down at the gun and pick it up. It feels heavy in my hand.

I don’t have time to think. The police haven’t turned up yet, but they might be here soon. A wasted journey for them, but I’ve effectively broken in. I’m holding a gun, they’ll ask questions. I have to get out. I pick up the pistol and rummage through the chest of drawers over by the window. I pull out a lemon sweater and wrap the gun in it, then put it in my bag. I close the door behind me as I leave, then slam down the stairs.

Lukas has made a mistake. When he turned his phone round in the kitchen I’d caught a glimpse through the window to the right of his shoulder, on to the street outside. It hadn’t been for long, but it’d been enough. Through the window I’d seen a street, a row of shops, a neon sign reading ‘CLUB SANTÉ!’ with a jaunty exclamation mark and a logo of a runner formed out of a curve and a dot. Above it was one word. ‘Berger’.

When I’m out of sight of the apartment I search on my phone, typing the words into the browser, praying that there’ll only be one branch. My heart sinks as two appear – one in the nineteenth, the other the seventeenth – but both have maps attached and one looks to be on a busy road while the other is opposite a park.

It must be the nineteenth, which I guess is a couple of miles away.

I have to go there. I have to get Connor back, and maybe I can force Lukas to give me the memory stick, scare him into letting Anna go and leaving us all alone.

I hail a cab. I give the address, then get in. ‘How long?’ I say to the driver, in English. It takes a moment before I realize my mistake and say it again: ‘Combien de temps pour y arriver?’

He looks at me in the rear-view mirror. He’s indifferent, largely. He shrugs, says, ‘Nous ne sommes pas loin.’ A plastic tree hangs off the mirror, and on the dashboard there’s a photo: a woman, a child. His family, I guess, mirroring mine. I look away, out of the window, at the streets as they slide by. Rain has begun to fall; it’s heavy, people have put up their umbrellas or are dashing with newspapers held over their heads. I rest my head against the cool glass and close my eyes. I want to stay like this for ever. Silent, warm.

But I can’t. I take out my phone and call my husband.

‘Hugh, where are you?’

‘We’re just getting into Gare du Nord.’

‘Did you call the police?’

He’s silent.

‘Hugh?’

‘Yes. I called them. They’re on their way.’

‘You need to call them back. Please. I went to Anna’s. She isn’t there. The place is deserted. She and Connor … I think something terrible has happened.’

‘Terrible?’

‘Just meet me here,’ I say. I give him the address. ‘As soon as you can.’

‘Why? Julia? What’s there?’

I close my eyes. This is it. I have to tell him. ‘Hugh, listen. It’s where Connor’s gone. This Evie, she doesn’t exist.’

‘But I spoke to her.’

‘It’s just a name he’s used to lure him here.’

‘Who? You’re not making any sense, Julia.’

‘Hugh, listen to me. Connor’s found his father. His real father. He’s here to meet him, but he’s in danger.’

There’s a silence. I can’t begin to imagine what my husband must be feeling. In a moment he’ll ask me how I know, what’s happened, and it will all come spilling out. I take a deep breath. I’m ready.

‘Connor’s father … I know him. He didn’t tell me who he was, but—’

Hugh interrupts me.

‘But that’s not possible.’

‘What?’

I hear him sigh. ‘I’m sorry, Julia. Kate told me—’

‘What?’

‘Connor’s father is dead.’

I’m silent. ‘What? Who is he then? That’s ridiculous.’

‘I can’t tell you now. Not like this.’

I hear an announcement in the background. His train is pulling in.

I begin to shout. ‘Hugh? Tell me!’

‘We’re here. I’ve got to go.’

‘Hugh!’

‘I’m sorry, darling. I’ll be there soon. I’ll tell you everything.’