Second Life

by S. J. Watson

  ‘Open this, first. Then we’ll talk.’

  I take it; it’s wrapped beautifully. ‘Happy birthday, darling.’

  Some part of me knows what it is, even before I’ve opened it.

  ‘My favourite perfume! Fracas!’

  My voice sounds overly enthusiastic, even to me. There’s an edge of insincerity. I hope he doesn’t think I’m ungrateful.

  ‘I noticed you’d run out.’

  ‘Yes. Nearly.’

  It’s the perfume Lukas hates.

  ‘And I know it was Kate’s favourite, too.’

  I smile. ‘That’s very thoughtful, darling.’

  ‘Put some on, why don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t want to waste it.’

  ‘Please.’ He looks disappointed. For an instant his face is lined with worry, but then he smiles again. ‘You smell so lovely when you wear it.’ He kisses me. ‘Wear it today . . .’

  ‘Hugh . . .’

  ‘You do still like it?’

  ‘Yes. I love it.’ I open the box, slide out the bottle. Pleasing one man, not pleasing another. Just a squirt, I think. I can wash it off before I meet Lukas. For a moment I feel his fingers tighten around my wrist. I smile to myself as I spray some behind each ear.

  ‘That’s not your real present, though.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Dad’s taking you out!’ says Connor. His face lights up with glee. I can see they’ve hatched some plan together.

  ‘When?’

  Hugh speaks. ‘Today. I’ve taken the day off.’

  They both look at me, now. Expectant.

  ‘Great!’ I concentrate on not letting the panic show in my face. ‘What time?’

  ‘All day,’ says Connor. ‘And I’m going out with Dylan.’

  ‘Lovely!’ I’m really starting to worry now. I picture Lukas, sitting there, wondering where I am. He’ll think I’ve let him down. He’ll think I’ve lost interest and couldn’t even be bothered to tell him.

  I’m not like that, and I don’t want him to think I am.

  I think fast. ‘You’ve remembered it’s my therapy today?’

  He winces; he had forgotten. ‘I didn’t, no.’ He waits for me to make a suggestion, but I say nothing. ‘It’s not ideal, but could you cancel it? Just this once?’

  I feel myself tense, slipping into anger.

  ‘I don’t want to miss one. Martin thinks we’re making real progress.’

  Martin. Is that the name I’ve used before? For a moment I can’t remember.

  He looks to Connor, then back to me. I wonder if he’s looking for support, or thinks that we shouldn’t be having this conversation in front of our son.

  ‘I know—’ he begins.

  ‘I mean, I’m finally starting to feel better. You know?’

  ‘Yes. And I’m really glad. Of course I am. But can’t you reschedule?’

  Connor puts his spoon down. He’s waiting for me to answer.

  ‘For later this week?’

  No, I think. No, I can’t.

  ‘He’s pretty busy . . .’ I think fast. ‘He charges the full amount for cancellations.’

  Hugh’s chin tilts downwards. He’s getting annoyed, I can tell. ‘I think we can afford it, darling. And, anyway, I’ve booked something for us. There’s a cancellation fee on that as well.’

  ‘What’ve you booked?’ I say.

  ‘It’s a surprise. An all-day thing. I thought we’d get there around eleven.’

  ‘Let me think.’ I stand up. I feel torn. My husband – my lover. I can’t have both, just like I could never drink and not drink, or both reach for the syringe and leave it alone. I have to choose one or the other.

  Unless . . .

  I pick up my phone.

  ‘I’ll just see if I can move my session earlier,’ I say to Hugh. ‘Then I can meet you at about eleven thirty?’

  He begins to protest, but I silence him. ‘I don’t like being unreliable,’ I say. ‘And it’s important to me that I go.’ I’m trying to keep my voice even, reasonable, but I’ve raised it slightly. I smile. ‘I’m sure half an hour won’t make a difference?’ I step out of the room, into the hall and close the door behind me. I press call. A few moments later Lukas answers.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, and without thinking I add, ‘It’s me. Julia Plummer.’

  ‘Julia?’ he says. He’s confused; it’s the first time I’ve used my real name. ‘Jayne,’ he says quietly. ‘Is that you?’

  I feel a sudden fear. I’m aware Hugh is just a few feet away, on the other side of the door. I try to keep myself calm. With my thumb I turn the volume down on my phone until I’m certain I’m the only one who can hear his replies.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I say evenly. I wait a moment, then continue. ‘No, no . . .’ I laugh. ‘Not at all!’

  ‘You can’t talk.’

  ‘That’s right. Anyway, I was just wondering if we could meet an hour earlier today? It’s my birthday and my husband’s taking me out!’

  I try to sound enthusiastic, for the sake of Hugh and Connor, yet I can’t. Lukas will think I mean it, that I’m genuinely excited to be seeing my husband rather than him. That would never do.

  He’s silent for a moment. I can’t tell if he’s playing the game, or genuinely hasn’t worked out what’s going on.

  Finally he speaks. ‘The usual place, but an hour earlier?’

  He sounds odd. I’m not sure if it’s disappointment, or anger.

  ‘Yes, if that’s okay.’

  ‘That’s great.’ He laughs. ‘For an awful moment I thought you were ringing to cancel.’

  ‘Not at all,’ I say. ‘I’ll see you then.’

  I end the call and go back in to Hugh. ‘There. Sorted.’

  ‘It was my present,’ I say. ‘From Harvey.’

  He doesn’t like it. I can tell.

  ‘Did he make you wear it?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Does he make you do many things?’

  ‘Not like you do.’

  He doesn’t smile. He hasn’t relaxed since I arrived a few minutes ago. Something is different.

  ‘It’s not that bad, is it?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  I smile. I’m trying to keep it light, make it sound unimportant. Which it is, as far as I’m concerned, at least. I kiss him again.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say. I try to withdraw from his embrace, but then he kisses me, pushing back against me as he does. It’s urgent, almost violent. His hand goes to my neck and for a moment I wonder if he’ll grip me around the throat, but then he cups the back of my head. He begins to push me towards the bed. ‘Please forgive me,’ I say. Though not real, my fear is somehow addictive. He lets me go, with a tiny shove, then raises his hand, as if to hit me.

  ‘Don’t punish me,’ I say. ‘Please?’ For a moment he looks genuinely enraged and I flinch a
nd take a step backwards. Kate’s face flashes in front of me, wide-eyed and terrified. I try to fix on what I know: that he never had anything to do with my sister.

  ‘Don’t—’ I say, but he interrupts.

  ‘Why not?’ He starts laughing. His fist is still raised. ‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t. I told you not to wear that fucking perfume,’ he says, and for the briefest instant I’m walking in my sister’s shoes. A pure, genuine terror hits, and then his face relaxes. He lowers his hand, but takes hold of me.

  ‘You really are joking,’ I say.

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  He smiles, then kisses me, hard.

  ‘That depends.’

  Afterwards, we lie on the floor together. I’m still half in and half out of my clothes. I’m worried my shirt is ripped – I’d heard a tear as he unbuttoned it furiously, and instantly thought about how I might explain it to Hugh – and I’ve hit my head on the corner of the bed.

  He turns to me. ‘You’re bruised.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It was me?’

  I smile. ‘Yes.’ I’m almost proud.

  ‘You know I’d never hurt you for real, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I know that.’

  I wonder if I do. I wonder what I’m getting myself into, and how deep.

  Yet I can’t deny it’s coming from me as much as him. Everything is reciprocated, every fantasy I share with him is encouraged, taken further. I can’t pretend I’m not enjoying it.

  ‘Yes. I trust you.’

  ‘Good.’ He kisses me, and it’s so tender, so slow, with none of the urgency of just a few moments ago, and none of the ordinariness, the practicality, the perfunctoriness, of Hugh.

  ‘So where’s he taking you?’

  ‘Who?’ I can’t work out if it’s jealousy I hear. ‘My husband? I don’t know.’

  ‘Where are you hoping?’

  I sit up. It’s uncomfortable, this bringing of Hugh into the room. I’ve managed so far because I’ve been able to keep him out, just like I’ve been able to keep Connor out.

  An image of him swims into view. He’ll be with Dylan, now. Playing on the computer, or maybe at the park.

  I wonder why I’m still glad Lukas doesn’t know I have a son.

  ‘I don’t know. It’ll probably be for lunch, or to the theatre. A couple of years ago he bought me tickets to the opera, but then couldn’t come. I went with Adrienne.’

  ‘Who’s Adrienne?’

  ‘Just a friend. I’ve known her for years. Since I moved to London, pretty much.’

  ‘Will you and your husband have sex?’

  I look at him. ‘That’s not fair.’

  He knows I’m right. ‘You know, you sound like you don’t much care where your husband is taking you, or what you’re going to do.’

  I stand up and begin to gather my clothes. It’s not true, quite, but we’re playing a game, and I know what I have to say. ‘I don’t, really. I’d much rather spend the day here, with you.’

  ‘That’s what I want, too.’

  I take a deep breath. I’ve been putting it off, but I have to ask, before I leave.

  ‘Did you find anything out? About Kate?’

  He stands up and begins to get dressed.

  ‘Not yet. I’m working on it.’

  Are you? I think. For some reason I’m not sure I believe him.

  ‘I was thinking about the earring. The one you said was missing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you sure the police are looking into that? I mean, it’s looking like it might be a more fruitful lead than looking at her internet friends?’

  ‘Well, they say they are, but I’m not sure.’

  He kisses me. ‘Leave it with me. I’m sure something will come up. We’ll just have to keep digging.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’ He kisses me goodbye. ‘By the way, you haven’t had your present from me, yet.’

  I smile.

  ‘You’ll get it later. It’s a surprise.’

  I leave one hotel to go straight to another. My head is throbbing, there’s a rip in my shirt that I try to cover up by buttoning up my jacket. When I arrive, I see Hugh across the lobby. He’s sitting in an armchair; across the room from him there’s a piano, above hangs a huge chandelier. I go over to my husband and he stands as I approach. He looks tired, and I feel guilty.

  ‘Darling!’ he says. ‘How was it?’

  I tell him it was fine. I see he’s got a beach bag with him, one of mine. It must’ve been the first one he found. We sit and he pours me a tea.

  ‘Here you go.’ I take it from him. I look around the room at the other guests: an older couple eating scones, two women having lunch and discussing something in hushed voices, a man with a newspaper. I wonder what kind of person stays in the hotel, whether it’s the kind of place Lukas might one day invite me.

  ‘It’s going well,’ says Hugh suddenly. ‘Your therapy, I mean. You seem much . . .’

  ‘Better?’

  ‘No. Relaxed? At peace? You seem to be much clearer about Kate’s death.’

  He waits, as if I’m going to say more. When I don’t, he says, ‘You can talk to me, you know.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘We did our best, you know? To help her. To be there for her.’

  I look away. I want to change the subject. ‘It’s just . . . well . . . it’s complicated.’

  ‘Connor, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have turned out better, you know. If he’d stayed with her. It would have been exactly the same . . . or worse. We had to get him out of there. It wasn’t a good place for him.’

  I shrug, then say, ‘Maybe. D’you think he’s all right?’

  ‘I think so. I mean, he’s struggling a little. With the Kate thing. It must be very confusing for him.’

  ‘I guess,’ I say. ‘I’m going to take him out next week. We’re spending the day together. The cinema, or something. I’ll talk to him then.’

  He nods. I feel guilty. I should’ve discussed this with him already. We should be united when it comes to Connor, as we always have been before.

  ‘Good idea,’ he says. ‘He’ll be fine, you know. He’s a good lad. He has his head screwed on.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘You know, I think he has a girlfriend.’

  He smiles. A pleasant complicity between a father and his son.

  ‘Really?’ I’m surprised, even though I shouldn’t be, and I feel the heat of jealousy. I always thought I’d be the one he came to, confided in.

  ‘Haven’t you noticed? He keeps mentioning this girl – Evie.’

  I smile. I don’t know why I’m so relieved.

  ‘I think I’ve met her.’

  ‘Really?’


  I think back to Carla’s party. The girl I’d seen Connor with; I’m sure that was her name.

  ‘Yes. She seems okay.’

  ‘That’s good.’ He drinks some of his tea. ‘He’s seeing a lot of Dylan, too. He’s popular. He’ll be fine.’

  He pauses.

  ‘And tonight we have the house to ourselves. I thought we could get some dinner, and then . . .’

  The sentence peters out. I think of the marks on my back, my thighs. For a week I’ve been going to bed early, undressing in the dark, grabbing my robe as soon as I wake up. I can’t let him see the bruises.

  I commit myself to nothing. ‘That’d be lovely.’

  He smiles.

  ‘So, what’re we doing here?’

  He grins, then puts down his cup. He shifts forward in his seat, as if he’s about to stand, to make a presentation, or an announcement. ‘Well, I thought we needed to relax . . .’ He beams. He hands me my bag; inside it I can see the dark blue of my swimming costume, my shampoo and conditioner.

  ‘They have a spa here.’ He points to the sign by the lobby. ‘Now, I’ve booked you a pedicure, and we’re both having a massage. I had arranged that for midday, but it’s okay, they’ve moved it to the afternoon . . .’

  ‘A spa?’

  ‘Yes. We can spend all day here. They’ve got steam rooms and a sauna, and a pool . . .’

  ‘Great,’ I say. Anxiety begins to roll in my stomach, to swell into panic. My costume is cut low at the back.

  ‘Shall we go? Unless you’d like lunch here, first?’

  I shake my head. I don’t know what I’m going to do. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘This is your day . . .’

  ‘I know.’ I’m desperately trying to think of an excuse, a way out of it. But there isn’t one; we’re already heading back through the lobby, towards the spa. I think of when I got dressed, just an hour or so ago, in the room with Lukas. I’d looked over my shoulder at my reflection in the full-length mirror. The bruises were dark and purpling, unmistakable.