by S. J. Watson
I close the magazine and empty the dishwasher, on autopilot. I pick up the dishcloth, the bottle of bleach. I clean the surfaces. I wonder if this is how my mother’s generation felt; Valium in the bathroom cabinet, a bottle of gin under the sink. An affair with the milkman, for the adventurous. So much for progress. I feel ashamed.
When I’ve finished my chores I go up to see Hugh. He’s in his office, despite the cold he’s been fighting for almost a week. He’s working on a statement; the case against him has progressed, the patient has relapsed and solicitors have been instructed. The hospital’s legal team want to prevent it going to a tribunal. ‘They’ve said I’m screwed if it does,’ he told me. ‘The fact is I didn’t write down what I’d told them, so I might as well have said nothing.’
‘Doesn’t it make any difference that they’d have gone ahead anyway?’
‘No. They just want some cash.’
It’s Maria dealing with the family now. According to Hugh, if they were that upset they’d have sought their second opinion from a different hospital altogether.
I’ve asked him if he’ll lose his job. He said no, no one’s died, he hasn’t been criminally negligent, but I can see the stress it’s causing him. I knock on the door and go in. He’s sitting at his desk. He has the window open, despite the draught, the cool air of early October. He looks pale.
‘How’re you feeling?’ I say.
‘Fine.’ Sweat sheens his brow.
‘Are you sure?’ I say. It’s good to care for him; it’s been a long time since I’ve felt he needs me. ‘Want anything?’
He shakes his head. ‘No, thanks. How about you? What’re your plans today?’
I remind him about Anna. ‘I’m picking her up from the station.’
‘She’s not staying with us, though?’
‘No. She’s booked into a hotel. She’s coming for dinner on Monday.’
‘Where’s Connor?’
‘Out. With Dylan, I think.’
‘Not his girlfriend?’
‘I don’t know.’ Again I feel that sense of loss. I turn to Hugh’s shelves and begin straightening things. I’m beginning to worry now. Connor is still upset after our discussion the other night, yet he won’t talk to me. How can I be expected to protect him, to counsel him as he enters the world as an adult, if he won’t let me in?
And that’s my job. Isn’t it? In the last few weeks the need to protect him, to keep him safe, has only increased. Yet I know I have to trust my son. To be old enough, mature enough. Not to get into any trouble – or not too much at least, and nothing with real repercussions. There’s little point in me demanding that he lives a blameless, spotless life, after what I’ve done. He has to make his own mistakes, just as I made mine.
And he will make them; I just hope they won’t be as catastrophic. Smoking in an alleyway, yes. A bottle of vodka or cheap cider, bought from the off licence by whichever of his friends is nearest to growing a beard. Weed, even; it’s going to happen sooner or later, whether I like it or not. But nothing stronger. No accidents, no pregnancies. No running away from home. No getting mixed up with people when you should know better.
‘Is he still seeing her?’ I say.
‘I’m not sure.’ I’m momentarily relieved. I’m aware it’s a contradiction; I want Connor to be close to Hugh but don’t like the thought of him telling him things he won’t tell me. ‘What d’you make of it all?’
‘What?’ I turn back to Hugh. ‘His girlfriend?’
He nods. ‘They met online, you know?’
I flinch. I turn back to the shelves. ‘Facebook?’
‘I think so. She’s a friend?’
‘I don’t know. She must be, I guess.’
‘Well, is he still seeing her?’
‘Hugh, why don’t you ask him? He talks to you about this stuff more than he talks to me.’
He points to his screen. ‘Because I have enough on my mind as it is.’
I arrive at St Pancras, order a mineral water from the champagne bar and sit down. From my seat I can see the statue at the end of the platforms where I met Lukas, all those weeks ago.
I sit facing it. Memories come back; there’s pain, but it’s dulled, bearable. I think of it as a test. He’s won enough. I just have to get over him, finally and completely, and here is where I can start. I sip my drink as the train comes in.
I see Anna through the glass partition that separates the trains from where I sit. She walks down the platform, her phone pressed to her ear, with a case that’s surprisingly large for the week she’d told me she was going to be in London. I watch as she ends her call then disappears down the escalators. She looks serious, as though something’s wrong, but just a few minutes later she’s in front of me, her grin huge and instantaneous. She looks delighted, relieved. I stand, and she envelops me in a hug.
‘Julia! It’s so good to see you!’
‘You, too.’ My words are lost in the folds of the silk scarf she’s wearing. She squeezes me, then lets go. ‘Is everything okay?’
She looks puzzled. I nod towards the platform she’s just walked down. ‘When you got off the train. You looked worried.’
She laughs. ‘Oh! No, everything’s fine. It was just my office. Some mix-up. Nothing major.’ She looks at me. ‘You look well. In fact, you look beautiful!’
I thank her. ‘You, too.’
‘Well . . .’ she replies, and there’s something about the way she smiles that makes me think her delight isn’t just because of seeing me again. She has something to tell me, something she’s been bottling up but can hold in no longer.
‘What is it?’ I’m excited, too, and intrigued, though already I wonder if I’ve guessed. I’ve seen the same expression before; I’ve even worn it myself.
She laughs.
‘Tell me!’
She grins and holds up her left hand. A moment later I see it: a ring on her finger, catching in the light from the windows above.
‘He asked me . . .’
I grin, but for the briefest moment all I feel is jealousy. I see her life, and it’s one of excitement, of exploration and passion.
I hug her again. ‘That’s wonderful. Truly wonderful!’ I mean it – my initial reaction had been unkind, but short-lived – and I look at the ring. It’s a single round diamond in a gold setting; it looks expensive. She begins talking. He asked her just last week. ‘He had the ring, he didn’t quite go down on one knee, but . . .’ She hesitates, clearly remembering. ‘I wanted you to be one of the first to know—’
I force a smile. I’m jealous on Kate’s behalf. It’s as if her death has somehow set Anna free. She doesn’t seem to notice, though. She squeezes my arm. ‘I just feel very close to you, Julia. Because of Kate, I suppose. Because of what happened.’
I take her hand. ‘Yes. Yes, I agree. I guess sometimes it’s not so much about how long you’ve known someone, but about what you’ve been through together.’ She looks relieved: we really are friends. I let go of her hand and pick up her bag before linking my arm in hers. ‘So,’ I say, as we begin to walk towards the car. ‘Tell me what happened! How did he ask you
?’
She seems to jump to attention, her mind was wandering, back into the memories, I guess. ‘We went to the Sacré-Coeur,’ she says. ‘I thought we were just going for a stroll, to look at the view, you know, or maybe get some lunch.’ The words tumble out of her mouth, all exclamations and half-sentences. As they do I’m swept up in her enthusiasm and I feel bad about my earlier reaction. I wonder if it hadn’t been jealousy but simple sadness. Sadness that this joy had been visited on her, and not Kate.
As she talks I think back to Hugh’s proposal to me: we were in a restaurant – our favourite, in Piccadilly – and he’d asked me between the main course and dessert. ‘Julia,’ he said, and I remember thinking how serious he looked, how nervous. This is it, I’d thought, for the briefest of instants. He’s brought me here to end it, to tell me he’s met someone, or that now I’m better, now I’m cured, it’s time for me to move on. But at the same time I thought it couldn’t possibly be that; we’d been so happy, over the previous few months, so much in love.
‘What?’ I’d said. ‘What is it?’
‘You know I love you. Don’t you?’
‘And I love you . . .’ He smiled, but didn’t look particularly relieved. I think that’s when I first realized what he was about to say.
‘Darling,’ he began. He took my hand across the table. ‘Julia, I—’
‘What, Hugh? What is it?’
‘Will you marry me?’
The happiness was instant, overwhelming. There was no romantic gesture, no going down on one knee or standing up to announce his intentions to the other diners, but I was glad of that; it wasn’t his style, and neither was it mine. He was a good man, I loved him, why would I say no? Plus, he knew me, had seen me at my absolute worst, knew everything about me.
Almost everything, anyway. And the things he didn’t know were the things I’d never tell anyone.
‘Of course!’ I said back then, yet still some part of me hesitated, the part that felt I didn’t deserve what Hugh was offering, what he’d already given me – this second life. But the relief that flooded his face told me I was making the right – the only – decision.
I realize Anna’s stopped speaking. I force myself to snap back to the present.
‘He sounds perfect!’
‘Yes. You know, I think he is!’
‘And he’s from Paris?’
‘No. He’s based there. His family’s from somewhere down in Devon.’ She grins. ‘This visit is a bit too rushed. I’m meeting them in a few weeks.’
We get to the car and I put her bag in the boot. Once we’re buckled up and I’ve started driving she tells me again the story of how they met. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘I told you about the dinner party?’ She sighs, as if their meeting were an inevitability, a coming together of the fates. I say yes, even though I’m not sure she did. She goes on to tell me anyway, about how they clicked straight away, about how instantly perfect it felt.
‘You know when something doesn’t feel sensible, but just feels right?’ she says.
‘I do,’ I say, turning the wheel. I sigh. ‘I do.’ She thinks I’m talking about Hugh, but I’m not. I’m thinking of Lukas. I’ve been trying to pretend to myself that I don’t miss him, but I do. Or rather, I miss what I’d thought we could have had.
I believed he knew me; it felt like he’d cracked me open and seen through to who I really am. I’d convinced myself he was the only person who could still do that.
‘. . . so we think we’ll carry on living in Paris for a bit,’ says Anna, ‘and then maybe move back here.’
‘Good idea. So, remind me when you met?’
‘When? Oh, it was just after Christmas. It was a few weeks before Kate . . .’ She stumbles, corrects herself, but the damage is done. ‘. . . Just before I met you.’ I smile, but she can see I’m upset. I can talk about Kate, now. I can think about her. But such an explicit reference to her death, coming from nowhere, still throws me. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘Me and my big mouth . . .’
‘It’s okay.’ I don’t want to dwell on it, and neither do I want her to feel guilty. Anna is the last person I should expect to avoid the topic of my sister. Nevertheless, I change the subject. ‘But it all seems to have happened very quickly,’ I say. I’m thinking of Lukas again, of how rapidly I’d fallen. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying that? I mean, are you sure?’
‘Oh! Yes, you’re right! But no, I’m totally sure! We both are,’ she adds. ‘He says the same. Neither of us thought there was any point in hanging around, when we’re so certain.’
She’s silent for a moment. I can feel her looking at me as I drive, no doubt weighing up what to say, wondering how much happiness I can stand. ‘You know, I think in a weird way it’s all connected with Kate. With what happened. It just reminded me that life is for living, you know? It’s not a rehearsal.’
‘No,’ I say. It’s a cliché, but only because it’s true. ‘No, it isn’t.’
‘I think that’s what Kate’s death taught me.’
‘Really? I feel it’s taught me nothing.’
It comes from nowhere. I wish I could unsay it, but it’s impossible.
‘Don’t say that.’
‘It’s true. All I’ve done is try to escape it.’
And look where it led me. I spent the summer obsessed with Lukas, a man ten years younger than me, falling in a love that I was stupid enough to think might be reciprocated.
I’d ended up running from a pain that I owed it to my sister to experience, and I’ll never be able to repay that. It feels like a final betrayal.
‘I’m just feeling sorry for myself. Ryan sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to meet him.’
‘You will! He might be coming over, this week. He’s not sure. You might even meet him on Monday.’
‘I didn’t know he was in town. He must come to dinner.’
‘Oh, no. He’s not here yet. He had to stay behind to finish some work. I don’t know when he’ll be arriving, and . . . well, I’ll ask him, anyway, if you’re sure you don’t mind?’
I shake my head. ‘Of course not.’
‘How’re you and Connor getting on now?’
‘Much better.’ She nods. ‘He seems to have got himself a girlfriend.’
‘A girlfriend?’
I feel a flash of pride. ‘Uh-huh.’ I pull up at some traffic lights. In the wing mirror I see a cyclist weaving through the traffic, coming up too close. ‘Though he won’t talk to me about it, of course,’ I add. ‘He barely even admits that she exists to me, though he seems to talk to Hugh.’
‘Is that usual?’ She sounds genuinely interested. ‘For him, I mean?’
I think of what Adrienne has told me. ‘It’s probably usual for all teenagers.’ I sigh. The lights change and we pull away. We’re almost at Great Portland Street. Nearly there. I’m happy Connor’s growing up, sad that must also, inevitably, mean growing away. I remember talking to Adrienne about that, too, a few weeks ago. ‘It’s something they go through,’ she’d said, then she hesitated, corrected herself. ‘Well, not exactly go through,’ she said. ‘They don’t really come out of it. This is the first s
tage of him leaving you, I’m afraid . . .’
I glance at Anna. ‘He doesn’t want to come out with us when we go out any more. He just stays in his room . . .’
She smiles. ‘So you’re sure it’s a girlfriend?’
‘Oh, yes. I think so, though he tells me to mind my own business, of course.’ I don’t tell her I insisted he showed me a photograph, this morning, after much discussion with Hugh. She looks a little older than him. I’m still convinced it’s the girl from Carla’s party, though he’s certain she wasn’t there. ‘She’s a friend of a friend of his. They met on Facebook.’ She looks at me with a knowing smile. ‘Hugh’s spoken to him about her. They chat online, apparently, though she doesn’t live far away.’
There’s a long pause, then she says, ‘And did you ever hear from that guy again? Lukas?’
‘Oh, no. I haven’t heard from him at all.’
I’m glad I’m driving; I can take my time to answer, decide what to say. I can pretend my silences are due to an increased need for concentration, rather than the fact that I’m finding the conversation difficult. I can fix my gaze on the road, disguise the expression on my face. I can skirt the truth as I tell her what’s been going on. As much as I feel I can confide in Anna, I feel shame, too.
‘So Hugh—?’
‘He doesn’t know any of it,’ I say quickly. I glance at her. She’s looking at me, her face impassive. I try to lighten the tone, to reassure her that I know I was stupid but it’s over now. ‘He’d never . . . he wouldn’t understand.’
‘Oh, God, I won’t say anything to Hugh! Don’t . . . I just wouldn’t.’
‘It was a bit of fun. You know? A distraction. Good while it lasted.’