Second Life

by S. J. Watson

‘Oh, yes. Totally. Of course . . .’

  Until it wasn’t fun any more, I think.

  ‘He’s vanished, anyway.’

  ‘You sound disappointed.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  There’s a longer pause, then. I’m tense, embarrassed, because we both know how my affair with Lukas ended. The silence goes on; each of us waits for the other to break it. Eventually she does. She asks me what my plans are for the week, and I tell her. A bit of work, I might catch a movie. At last we reach the hotel.

  ‘Ah, we’re here.’

  We pull up. The place is surprisingly nice, though nothing like as grand as the places Lukas was taking me to. ‘Want me to come in?’

  She shakes her head. ‘It’s fine. You probably need to get on.’

  It’s an excuse, and I smile. I’d like to catch up some more, but she looks tired; I’ve forgotten she’s here to work, will probably want to have a rest before preparing for her conference in the morning. There’s plenty of time for catching up when she comes round for dinner.

  We get out and I get her case from the boot of the car. ‘See you on Monday, then.’

  She asks what time she should arrive. ‘And what shall I bring?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing at all. Just yourself. I’d better give you directions,’ I say. She takes her phone out of her bag.

  ‘Oh, I’ll use this.’ She swipes through more screens. ‘It’s so much easier. There. I’ve added you . . .’

  I don’t know what she means. ‘I don’t—’ I begin, but she interrupts me.

  ‘Find Friends. It’s an app that shows where your friends are in relation to you. On a map. It’s standard. Check your emails.’

  I do. There’s a new message. ‘Accept that invitation,’ she says, ‘then our profiles are linked. I can see where you are on the map, and you can see me. I use it all the time back home. After Kate died it was kind of reassuring to know where my friends were.’

  She takes my phone and shows me. A map opens, showing where we’re standing. Two dots pulse over each other. ‘One for me, one for you,’ she says.

  I look at the screen. Underneath the map there’s a list of people who’re following me. Anna’s name is there, but underneath is another. Lukas.

  I feel like I’ve been slapped.

  ‘Shit.’

  Anna looks shocked. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Him. Lukas.’ I try to keep my voice steady. I don’t want her to hear the fear in it. ‘He’s been following me on here . . .’

  ‘What?’

  I hold out my phone. ‘Look. How—’ I begin, but she’s already explaining.

  ‘He must’ve linked your profiles. You didn’t know?’

  I shake my head. I can’t believe what’s happening.

  ‘He must’ve found some way of sending you a request, then accepting it on your behalf. Easy enough, if you left him alone with your phone.’

  All those times I was in the bathroom, my phone in my bag or on the bedside table. She’s right. It would’ve been easy.

  ‘Can we stop him following me?’

  ‘Easy.’ She swipes something on the screen, then hands the phone back to me. ‘There,’ she says firmly. ‘Deleted.’

  I look. It’s just her name, now. ‘He can’t see where I am any more?’

  ‘No.’ She puts her hand on my arm. ‘Are you all right?’

  I nod, and I realize that yes, yes I am. I’m weirdly relieved. So this is how he’d known where I’d be. All that time. At least now I know. At least now I’m finally rid of him.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘It’s a bit of a shock, but I’m okay. Honestly.’

  ‘I’ll see you Monday, then?’ I nod. ‘I’ll let you know what Ryan’s doing as soon as he knows himself.’

  ‘Great. He’s very welcome. I’m looking forward to meeting him.’

  She kisses me, then turns to leave.

  ‘He can’t wait to meet you.’

  At home I go straight to my computer. Seeing his name has awoken something. One last time, I tell myself. I open encountrz, search for his name, and again I get the same message, as stark and unambiguous as my disappointment.

  Username not found.

  It’s like he never existed. He’s vanished as completely as the bruises he caused.

  I type his name into Google. There’s nothing. No mention of him, or anyone that could be him. I try Facebook and find his profile is nowhere to be found, then ring his number again, even though I know exactly what dead sound I’ll hear. Usually I’d circle back now, and do it all again. And again. But this time is different. This time I know it has to stop. I log back on to my own profile, the one on encountrz, the one I’d set up that afternoon in the garden. I navigate the menus until I find it. Delete profile.

  I hesitate, breathe deeply, once, twice, then click.

  Are you sure?

  I choose yes.

  The screen changes: Profile deleted.

  Jayne doesn’t exist any more.

  I sit back. Now, I think. Now, finally, it’s over.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I’m in the living room when Anna arrives. She’s alone. Ryan had plans, she’d said, but will pick her up later. I call upstairs to Hugh and go to the door. Our guest is standing outside, holding a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers. ‘I’m early!’ she says as I usher her in. ‘Sorry!’ I tell her it’s fine and take the coat she’s wearing, a red rainproof that’s slightly damp.

  ‘Is it raining?’

  ‘A little. Just drizzle. What a lovely house!’

  We go through to the living room. Her conference is going well, she says, though there’s a lot to think about, and yes, her hotel room is fine. As she speaks she goes over to the picture of Kate on the mantelpiece and picks it up, looking at it for a moment before putting it back. She looks as though she’s about to say something – we’ve spoken about the fact that they’ve found the man who murdered her, perhaps she wants to say something else – but then Hugh comes downstairs to say hello. They embrace warmly, as if they’ve known each other for years.

  ‘Oh, I brought you these!’ she says, handing over a bag. Hugh opens it: a box of macaroons, delicately wrapped. ‘Great!’ he says, then they both sit. I excuse myself to check on the food, happy that they’re chatting. For a moment it feels as if I’m auditioning Anna as my new best friend and I feel first anxious about Adrienne, then guilty. Our friendship has been through a rocky patch and we’re only just getting back on track.

  Yet it’s only natural that Anna and I would be friends, too. We’ve both lost Kate; the bond is recent but immensely powerful.

  ‘Where’s Connor?’ she says when I go back in. ‘I can’t wait to meet him again!’

  ‘He’s out with friends.’ I sit down on the sofa opposite Hugh, next to Anna. ‘His friend Dylan, I think. He’ll be back soon . . .’

  I’ve told him he has to be. Maybe Hugh’s right. I need to be firmer.

  I shrug. You kn
ow what they’re like, I’m saying, and she smiles, even though I guess she doesn’t.

  ‘Do you want children?’ says Hugh, and she laughs.

  ‘No! Not yet, anyway. I’ve only just got engaged!’

  ‘You have brothers? Sisters?’

  ‘Just a step-brother,’ she says. ‘Seth. He lives in Leeds. He does something to do with computers. I’m never really sure.’

  ‘Is that where your parents live?’

  She sighs. ‘No. My parents are dead.’ I remember Anna telling me about her parents, back in Paris, while we were sitting on her couch, having a drink. Her mother suffered with depression. She tried to kill herself. She’d survived, but required full-time care for the years she remained alive. Her father’s drinking got worse, and after just less than a decade they died within six months of each other and she and her brother were left alone.

  Hugh coughs. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. You get on with your step-brother, though?’

  ‘Brilliantly. We always have. He’s everything to me. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to him.’

  I try not to react, but she must see my face fall.

  ‘Oh, God, Julia, I wasn’t . . . I didn’t mean to . . . I’m sorry . . .’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say. It’s the second time in only a few days that she’s referred clumsily, if obliquely, to Kate’s death. I wonder if she’s already over it, has almost forgotten it. I don’t for a moment think it’s deliberate.

  ‘Let’s go and eat?’

  It’s a good dinner. I’ve made a chicken pie and it’s turned out well. Connor arrives not long after I serve the soup and sits with us. He seems to bond with Anna particularly well. She asks him about school, about his football; she even gets out her phone at one point and he helps her with something with which she’s been struggling. When we’ve finished the main course she helps me to carry the plates through into the kitchen, and when we’re out of earshot says, ‘He’s such a lovely lad.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Yes!’ She puts the plates down. ‘You should be very proud. Both of you!’

  I smile. ‘Thank you.’ Her approval feels important, somehow. Significant. She says she’s going upstairs to use the bathroom. I direct her, then ask Hugh to give me a hand with the coffee.

  He comes through. ‘How’re things?’

  ‘Good.’ I’ve made a pudding – a lemon syllabub – but now I’m wondering whether I should also put out the macaroons. I ask Hugh.

  ‘Both, I think. Is Anna driving home?’

  I know he’s thinking about the dessert wine he has in the fridge. He’s become awkward about alcohol since I had to lie and say I’d had a drink with Adrienne; he won’t mention it, even though we still have it in the house. But he knows better than to try and manage my behaviour by pretending drink doesn’t exist.

  ‘No. Her boyfriend’s coming to pick her up.’ There’s a tingle of resentment. Hugh’s thinking of putting more wine out, but I can’t have any. I acknowledge it, then let it go. He gets the packet of coffee beans out of the cupboard and scoops some out. ‘How did you say she and Kate met?’

  I tell him. ‘They were friends at school. They lost touch for a while, then reconnected.’

  Dimly, it occurs to me that I’m thinking about Kate, talking about her, and it’s not painful. It’s because Anna’s here, I think. It’s getting easier, as long as it’s Kate’s life I’m thinking about, rather than her death.

  I take the syllabub out of the fridge. Hugh finishes making the coffee and I call through to Connor and ask if he’ll fetch some dishes. He comes in almost straight away and the three of us carry the things through into the dining room, where we arrange them on the table. The family unity pleases me; part of me is disappointed that Anna isn’t here to see it. I call upstairs and ask if she’s all right. She shouts down, she’s okay, she’ll just be a minute, and when she appears she puts her phone on the table with a sheepish grin.

  ‘Sorry. Ryan called.’ She looks suddenly, radiantly, happy. ‘He’s on his way.’

  ‘He should come for dinner,’ says Hugh. ‘How long is he staying for?’

  ‘Not sure. Until next week some time.’

  ‘And when do you go back?’ says Hugh.

  ‘Saturday.’ She turns to me. ‘That reminds me. Do you fancy lunch on Saturday? Before I get my train?’

  I tell her that would be lovely.

  ‘Okay, if you’re sure?’

  I tell her I am. ‘You must invite Ryan in for a drink, too,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she begins. ‘I wouldn’t dream—’

  ‘Nonsense!’ says Hugh. ‘He must come in!’ He turns to me, and I say, ‘Of course!’

  Anna looks relieved. I pour her coffee. Connor asks if he can be excused and goes back to his room. We talk some more, sip our drinks, but the evening is winding down. After another fifteen minutes of chat we hear a car pull up outside. A door slams, there’s the pip-pip of the alarm, and a moment later footsteps up the path and the doorbell rings. I look over to Anna, who says, ‘He’s early!’ She looks electrified, like a little girl waiting for the postman to bring her birthday cards, and I feel a curious excitement, too; I’m looking forward to meeting this person, this man who has given Anna such transparent, uncomplicated happiness. Who has helped her grieve for Kate and move on.

  I stand up. ‘I’ll go and let him in.’ I walk through, into the hallway. I rearrange my hair, smooth down the front of my shirt, open the door.

  It’s Lukas.

  I take a step back. It’s as if I’ve been punched; the feeling is physical and intense, my skin burns with a hit of adrenalin as instant as if someone had just plunged a needle into me. I can’t take my eyes off him. My body is reacting, my muscles tensed to fight or run. It’s the memory of his attack, burned into my body. As I look he cocks his head, just slightly, and smiles.

  ‘You must be Julia.’ He’s speaking clearly, his voice sounds loud, loud enough to be heard in the other room.

  My mind is racing. All the panic and pain is coming back, wave after wave. Ride it out, I tell myself. Ride it out. But I can’t. For a moment I think it’s a game, another sick game. It’s as if he knows I only just deleted my profile, resolved never to ring him again. It’s as if he’s teaching me that I don’t get to decide when I let him go.

  I feel as if I’m falling, the room behind me tips and spins.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I say, under my breath, but he doesn’t reply. I realize I’m gripping the door frame. Shaking.

  The smile hasn’t left his face. ‘Well, aren’t you going to let me in?’

  I look away, look down, at the floor. Hugh, I think, in the other room. Anna, who’s expecting Ryan.

  Connor, upstairs.

  I look back up, so that we’re staring into each other’s eyes. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ I hiss.

  He doesn’t answer, just stands there, smiling. I open my mouth to speak, to ask him again, for the third time, but then he glances over my shoulder and everything changes. It’s as if a switch has been thrown; his face breaks, he beams widely, starts cha
ttering. He takes my hand in his, shakes it, as if he’s meeting me for the first time.

  ‘What—’ I begin, but then a moment later I realize Anna is right behind me. ‘Darling!’ she’s saying, and I think she’s talking to me, but then she reaches the doorway and goes to Lukas. He turns towards her, and then he has his arms around her and they’re kissing. It takes only a moment, but it seems to last for ever, and when they’ve finished she turns to me.

  ‘Julia,’ she beams. ‘Meet Ryan.’

  Another wave crashes. A flush rises in my cheeks; I’m too hot. The hallway recedes; the sound of the music Connor’s playing upstairs seems somehow diminished and deafening at the same time, as if I’m hearing it at top volume yet through a fug. I feel as if I’m fainting. I reach out – for the door handle, for anything – but miss.

  ‘Honey?’ says Anna. ‘Are you all right?’

  I try to compose myself. ‘Yes. I just . . . I don’t know. I feel a bit unwell . . .’

  ‘You look a bit flushed—’ says Lukas, but I interrupt him. ‘I’m fine. Honestly . . .’ And then a moment later the dynamic in the room shifts again. Hugh has appeared and I watch as he steps forward, saying hello. He’s grinning, shaking Lukas’s hand and saying, ‘You must be Ryan?’ He looks delighted to see him, to welcome him into our home. ‘Good to meet you,’ he says, and ‘How’re you?’ They look like two guys together, two old friends. My stomach clenches. My husband and my lover. Together.

  ‘Good,’ says Lukas. ‘Good. I’m a bit worried about Julia, though.’

  Hugh turns to me. ‘Are you all right, darling?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, even though I’m not. The room has stopped spinning but still I shake with an anxiety so intense I worry I’ll not be able to control it.

  ‘I don’t know what came over me.’

  ‘Well,’ says Hugh, ‘come in at least, Ryan. Come in.’

  Lukas thanks him. We go through to the living room, an awkward entourage. Hugh invites Lukas to sit on the sofa, Anna sits next to him, takes his hand. Hugh offers him a drink, but he shakes his head, says he’s driving. I watch it all through a gauzy screen of fear, as if it’s happening elsewhere, to other people, this scene of polite normality that no longer has anything to do with me. Wordlessly, I accept the drink Hugh gives me: a glass of water.