Second Life (25 page)
I gasp, yet at the same time my stomach tips with desire. An abyss of fear opens
in front of me and I begin to spiral towards it. What’s he doing here, in this cinema?
What the fuck is going on? It can’t be a coincidence; it would be
ridiculous. Yet
how can it be anything else? He doesn’t know where I live: I’ve never told him, I
know that. I’ve been careful all the way through.
Yet here he is. He’s looking back at the screen now. He’s moved his leg away, as
if he’s now trying to avoid contact with me. I turn back to the movie, then a moment
later glance at Connor, sitting on my other side. He’s noticed nothing.
My heart is beating too fast; I don’t know what to do. This is too far, I want to
say. You’ve gone too far. Yet . . .
Yet he’s pressing his leg against mine once again, and this time I haven’t shifted
away. His skin on mine is charged, I can feel every tiny hair, the warmth of his
muscles. Even though my son is just inches away, I find I like it.
I close my eyes. My mind whirls in confusion. Just a few minutes ago he’d sent me
a message, about the shopping I’d told him I was doing. He must have already known
that was a lie, but how can he have known I was here?
I look over at Connor again. He’s engrossed in the film, his hand dipping occasionally
into the bucket of popcorn on his lap. After a moment I turn to look at Lukas, who
appears to be fixated, too. He must sense my gaze. Slowly he turns to me, so that
he’s looking directly at me, as if he wants to make sure I know it’s him. I look
into his eyes and ask the question wordlessly, and he begins to smile. There’s no
warmth, and I feel a sick disappointment. I look back at the screen, then after a
few moments at him again. This time he winks, still without warmth, then looks ahead
once more, and after a few moments stands to leave. As he does he says, ‘Excuse me,’
and he pushes past my son with a ‘Hey, dude . . .’
And then, as if he’d never been here, he’s gone.
I sit. My mind won’t be still, I can’t concentrate on the film. I’m thinking of Lukas,
I can’t work out what he’d wanted, why he’d turned up.
Or how he’d known where I’d be.
My hand goes to the seat in which he’d been sitting, as if I might feel him there.
It’s still warm, I haven’t imagined it. I begin to tremble. My mouth is dry and I
take a sip of water from the bottle I’d bought with Connor’s popcorn. Nausea rises
within me. I must calm down. I take a deep breath, but the air is syrupy with the
smell of half-eaten hot dogs and belched ketchup. I feel sick. I close my eyes. I
see Lukas.
I have to get out. I have to get some air.
‘Come on.’
‘What?’
‘We’re leaving.’
‘But Mum!’
‘This is rubbish,’ I say.
‘Well, I’m enjoying it.’ I’m aware we’re making a lot of noise; from somewhere behind,
someone tuts.
I stand up. I need to keep moving. ‘Okay, stay here, then. I’ll be back in a minute.’
I go to the toilet. I’m nervous as I push the door open; he might be in here, I think,
and straight away my mind goes to the time we had sex in the toilet cubicle near
his hotel. But he isn’t. Just some girls, Connor’s age or a little older, fixing
make-up, gossiping. Someone was
fucking unbelievable
; someone else was apparently
gonna make him pay
. I ignore them and go into one of the cubicles. I lock the door
and take out my phone. Nothing, just a message from Hugh. We’ve run out of milk.
Can I pick some up?
I sit for a while, willing my phone to ring, or for there to be a message. A smiley
face, a wink. Anything to reassure me
that Lukas was just having a bit of fun. But
there’s nothing. I don’t know what to think.
I call him. His phone goes straight to voicemail. I try again, and again, and again.
And then, because there’s nothing else I can do, I give up. I put my phone in my
bag and rejoin my son.
We get home. I’m numb, I can’t think. I’d hoped Connor hadn’t noticed Lukas, but
as we walked home he said, ‘Didn’t you think that guy was weird?’
I was looking left and right, waiting to cross the road, but also looking out for
Lukas. He was nowhere to be seen.
‘Sorry?’
‘That guy. The one who came in and sat right by us in a half-empty room?’
‘Oh,
him
?’ I tried to sound natural, but had no idea whether I was succeeding. ‘People
are odd.’
‘And then he leaves, before the film’s even over. What a freak!’
I wondered if that was it, part of the game. I wondered whether I was supposed to
make an excuse to my son, follow Lukas, have him fuck me in the toilets. I wondered
if, deep down, I’d really wanted to do just that.
Now, my mind spins. I don’t understand how he’s done this, much less why. Every time
a possibility comes, a solution, I’m forced to reject it. If it was a coincidence,
then why didn’t he say hello? If it was a game, then why didn’t he at least smile,
let me know we were playing?
I keep returning to the same few thoughts. This shouldn’t have been possible. He
doesn’t know where I live. He thought I was out shopping with Anna.
‘You all right, Mum?’ says Connor. I realize I’m still standing in the middle of
the kitchen.
I force a smile. ‘I think I’m getting a migraine.’ Another wave of panic crashes
in. I look at my son. He knows about you, now, I think. You’re no longer safe. I
feel myself begin to suffocate.
‘Shall I get you some water?’ he says. He goes to the sink and picks two tumblers
off the drainer.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’ I take the glass from him and sip; it’s lukewarm.
‘I think I’ll go and have a lie down.’
I go upstairs. Lukas still isn’t answering his phone, and there are no messages on
mine. I open my computer and see he’s online. My fury is doubled.
– What was that all about? I type. I hesitate before pressing send. I ought to walk
away, I want to walk away. But I can’t. There’s no way out, now. Everywhere I turn,
he’s there.
His reply comes after only a moment.
– Did you enjoy it?
I gasp. He has no idea how I feel, what he’s done.
– How did you know where I’d be?
There’s no reply. For a long time, nothing. Damn you, I think. Damn you. And then,
finally:
– I thought it would be a nice surprise.
A nice surprise? I’d laugh if my whole body wasn’t humming with fear.
– How did you know?
– I had to get creative.
– Meaning?
There’s an even longer pause.
– Don’t panic. I was in Islington. There’s an antiques shop
there I go to occasionally.
I saw you across the street. I followed you.
Antiques, I think. Since when has he been into antiques? I don’t know anything about
this man.
– I thought it’d be fun.
– Fun? You scared me!
I read his messages again. I want to believe him, but I can’t. He happened to be
shopping in Islington? Some coincidence. And even if it were true, then surely he’d
have just messaged me?
Instead, he’d followed me, sat next to me, winked at me in the dark. He’d spoken
only to my son, not to me, and his expression wasn’t that of someone giving someone
else a nice surprise. It was the expression of someone who thinks they’ve found something
out.
– Scared you? Why? What did you think I was going to do?
– I don’t know.
Suddenly I realize. It’s a moment of absolute clarity, when everything that had felt
muddled and grey is as clear and colourless as ice-cold water. I’d become involved
with him for the sake of my son, but now it was my son who was at risk. I have no
choice. I’m going to have to end it.
I try to fix on the thought, but even as I do another, stronger, part of me is trying
to push it away. Lukas sends me another message.
– What did you want me to do?
– What?
– In the cinema. Tell me.
I feel like screaming. How can I make him see this isn’t a game? There are things
at stake here, things that might be lost for ever.
– Not now, Lukas. OK?
I press send. I sit back. I want him to understand what he’s
done, how much it’d
scared me. I want him to know there are lines we mustn’t cross.
His reply comes a few seconds later.
– Tell me how you wanted me to touch you, it says. Tell me you were imagining it,
right there in front of all those people.
– No, I say.
– What’s wrong?
I don’t answer. There’s no avoiding it, and I don’t want to have this conversation
online. I can’t make him understand what he’s done, not here, not now. I don’t want
to see him again, but I have no choice.
– I want to see you. It’s important.
– Whatever you like.
There’s a long moment, then he sends another message.
– By the way, who’s the kid?
‘He’s my son.’ He’s sitting opposite me, we’re having lunch. My choice, even though
now I’m here I wish I’d suggested somewhere more secluded. He’d wanted to meet in
a hotel, but I knew that wouldn’t be a good idea. We’ve come to a restaurant just
near the river. We’re sitting outside, under an umbrella. Commuters stream past on
their way to the station.
I haven’t even asked about his hunt for more of Kate’s online profiles. I suspect
he’s given up. I doubt he was ever looking very hard.
‘Your son?’ he says. For a moment I think he doesn’t believe me. ‘You didn’t tell
me.’
‘No,’ I sigh. I have to be honest. It’s time for that, at least. ‘I wanted to keep
him out of it.’
And I failed. Lukas knows everything, now, and it’s too much. What had seemed manageable
is now out
of control, what had been in a box has now broken free.
I look at this man. It’s almost as if he owns me, and I must claim myself back.
‘What’s his name?’
I flinch. It’s a protective instinct; I’m angrier than I thought.
I look away. On the other side of the road a guy in Lycra remonstrates with a driver
who must’ve almost knocked him off his bike.
‘No.’ I turn back. ‘Like I said, I want to keep him out of it.’
‘You don’t trust me.’
‘Lukas. It’s not as simple as that. What we had, I wanted to keep it separate from
my real life. I wanted to keep it apart. I didn’t want to have to think about my
husband, and certainly not my son.’
‘What we had.’ It’s a statement, not a question.
‘Sorry?’
‘You said, “What we had.” Past tense. So I’m guessing it’s over?’
I don’t answer; my choice of words had been uncalculated, my mistake Freudian. But
it’s made, and now a single word is all it would take. I could say yes, then stand
up. I could walk away, change my phone number, never log on to those websites, then
all this would be in the past. A mistake, but one that’s easily undone. He’s never
been to my house, never even seen it; nor I to his. We’re entangled, but not so much
that one single decisive action wouldn’t separate us, cleanly and for ever.
But is that what I want? On the way here I’d thought it was, but now I can’t be sure.
Sitting here now, I’m in two minds. Would he really hurt anyone? He seems so gentle,
so loving. I think of the long nights of loneliness. I think of
going back to the
days when a new message on my phone would be nothing more exciting than Hugh telling
me he’ll be late again or Connor asking whether he can stay out longer.
‘Look.’ He shifts his weight, opens his arms to shrug his shoulders. I’m struck again
by his presence, his flesh, right in front of me. It glows; it’s in three dimensions,
where everything else seems in two. ‘I fucked up. In the cinema. I’m sorry. I really
thought you’d like it.’
‘I didn’t.’ I glance briefly over his shoulder at the argument that’s only now beginning
to lose momentum, then look back at him.
‘It was a coincidence, that’s all. I was in Islington. I didn’t even know you lived
round there.’
‘Lukas . . .’
‘You don’t believe me?’
‘What were you doing in Islington?’
He hesitates. It’s just a fraction of a second, but long enough for it to sound like
a lie. ‘I told you. Shopping. I go quite often, when I’m in town.’
‘So why were you in town?’
‘I come in every Tuesday, if you hadn’t noticed. Usually it’s to see you. It was
force of habit, I suppose.’ He sighs. ‘I missed you. My day felt kind of wasted without
you, so I thought I’d come up to town anyway.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘I was upset, I guess. I wanted to see you. It was our day. You cancelled on me.’
‘So you were in Islington, completely randomly, where I was taking my son to the
cinema?’
‘Coincidences do happen, you know.’
I find myself beginning to wish I could believe him.
‘You think I’ve been following you? You really
are
paranoid.’
‘That’s an unkind thing to say.’
‘I’m sorry. Listen, I saw you. Honestly. Crossing the street. And I’d thought of
nothing else but you for a whole week, so I followed you. Maybe it was a mistake—’