Second Life (40 page)
We stand. We grip our chairs for support, as if the world
has tilted to a new axis.
‘Do you want me to help? I really don’t mind paying—’
‘No. It’s fine. I’m fine. You don’t have to do that.’
She smiles. She knows I feel guilty, that the offer of money is my attempt to assuage
that guilt.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say again. I desperately need to know I have her friendship, but
for a long moment she doesn’t move. Then she’s melting into me. We hug. I think she’s
going to start crying again, but she doesn’t.
‘I’ll call you. In a day or so?’
I nod. ‘You’ll be okay?’ I’m aware of how trite the question sounds, how meaningless,
yet I’m exhausted. I just want her to know I care.
She nods. ‘Yes.’ Then she lets go. ‘Will you?’
‘Yes.’ I’m far from certain it’s the truth. She picks up her case. ‘Go. I’ll get
this. And good luck.’
She kisses me again. Wordlessly, she turns to leave. I watch as she crosses the concourse,
heads for the stairs that lead down to the ticket offices. She rounds the corner
and goes out of sight. I feel suddenly, terribly, alone.
Monday. Hugh is due to have a meeting about his case today; he’ll find out whether
his statement has satisfied the chief executive, the medical director, the clinical
governance team. If it has, they’ll refute the claim; if not, they’ll concede that
he made a mistake. ‘And then they’ll close ranks,’ he said. ‘It’ll all be about preserving
the reputation of the hospital. I’ll probably be disciplined.’
‘But you won’t lose your job?’
‘Doubtful. But they’re saying I might.’
I couldn’t imagine it. His job is his life. If he were to lose it the repercussions
would be catastrophic, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to cope with something
like that hitting our family. Not with everything else that’s going on.
Yet I’d have to, there wouldn’t be a choice. I clung to the word ‘doubtful’.
I have to be strong.
‘Are you all right?’ I said.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, tilting his head back. ‘I am. I have to
be. I have to go into theatre this morning. I have to operate on a woman who’ll
most likely be dead within weeks if nothing is done. And I have to do that with a
clear head, no matter what else is going on.’ He shook his head. He looked angry.
‘That’s what really pisses me off. I haven’t done anything wrong. You know that?
I forgot to
warn them that for a few weeks their father might forget where he’d put
the remote control. No’ – he corrected himself – ‘I didn’t even do that. I forgot
to
write down
that I’d warned them. That’s what this amounts to. I was too busy worrying
about the operation itself to write the details of some trivial conversation down
in the notes.’
I smiled, sadly. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ll call me?’
He said he would, but now the phone is ringing and it’s not him.
‘Anna?’
She’s hesitant. When she does speak she sounds distant, upset.
‘How’re you?’
‘Fine,’ I say. I want her to tell me what she’s decided. For two days I’ve been convincing
myself that she’s reconsidered, or hasn’t believed me at all. I’ve imagined her talking
to Lukas, telling him that I’d caught up with her at the station, recounting what
I’d said.
I daren’t imagine what his next move would be then.
‘How are you feeling?’
She doesn’t answer. ‘I’ve been thinking. Ryan’s away for another week. He’s staying
in London. I need a week after he gets back.’
I’m not sure what she means.
‘A week?’
‘I need to finish it with him. But I need to make him think it has nothing to do
with you at all. I’ve already told him I haven’t seen you since the other night at
the hotel, that you haven’t been in touch. I told him I thought you were a freak,
and that I didn’t want anything else to do with you. When he comes back I’ll just
have to be busy, I’ll pretend I’ve got a lot on at work or something. I can manage
it for a week, I think.’
‘And then?’
‘Then I’ll end it.’
She sounds defiant. Absolutely certain.
‘I’ll get the pictures – the ones he’s got of you – and delete them from his computer.
I’ll find a way, I have a key to his flat, it shouldn’t be too difficult. Then, even
if he does suspect, it’ll be too late to do anything about it.’
I close my eyes. I’m so grateful, so relieved. It might work. It has to work.
‘You’ll be all right?’
She sighs. ‘Not really. But I suppose I kind of knew, really. There was always something
about him, I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was. He’d always be travelling,
at short notice. I should’ve known.’
I’m not sure I believe her. It sounds like justification after the fact.
She carries on. ‘Maybe when all this is over we can get together and go out for a
drink. Not lose our friendship because of it.’
‘I want that, too,’ I say. ‘Will we stay in touch? Over the next couple of weeks,
I mean?’
‘It wouldn’t be good if Ryan finds out we’re speaking.’
‘No.’
‘I’ll try and call you, when I can.’
‘Okay.’
‘You’ll have to trust me,’ she says.
We talk for a minute or so more, then she says goodbye. Before we end the call we
agree to reconnect on Find Friends. Afterwards I sit for a moment as relief floods
me, relief and fear, then I call Hugh. I’m not sure why. I want to hear his voice.
I want to show that I support him, that I haven’t forgotten what he’s going through
today. His secretary answers; he’s still in his meeting.
‘Will you ask him to call me when he gets out?’
She says she will. Almost on a whim I ask if I can speak to Maria. I want to know
that Paddy’s okay, that he’s recovered.
I think of the steps. I’ve made my moral inventory now; without even being conscious
of it, I’m working on making amends.
‘She’s not in today,’ she says. I ask if she’s on holiday. ‘No, some problem at home.’
She lowers her voice. ‘She sounded very upset.’
I put the phone down. I’m uneasy. Hugh has always said that Maria can be relied upon;
she’s never sick, never late. I can’t imagine what might be going on. An illness?
Paddy, or her parents, perhaps? They’re not elderly, but that rules nothing out,
I should know that as much as anyone.
I almost call her at home but then decide against it. I have plenty going on as it
is, and what could I say to her? We’re not friends, not really. I haven’t seen her
since we visited Paddy, weeks ago. Hugh hasn’t invited them round, or maybe he has
and they haven’t come. I wonder if that was Paddy’s decision, and if so what excuses
he may have given his wife.
I spend the afternoon working. Connor arrives home and goes upstairs. Doing his homework,
he says, though I’m not sure I believe him. I suspect he usually spends hours online
– with his friends, Dylan, his girlfriend – and even now, every time I go up, to
check if he wants a drink, to try to persuade him down for dinner, to make some sort
of a connection, he seems to make a point of being cool towards me. He’s still angry
over the grounding, I guess; even though it’s only for a week, it seems to be taking
a long time to wear off.
Maybe it’s something else. He’s still upset that the arrest of the man who killed
Kate hasn’t brought him the relief he’d
hoped. He’s looking elsewhere, now. ‘Do you
know who my real dad is?’ he said the other day, and when I said no, he said, ‘Would
you tell me, if you did?’ Of course you wouldn’t, he seemed to be saying, but I tried
to stay calm. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, of course I would. But I don’t know.’
I want to tell him it won’t change anything. I want to say, Your father – whoever
he is, whoever he was – was probably very young. He abandoned your mother, or more
likely didn’t even know she was pregnant. ‘We’re your family,’ I said instead, but
he just looked at me, as if that was no longer enough.
It’s upsetting, but I tell myself it’s normal, he’s a teenager. He’s just growing
up, away from me. Before I know it he’ll be sitting exams, then leaving home. It’ll
just be me and his father, then, and who knows if he’ll even come back to see us?
All children go through a phase of hating their parents, but they say adopted children
can find it all too easy to break away. Sometimes the severance is permanent.
I’m not sure I could cope with that. I’m not sure it wouldn’t kill me.
I’m in the kitchen when Hugh gets home. He kisses me, then goes straight to the fridge
and gets himself a drink. He looks angry. I ask him how it went.
‘They’re making them an offer. Out-of-court settlement.’
‘Do they think the family will take it?’
I wait while he empties his glass and pours another. ‘Hope so. If it goes to court
I’m fucked.’
‘What?’
‘I’m in the wrong. It’s unequivocal, to them at least. I made a mistake. If it goes
to court we’ll lose, and they’ll have to make some kind of example of me.’
‘Oh, darling . . .’
‘Next week I have to go on a course.’ He smiles, bitterly.
‘Record keeping. I have
to cancel surgery to go and learn how to write a set of bloody notes.’
I sit opposite him. I can see how injured he is. It seems so unfair; after all, no
one is dead. It’s not as if he made a mistake during surgery.
I try to look hopeful. ‘I’m sure everything will be okay.’
He sighs. ‘One way or the other. And bloody Maria didn’t turn up today.’
‘I know.’
‘You know?’
‘I called. They said she wasn’t in. What’s going on?’
He takes out his phone and makes a call. ‘No idea. But I hope she’s intending to
come in tomorrow.’ He puts the phone to his ear. After a few rings it’s answered,
a faint hello. Maria’s voice. ‘Maria? Listen . . .’ He glances at me, then stands
up. ‘How’re things?’
I don’t hear her reply. He’s turned away and is walking out of the room, his attention
completely focussed on his colleague. I go back to preparing the meal. Hugh, Connor,
Anna. I just hope everything will be all right.
Two days later Paddy calls. It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice in weeks, and
he sounds different, somehow. I wonder if something’s happened to Maria, but he says
no, no she’s fine. ‘I just thought you might want to meet up. Lunch, or something?’
Is that what all this is about? Does he want to make another attempt at seduction?
‘I’d better not—’
He interrupts. ‘Please? Just a coffee? I only want to talk to you.’
It sounds ominous; certainly it’s not casual. How can I say no?
‘Okay.’
That evening I tell Hugh. ‘Paddy?’ he says. I nod. ‘But what does he want to see
you for?’
I tell him I don’t know. I ask him why he wants to know; we’re friends, after all,
it shouldn’t be that shocking.
He shrugs but looks worried. ‘Just wondered.’
It crosses my mind that Connor did see something that day. Maybe he’s told his father
but Hugh has decided to say nothing as long as things don’t progress.
Or maybe he’s worried that we’ll go to a bar, that I’ll be persuaded to drink alcohol.
‘There’s nothing going on between me and Paddy Renouf,’ I say. ‘We’re just going
for a coffee. And it will be a coffee. I promise.’
‘Okay,’ he says. But he still doesn’t look convinced.
We arrange to meet in a Starbucks in town. It’s cold, raining, and he’s late. I’m
sitting with a drink by the time he arrives. The last time I saw him he was bruised,
his face swollen, but that was weeks ago and he looks back to normal now.
We kiss awkwardly before sitting down. A friendly kiss, a peck on each cheek. I think
of the time we kissed in Carla’s summer house. How different that had been. It crosses
my mind that it would have been better if I’d slept with him, rather than Lukas.
But then that might have turned out worse. How do I know?
‘How are you?’
I sip my drink. ‘I’m all right.’ The atmosphere is heavy, awkward. I hadn’t known
quite what to expect, but it hadn’t been this. It’s obvious he’s here for a reason.
He has something to tell me.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.’ It’s a surprise, him apologizing to me.
I look down at my drink. A hot chocolate, with whipped cream swirled on top.
‘For what?’
‘What happened, over the summer. You know. At Carla’s party. And then—’
I interrupt. ‘Forget it.’ But he continues:
‘—and then not ringing you. All summer, I’ve wanted to apologize. I’d had too much
to drink, but it was no excuse. I guess I was embarrassed.’
I look at him. I can see what this honesty is costing him, yet I can’t reciprocate.
For a moment I’d like to. I’d like to tell him everything. I’d like to tell him he
has nothing to apologize for because, next to mine, his transgressions are insignificant.
But I don’t. I can’t. These are things I’ll never be able to tell anyone.
‘Honestly. It’s fine—’
‘I haven’t been a good friend.’