Second Life (42 page)
I begin to shake. He’s been
not like him
a fair bit lately. ‘No. No, he’s not here.’
I don’t know whether I’m supposed to be apologizing for him or not. I’m both angry
and defensive, and behind all that the swell of fear is about to break. ‘I’ll call
him. I’ll find out where he is. He was in this morning?’
‘Oh, yes. He was in as usual. I’m told everything seemed fine.’
‘Okay.’ I tell myself to stay calm. I tell myself that there’s nothing to worry about;
he’s sulking, I’ve made him come home rather than seeing his friends, he’s teaching
me a lesson.
‘He just hasn’t come back from lunch.’
‘Okay,’ I say again. I close my eyes as another wave of panic washes on the shore.
Have I been worrying too much about what’s happening in Paris, not enough about what’s
in front of me?
‘Mrs Wilding?’
‘Thanks for letting me know,’ I say.
She sounds relieved I’m still here.
‘Oh, it’s fine. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be having a word with
him about it on Monday, so it’d be great if you could talk to him over the weekend.’
‘I will.’
‘You will let me know when you find him?’
‘Of course.’
‘It’s just there are procedures. If he disappears from the school grounds, I mean.’
‘Of course,’ I say again. ‘I’ll let you know.’
We say goodbye. Without thinking, I call Connor. His phone rings out then goes to
voicemail, so I try Hugh. He answers straight away.
‘Julia?’ I can hear a discussion in the background; he’s not alone in the office.
Vaguely, I wonder if he’s with Maria, but I hardly care.
My words tumble over each other, my voice cracks. ‘Connor’s gone missing.’
‘What?’
I repeat myself.
‘What do you mean,
missing
?’
‘The school secretary rang. Mrs Flynn. He was in school this morning, but he hasn’t
gone back this afternoon.’
As I say it I see an image. Lukas, bundling him into a car, driving him off. I can’t
shake the feeling that something dreadful is happening, and that Lukas is behind
it, somehow. I thought I’d escaped, but he’s still there, a malevolent force, a siren
pulling me into a nightmare.
I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, though I don’t believe it.
‘Have you called him?’
‘Yes. Of course I have. He didn’t answer. Has he phoned you?’
‘No.’ I picture him shaking his head.
‘When did you last speak to him?’
‘Calm down,’ he says. I hadn’t realized how panicked I sounded. He coughs, then lowers
his voice. ‘It’ll be fine. Just calm down.’
‘He’s run away.’
‘He’s just bunking off school. Have you tried his friends?’
‘No, not yet—’
‘Dylan? He’s been hanging round with him a fair bit.’
I imagine the two of them in the park, drinking from a cheap bottle of cider, my
son getting hit by a car as he crosses
the road. Or maybe they’re messing about on
a railway bridge, daring each other to go over the edge, to dodge an oncoming train.
‘Or Evie. Can’t you call her mother?’
Of course I can’t call her mother, I want to say. I don’t know who her mother is.
Again I see Lukas, this time standing over Connor. I blink the image away.
‘I don’t have her number. You think he’s with her?’
‘I don’t know.’
I think back to the other day, after he left me in the restaurant. He’d been packing
his bag.
I’m going to see Evie!
‘He’s with her.’ I begin to head up the stairs, towards his bedroom. ‘We need to
find her.’
‘We don’t know that—’ says Hugh, but I’m taking the stairs two at a time, already
ending the call.
I hesitate in the doorway of my son’s room, looking helplessly for some kind of
clue. His bed is unmade, piles of clothes sit unhappily on his desk and chair, an
empty glass is by the bed, a plateful of crumbs. He’s become more private in the
last few weeks, I guess worried I’ll find a stash of magazines or a semen-encrusted
T-shirt thrown under his bed, not realizing that the more private he becomes the
harder I find it not to look.
I take a step in, and then stop. I call him again, but this time his phone is switched
off. I try a third time, and a fourth, and this time I leave a message: ‘Darling,
please call me.’ I try to keep my voice even, to keep everything from it but my concern.
I don’t want him to hear anything he might mistake for anger, even for a moment.
‘Just let me know you’re all right?’
I go further into his room. I know why he’s doing this. I’d stopped him from running
to Evie that day; now he’s
showing me that if he wants to do something he will. There’s
nothing I can do about it.
I look in his wardrobe first, then under his bed. Piles of clothes, old trainers,
CDs and video games, but the bag isn’t there. He must have taken it to school, already
packed. ‘
Fuck!
’ I say to myself. I stand in the middle of the room in the fading
light of the afternoon. I’m drowning, helpless.
I open his computer and navigate first to his emails. There are hundreds, from Molly
and Dylan and Sahil and lots of others, yet none from his girlfriend. I try Skype
next, and then Facebook. He’s back online, of course. In the search box at the top
of the screen I type ‘Evie’.
Her name appears, next to her photograph. It’s a different picture to the one he’s
shown me; she looks a little older and is smiling happily. It’s not the girl at Carla’s
party, I realize, though they don’t look dissimilar.
But in the background is the Sacré-Coeur.
I feel another tug downwards, another sickening plunge.
It’s nothing, nothing at all. I hear myself talking out loud. Lots of kids have been
to Paris. The Sacré-Coeur is somewhere to visit, absolutely on the tourist trail,
something to have your photograph taken in front of. It’s just coincidence that it’s
also where Lukas proposed to Anna. It has to be.
A moment later the machine pings and a box appears in the bottom of the screen. It’s
a new message. From Evie.
– You’re online! it says. Immediately, I’m back in the middle of my affair with Lukas.
So many conversations that started with those words, or similar. So many times I
let myself be drawn in.
Yet I’d wanted it, at the time. Hadn’t I? I’d wanted it all.
I push the thoughts away. I have to focus. I have to answer Evie’s message.
I remind myself she thinks she’s talking to my son. I could
tell her she’s wrong,
or I could find out what’s going on.
– Yes! I type.
– On your phone?
For a moment I don’t understand the relevance of her question, but then I realize.
She’s assuming he’s not at his computer, not at home.
– Yes.
– I love you.
I don’t know what to say. Again I’m being slammed backwards, into the past, with
a ferocity that leaves me breathless.
– Tell me you love me, too.
I have to focus on Connor. This girl thinks she loves him, or tells him so at least.
– I love you, I say.
– You got out of school okay? Are you on your way?
So it’s true. He’s bunking off, he’s gone to meet this girl. I’m about to reply when
my phone rings. It sounds way too loud and I startle before snatching it up. ‘Connor?’
I say, but it’s not him. It’s Anna.
‘Julia,’ she says. She sounds hurried, breathless with anxiety, but I can’t deal
with her right now. Next to Connor she seems utterly unimportant.
‘I can’t talk now. I’m sorry.’
‘But—’
‘Connor’s missing. It’s complicated. I’ll call you right back, I promise. I’m sorry.’
I end the call before she can reply, then type again.
– Yes. I’m on my way.
– I can’t believe I’m finally going to get to meet you! I can’t believe we’ve found
him!
I feel myself contract, my skin pulls tight. Found who?
– Just imagine! After all this time! Your dad!
The trapdoor opens. I plunge.
So this is what he’s been doing? Trying to find his father.
Succeeding.
But how?
I force myself to stay in the present. I have to. I force myself to imagine what
my son might write.
– I know! It’s going to be amazing! Where shall I meet you again?
I press send. A moment later she replies.
– At the station, where we arranged! See you there!
I lean forward to type, but a moment later her final message arrives. Three kisses.
And then she’s gone.
Fuck, I think. Fuck. Maybe I should have told her who I am, that I’m furious, that
she’d better tell me right now where she plans to meet my son.
But now it’s too late. The green dot next to her name has disappeared. She’s offline,
and there’s no way of contacting her. I’m stuck, with no idea where my son has gone.
The station
. It could be anywhere.
The whirring cogs of my mind engage, the engine catches. I can’t afford the descent
into despair. I have to stay focussed. I have to find him. Which station, where?
There has to be a clue. There’s a pile of papers and magazines on the desk and I
riffle through these, then I open the drawer. Nothing. Just pens and pencils, a copy
of
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
that Hugh gave him for his birthday a few
years ago, a hole-punch and a stapler, a pair of scissors, Post-it notes, the detritus
of study.
I stand up, turn round. I take in the football poster above his bed, the scarf over
the back of his door. No clue, nowhere obvious to look.
And then I have an idea. I turn back to his computer and a moment later have pulled
up his browser history. The first
thing I see is a new Twitter account he must have
created. @helpmefindmydad. But before I can even absorb what this means, I see, at
the top, the last website he looked at. This morning, before school. Eurostar.com.
When I click on the link it takes me to a map of Gare du Nord.
He’s on his way to Paris.
I try to tell myself it’s a coincidence, it has nothing to do with Lukas.
But I can’t believe it. Not today of all days. The day he’s due to return to Paris;
it can’t be a coincidence that my son is going there, too.
Even if Hugh has spoken to Evie, even if he is sure she’s a girl.
Anna answers after the second ring. ‘Thank God,’ she says.
My mouth is dry, but I’m desperate.
‘Anna, listen—’
‘Thank God,’ she says again. I can hear relief in her voice, but there’s something
else. She sounds awful. Out of breath, almost stricken with panic. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Her voice drops, almost to a whisper, I can barely hear what she’s saying. It’s as
if she doesn’t want to be overheard. ‘I tried to tell him. I tried. I’m so sorry.
I’m so sorry.’
She sounds terrible, and her fear infects me. ‘Anna, what’s wrong? Where’s Lukas?
Is he there?’
It’s as if she hasn’t heard me. ‘I couldn’t wait. I tried to tell him. Today. I tried
to tell him it was over, that he had to go—’
‘Where is he? Anna!’
‘He’s stormed out. But he’ll be back any second. I went
into his computer, Julia,
like we agreed. To look at those files. I found something else.’
There’s a tremor in her voice. An uncertainty I haven’t heard before.
‘What? What did you find?’
‘There were these files. There was the one called “Julia”, but there was another.’
I know what she’s going to say.
‘It was called “Connor” . . .’
My world shrinks to nothing.
‘There were all these pictures.’
I’m frozen, a tiny point. I feel like I haven’t breathed for days. I force myself
to speak. My voice is a whisper.
‘What sort of pictures?’
‘Just . . . you know. Pictures of him—’
‘What sort?’
‘Ordinary pictures. He’s just smiling at the camera.’
‘Jesus—’
‘Do you think he was using me, just to get to Connor—’
‘No. No, no.’
I wonder if my certainty is only because I can’t face the thought of it being true.
‘Connor’s run away.’
‘Run away?’
‘He’s gone to see Evie. His girlfriend. But he’s gone to Paris. They’re meeting Connor’s
father.’
‘His father, but how—?’
‘I don’t know. Online, I think.’
‘Wait. What did you say his girlfriend’s name was?’
I close my eyes. Fear builds, infecting me. My skin is crawling. I force myself to
speak.
‘Evie. Why?’
She sighs. ‘Julia, I found this list. On Ryan’s computer. All
these usernames and
passwords.’ She speaks hesitantly, as if she’s unsure, or is figuring something out
as she goes. ‘At least that’s what I think they are.’ There’s a long pause. ‘One
of them’s Lukas, but there are loads more. Argo-something- or-other, Crab, Baskerville,
Jip. And there are all these names. Loads of them, God knows what he’s been doing.’
I know what she’s going to say, even before she says it.
‘One of them’s Evie.’
Something gives within me. I’m sure, now. ‘Oh God,’ I say. I’ve had weeks to understand.
Months. I just haven’t wanted to.
‘How do you think he knows her? How does he know Connor’s girlfriend?’
‘Anna. He doesn’t
know
her. I think he
is
her.’
‘But—’
‘Is his computer there now?’
‘Yes . . .’
‘Go online. Look on Facebook.’
I listen as she goes into another room. I hear as she picks up a machine, there’s
a swell of music as she wakes it from sleep. A few moments later she says, ‘I’m in.
He’s left it logged on. What . . . ?’
And then she stops.
‘What is it? Anna, tell me!’
‘You’re right. The photo he’s using is a young woman,’ she says. ‘And the name .
. . it isn’t Ryan. You’re right, Julia. It’s Evie.’
It all hits me at once. All the things I’ve ignored, not wanted to see. All the things
I’ve left unexamined. I go over to Connor’s bed. I sit on it; the mattress gives,
the duvet smells of him. Of my boy. My boy, who I’ve put in danger.