Second Life

She doesn’t respond. Part of me wants to tell her I’m worried I’m losing my son. For so many years we’ve been so close, more like friends than mother and child. I’ve encouraged him in his art, taken him out sketching. He’s always turned to me when he’s been upset, as much as he has to Hugh. He’s always told me everything. So why does he now feel that he has to suffer alone?

‘He keeps asking if they’ve caught anyone yet.’

‘It’s understandable,’ she says. ‘He’s young. He’s lost an aunt.’

I hesitate. She’d known, surely?

‘You know Kate was Co

She nods.

‘How much did she tell you?’

‘Everything, I think. I know you took Co

There’s a tightening in my throat, a defensiveness. It’s that word. ‘Took’. I feel the same familiar spasm of irritation – the rewritten story, the buried truth – and I try to swallow it down.

‘We didn’t take him, exactly. Back then, Kate wanted us to have him.’

Even if she didn’t later, I think. I wonder what Kate’s version of the story became. I imagine she told her friends that we’d swooped in, that we snatched Co

Again the tiny part of me that’s relieved she’s gone bubbles up. I can’t help it, even though it makes me feel wretched. Co

‘It was complicated. I loved her. But Kate could have a very distorted sense of how well she was coping.’

A

I look down at my coffee cup. I remember the day Co

I couldn’t process what I was hearing, yet at the same time part of me knew it was true.

‘In labour?’ I said. ‘But—?’

‘That’s what they said.’

But she’s sixteen, I wanted to say. She has no job. She’s living at home, our father is supposed to be looking after her.

‘She can’t be.’

‘Well, apparently she is. We need to go.’

By the time we arrived Co

She was sitting in bed, holding him. She passed him to me as soon as I walked in, and the love I felt for him was instant and shocking in its intensity. I couldn’t have been angry with her, even if I’d wanted to.

‘He’s beautiful,’ I said. Kate closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted, then looked away.

Later, we talked about what had happened. She claimed she hadn’t even known she was pregnant. Hugh said it wasn’t that uncommon. ‘Particularly with teenage girls,’ he said. ‘Their hormones might not have stabilized, so their periods can be irregular anyway. It’s surprising, perhaps, but it does happen.’ I tried to imagine it. It was possible, I suppose; Kate was a plump child, faced with a body that was now unfamiliar. She might have missed the fact she was carrying a baby.

‘She tried to manage,’ I say to A

I shrug. She had nothing. By the time Co

I look up at A

She nods. ‘You didn’t try to contact the father?’

‘It was all a bit of a mess. Kate never told us who he was.’ There’s a pause. I feel a sense of great shame, on Kate’s behalf, plus sadness for Co

‘Or maybe he wasn’t someone whose help she wanted …’

‘No.’ I look out of the window at the traffic, the taxis, the bikes wheeling by. The atmosphere is heavy. I want to brighten it. ‘But he has Hugh, now. They’re incredibly close. They’re actually very similar.’

I say it in a kind of rush. It’s ironic, I think. Hugh is the one person that Co

‘You know,’ says A

I wonder if she’s just trying to make me feel better. ‘She said that?’

‘Yes. She said if it hadn’t been for you and Hugh she’d have had to move back in with your father …’

She rolls her eyes, she thinks it’s a joke. I keep quiet. I’m not sure I’m ready to let her into the family story. Not that far, not yet. She senses my discomfort and reaches across the table to take my hand.

‘Kate loved you, you know?’

I feel a flush of relief, but then it’s replaced with a sadness so profound it’s physical, a beat within me. I look at my hand, in A

And yet it wasn’t enough to save her.

‘She said that?’

A

‘I wish she’d told me that when she was alive. But then I guess she wouldn’t, would she?’

She smiles. ‘Nope …’ she says, laughing. ‘Never. That wouldn’t have been her style.’

We finish our drinks then take the Métro as far as Rue Saint-Maur. We walk to A

So, there’s a boyfriend, I think, but I don’t ask questions. As with any new friendship, these are the details I’ll discover gradually. We go in, and she takes my bag, dropping it by the door. ‘You’re sure you won’t stay here?’ she says, but I tell her it’s fine, I’ll stay at the hotel I’ve booked, a few streets away. We’ve talked about it; I’d be in Kate’s room, surrounded by her things. It’s too early. ‘We’ll have a drink, then you can check in on the way to di

It’s a nice flat, big, with high ceilings and windows to the floor. The furniture in the living room is tasteful, if bland. There are framed posters on the walls, the Folies Bergère, the Chat Noir; the prints anyone might pick in a hurry. It hasn’t been decorated with love.

‘You rent this place?’ She nods. ‘It’s very nice.’

‘It’ll do for a while. Would you like a drink? Some wine? Or I might have beer.’

So there are some things Kate hasn’t told her. ‘Do you have any juice? Or some water?’