Second Life

‘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 A

Yet it’s only natural that A

‘Where’s Co

‘He’s out with friends.’ I sit down on the sofa opposite Hugh, next to A

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

I shrug. You know 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 A

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 di

‘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 A

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 Adrie

‘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 reco

Dimly, it occurs to me that I’m thinking about Kate, talking about her, and it’s not painful. It’s because A

I take the syllabub out of the fridge. Hugh finishes making the coffee and I call through to Co

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

‘He should come for di

‘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!’

A

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. A

Co

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 chattering. He takes my hand in his, shakes it, as if he’s meeting me for the first time.