Second Life

‘Good. I was worried something had happened. Or, you know, Hugh had found out about that guy.’

She mouths the last two words silently, as if she thinks there are spies everywhere, eager to report back. ‘No, not that,’ I say. ‘Nothing like that.’

‘Good!’ She raises her glass. I nod. Mine is still empty.

‘What is it?’

‘Have you listened to the message I left on your phone?’ She shakes her head.

I can’t speak. I don’t want to tell her. I don’t want to destroy her happiness, even if it is founded on lies. But then I think of all the things Lukas did to me, the things I asked for, and the things I didn’t. I can’t fail her the way, deep down, I know I failed my sister. I can’t let her down, just to save myself from a difficult conversation.

‘It’s about Ryan.’

‘Ryan?’

‘Listen.’ I take her hand. I tell myself it’s what Kate would have done. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m … y’know … jealous …’

‘Jealous? You’re not making any sense!’

‘Of you and Ryan, I mean.’

‘Why would you be jealous? Julia, what’s this about?’

I hesitate. I’m searching for the right words, but they seem just out of reach.

‘It’s just—’

‘What?’

‘Do you know if you can trust him?’

‘Of course! Why?’

‘It’s just, you haven’t known him that long, and—’

It sounds petty, lame, and already I know I’ve said the wrong thing. I see A

‘I’ve known him long enough,’ she says. ‘What’s this about, Julia? I wouldn’t expect this from you, of all people!’

I take a deep breath. I begin to speak. ‘I don’t think he’s who he says he is,’ I say. I close my eyes. ‘Sorry—’

‘What?’ She sounds shocked. ‘What on earth are you saying? What d’you mean?’

I tread carefully. I need her to work it out for herself. I need her to realize that the man she calls Ryan is lying about where he goes every week.

‘What does he do? On Tuesdays?’

‘He goes to work …’

‘In Paris?’

‘It varies. He travels a lot.’

‘London?’

‘Sometimes … What’s this about, Julia?’

‘The thing is,’ I say, but then I stop. The atmosphere in the room has shifted, the door to the bar, swung open, has admitted a current of cool air. Over A

‘Shit!’

‘What?’ She looks over her shoulder. ‘Oh, hi!’ She calls him across the few tables that separate them, and when he notices her he waves.

I grab her hand. ‘Listen.’ I talk quickly, I have to get it out before he gets here. ‘You can’t trust him, he isn’t who he says he is. He’s seeing someone else. You have to believe me—’

‘Julia!’ She’s shaking her head. I feel a rising urgency; any moment it might tip into panic.

‘Just leave him!’ I’ve spoken too loudly. The waiter has noticed and no doubt Lukas as well.

She pulls her hand away and stands up. She looks at me with disbelief. Disbelief and anger.

‘I’m sorry—’ I begin, but a moment later Lukas arrives.

‘What’s up?’ A

‘Julia was just leaving.’ She smiles. ‘Weren’t you?’

‘No. Listen to me …’

Lukas steps forward, puts himself between me and A

‘What’s this about?’

A

‘The money?’ I have no idea what she’s talking about.

‘You know we’re going to sort our wills out on Friday—’

‘What?’ My mind whirrs. I don’t know anything about that. I cast my mind back, try to remember our last conversation.

‘A

I think back to the conversation we’d had in Paris, all those months ago. I’d told her as much then.

‘Listen,’ says Lukas. He puts his hand on my arm and I flinch. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here, but you two need to calm down.’

A

‘Fine,’ says Lukas. ‘It’s fine. Nothing we can’t handle.’ He begins to steer A

‘He’s Lukas!’ I shout as they reach the door, but she’s looking away and my voice is swallowed by the cavernous bar. The other patrons look at me – they think I’m drunk, a troublemaker, a jealous ex – but I’m not sure A

She’s gone.

I pay and leave. There’s nothing else to do, and I can’t stay, not after the commotion I’ve caused. When I reach the car I open the window then light a cigarette from the packet I’ve started to keep in the glove compartment. I think of Hugh – he doesn’t approve of smoking in the car – and wish I could be with him right now.

I screwed it up. I don’t know what I could have done differently, but I screwed it up.

I exhale, sit back in the leather seat. I’ve parked on a side-street just off Portland Place and can see the doorway to the hotel framed in the wing mirror. Even though it must be after midnight now, people are still coming and going.

I wonder if A

But no, that makes no sense; he was definitely seeing A

Again the same thought forms, the one that’s been haunting me. It grows, I can’t shake it, can’t hold it down. It’s because I know he lives in Paris, now. It rises to the surface, inexorable, unstoppable.

It was him.

But it can’t be. There’s Kate’s earring; they’ve made an arrest. Plus, we know the police checked everyone out, all Kate’s online contacts. They’re satisfied. It can’t have been him.

So why did he target me, then? Or am I not a target at all – was it just sheer chance?

I finish my cigarette then toss it on to the pavement, through the half-open window. Straight away I feel the urge to light another; I fight it, but it seems pointless, futile. I have to calm my mind. I have to sort it out. I lift my bag off the passenger seat and begin to rummage inside it.

It happens quickly. I don’t see him come out of the hotel, don’t hear him approach, I’m barely aware of him opening the door. I look up and he’s there; I’ve gone from alone to not-alone in an instant. My heart leaps with sudden terror.

‘What the—?’ I begin, but he turns to me.

‘Surprise!’ His exclamation is dry and humourless. His face is inches from mine; he smells of aftershave, the one I’m used to. The fragrance of wood – sandalwood, I think – mixed with something else, something medicinal. He looks paler than I remember, his features thi

‘Lukas,’ I gasp. My muscle memory kicks in once again; instinctively I shoot as far back in my seat as I can, move as far away from him as I can get without opening the door and ru