Second Life

‘No!’

I look round, at Hugh. My head is tilted, imploring. I hate having to make this request for him to step in, but this is a battle I can’t afford to lose. He hesitates; there’s a long moment when I’m not sure what he’s going to say or do, then he speaks.

‘Give your mother your phone, Co

Hugh and I sit on the sofa. Together, but separate. We’re not touching. Co

‘So …’ I begin. Hugh looks at me with something like pity. There’s a calmness in the room, despite the music Co

‘It’ll blow over. I promise you.’

Shall I tell him? I think. I could, even though it would end it all. My marriage, this life I’ve built, my relationship with Co

Yet still I imagine it. I’d take his hand, look him in the eye. ‘Hugh,’ I’d say. ‘There’s something you need to know.’ He’d know, of course, that something was wrong, that it was something bad. I wonder what he’d think: I’m ill, I’m leaving him, I want to move out of London? I wonder what his deepest fears are, where his mind would race. ‘Darling,’ he’d say, ‘what is it?’ And then I suppose I’d say something about how I love him and always have and that hasn’t changed. He’d nod, waiting for the blow, and then, eventually, once I’ve prepared the ground, I’d tell him. ‘I met someone. I met someone and we’ve been having sex, but it’s over. And it turns out that he was already engaged, to A

What would he do? We’d row. Of course we would. Things might be thrown. He’d blame the fact that I’d had a drink, I guess. And my duty would be to let him explode, to let him be angry and accuse me of whatever he wanted, to duck the crockery and to remain silent while he blows off his rage and Co

And then, if I’m lucky, we might be able to figure out what to do, how to stay together. Or – just as likely, if not more so – that would be it. I’ve betrayed him. I know what he’d say. He’d tell me I could have let him help me cope with Kate’s death, but instead I’d run. First, in Paris, I ran to the bottle, back here I ran to the internet, then to bed with a stranger. I’ve no doubt he’d help me to sort out whatever mess I’m in, help A

And he’d want to take Co

‘This Evie,’ I say.

‘The girlfriend?’

‘You know he’s never met her? Hugh? Doesn’t that bother you?’

‘It’s just what they do. Isn’t it?’

‘Do we even know she is who she says she is?’

‘What?’

‘You hear stories, these days.’ I’m treading carefully. This is a story he can’t know I’m part of. ‘All kinds of things,’ I say. ‘There are horror stories. Adrie

‘Well, Adrie

‘It happens, though.’

I picture Lukas, sitting at a computer, talking to my son.

‘We don’t even know she’s a girl.’

‘You’re the last person I’d have thought would have been bothered about that!’

I realize what he means. ‘No, I’m not talking about him being gay.’ I could cope with that, I think. That would be easy, compared to this, at least. ‘I mean, do we even know this Evie is the person Co

I realize I’m closer than I thought to telling him. It’d be easy, now. I could just say it. I think I know who it is. I think it’s this guy. I’m sorry, Hugh, but …

‘Well …’ He draws breath. ‘I’ve spoken to her …’

A mixture of emotions hits at once. Relief, first, that Co

‘What? When?’

‘I can’t remember. She called. The night you went out with Adrie

‘And …?’

‘And what you’re asking is if she’s a girl? Yes. She is.’

‘How old?’

‘I don’t know! I didn’t ask. She sounds about – I don’t know – seventeen?’

‘What did she say?’

He laughs. He tries to sound flippant. He’s trying to reassure me. ‘She said she’d tried his mobile, it was just ringing out, he must have it on silent or something. She asked if he was there. I said yes, we were halfway through a game of chess—’

‘I bet he loved that …’

‘What d’you mean?’

I shrug. I don’t want Hugh to know that none of Co

‘Nothing. I gave the phone to him, he took it into his room.’

I’m angry, yet relieved.

‘You should’ve told me.’

‘You’ve been very distracted,’ he replies. ‘There never seems to be a moment to talk. Anyway, he’s growing up. It’s really important that we allow him his privacy. He’s had a really tough time. We should be proud of him, and we must tell him that.’

I say nothing. Silence hangs between us, sticky and viscous, yet familiar and not altogether uncomfortable.

‘Julia. What’s wrong?’

If only I could say. Life is spiralling. I see danger everywhere, I’m paranoid, hysterical.

I don’t speak. A single tear forms.

‘Julia?’

‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Nothing. I …’

I let the sentence disappear. Again I wish I could tell him, but how can I? All this has happened because I tried to take more than I was owed. More than I deserved. I had my second chance, my second life, and it wasn’t enough. I wanted more.

And now, if I tell my husband, I’ll lose my son.

I go upstairs. There’s a message on my phone, one that I suppose I’ve been expecting.

It’s from Lukas. My heart leaps, though now my response is Pavlovian, meaningless, and as soon as it forms it disappears and turns to terror.

You’ve won, I think. Okay, you’ve won.

I want to delete it unread, but I can’t. I’m compelled, driven. I marvel at Lukas’s timing, almost as if he knows exactly when I’m most vulnerable. I wonder if Co

I click on the message.

There’s a map. ‘Meet me here.’ It’s just like the old days, except this time the message continues.

‘Noon. Tomorrow.’

I hate him, yet I look at the map. It’s Vauxhall, a place I don’t know well.

I type quickly.

– No, I say. Not there. Forget it.

I wait, then a message appears.

– Yes.

I feel hate, nothing but hate. It’s the first time my feelings for him have been wholly, unambiguously, negative. Far from giving me strength, for the briefest of moments it saddens me.

A moment later an image appears. Me, on my hands and knees, in front of him.

Bastard, I think. I delete it.

– What d’you want from me?

– Meet me tomorrow, he replies. And you’ll find out.

There’s a pause, and then:

– Oh, and surely you don’t need me to tell you to come alone?

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I don’t sleep. Morning comes, my family eats breakfast. I claim a headache and more or less leave Hugh to make sure Co