Second Life (16 page)

Finally, I’m ready. I look in the mirror. At my reflection. I think of my photo.
Marcus in the Mirror.
I remember that first time we had sex. I’ve never lacked confidence,
but that night, even as he kissed me, I thought he might pull away. Even as he undressed
me, I thought, this is the first time, and it will also be the last. Even as he entered
me, I thought, I can’t possibly be good enough for this man.

And yet I was. We started seeing each other. We started missing meetings, now and
again at first, then more often than not. And then we moved to Berlin. It was cold;
I remember we slept rough that first night, and then hooked up with friends he had
out there. A week of sleeping on floors turned into a month, and then we found a
place of our own, and—

And I don’t want to think about it now. About how happy we were.

I stand up. I check my phone for messages. Part of me hopes he’s cancelled. I could
undress then, take off the make-up, put on the jeans and shirt I was wearing when
I said goodbye to Hugh this morning. I could make myself a cup of tea and sit in
front of the television, or with a novel. This afternoon I could do some work, ring
some people. Along with my relief I could nurse a quiet resentment, I could vow never
to message him again and then go back to Hugh and spend the rest of my life wondering
whether Lukas knew Kate, whether he might have led me to the man who killed her.

But there are no messages; he hasn’t changed his mind, and I’m not disappointed.
For the first time in months I get the sense that something will happen, one way
or another. I feel a kind of elasticity; the future is unknown, but it seems malleable,
pliable. It has a softness, where before it’d felt as hard and unyielding as glass.

I take a taxi. It’s sticky with the heat, even with the window open. The sweat trickles
down my back. In the cab there’s the same advert I saw on my way home from dinner
with Adrienne. B
E WHO YOU WANT TO BE
.

We reach St Pancras. The car sweeps up the cobbled drive, the door is opened for
me. I feel a breeze on my neck as I get out and go into the hotel. The doors slide
open and marble stairs lead into the relief of the air-conditioned interior. The
roof above us is glass, with iron girders, part of the old station, I guess. It’s
all elegance here, cut flowers, the smell of lemon and leather and wealth. I look
around the lobby; two men sit side by side on a green sofa; a woman in a suit reads
the paper. There are signs: R
ESTAURANT
, S
PA
, M
EETING ROOMS
. Behind the reception
desk all is busy and efficient; I look at my watch and see that I’m early.

I take out my phone. No messages.

I wait for my breathing to slow, my heart to stop its insistent alarm, its attempts
to warn. I slip off my wedding ring and put it in my purse. My hand feels naked now,
as does the rest of me, but without my ring what I’m about to do feels less of a
betrayal, somehow.

At the reception desk I ask for the bar. The guy is young and impossibly good-looking.
He points me in the right direction and wishes me a nice day. I thank him and step
away. His eyes burn into me as I retreat, as if he knows why I’m here. I want to
turn round and tell him it’s not what he thinks, I’m not going to go through with
it.

I’m only pretending.

Lukas is sitting at the bar, his back to me. I’d worried I wouldn’t recognize him,
but he’s unmistakable. He’s wearing a tailored suit, though as I get closer I see
he hasn’t bothered with the tie. Some effort, but not too much. Like me, I guess.
I’m surprised to see a glass of champagne in front of him, another in front of the
empty seat at his side. I remind myself I’m here for Kate.

Her face floats in front of me. She’s a little girl, seven or eight. Our father has
told us he’s sending us to boarding school, just for a couple of years, though we
both know it’ll be until Kate leaves home. She looks terrified, and once again I’m
telling her it’ll work out. ‘You’ll have me,’ I say, ‘and you’ll make loads of other
friends. I promise!’

I didn’t know whether she would, back then. She had a temper, was developing a wild
streak. She could take things to heart and get herself in trouble. But she did make
friends, eventually. One of them must have been Anna, but there were others. Life
was difficult for her, but she wasn’t unhappy, not always. And I looked after her.
I did my best. Until . . .

No, I think. I can’t think of that now. I can’t bring Marcus into the room. And so
I push the image away and walk over.

Lukas hasn’t seen me yet, and I’m glad. I want to arrive suddenly, to be there before
he’s had the chance to appraise me from a distance. He’s ten years younger than me,
and looks it. I’m nervous enough, I don’t want to risk seeing a flash of disappointment
as he sees me approach.

‘Hi!’ I say, when I reach him.

He looks up. His eyes are deep blue, even more striking in real life. For the briefest
of moments his face is expressionless, his gaze invading, as if he’s unpicking me,
learning me from within. He looks as if he has no idea who I am, or why I’m there,
but then he breaks into a broad smile and stands up.

‘Jayne!’ I don’t correct him. There’s a momentary flicker of surprise and I realize
he thought I wouldn’t come.

‘You made it!’ He’s grinning with relief, which makes me feel relieved, too. I sense
we’re both nervous, which means neither of us has all the power.

‘Of course I did!’ I say. There’s an awkward moment. Should we kiss? Shake hands?
He pushes my drink towards me.

‘Well, I’m glad.’ There’s another pause. ‘I got you some champagne. I wasn’t sure
what you’d want.’

‘Thanks. I might just get some sparkling water.’

I slide into my seat and he orders my drink. I look at him, at this unshaven, blue-eyed
man, and again ask myself why I’m here. I’ve been telling myself it’s to find out
whether he knew my sister, but there’s more, of course there is.

I wonder whether I’m being naive. Whether it might be him she was going to meet that
night. The thought assaults me. It’s brutal. The man in front of me looks incapable
of violence, but that means nothing. It’s not only those who
have shaved their heads
or inked their bodies that are capable of wielding weapons.

I remind myself of what I’ve seen. Of where he was in February. I begin to calm down
as my water arrives.

‘There you go. You’re not drinking?’

‘No. I don’t.’

I see the familiar readjustment that people make when I tell them. I know they’re
trying to figure out whether I’m a puritan, possibly religious, or an addict.

As usual, I say nothing. I don’t need to make excuses. Instead I look around the
bar. It used to be the ticket office; people would queue here before boarding their
train, and many of the old features – the wood panelling, the huge clock on the wall
above us – have been retained. It’s busy; people sit with their suitcases, or newspapers.
They’re eating lunch, or afternoon tea. They’re in transit, or else staying in the
hotel above. For a moment I wish I were one of them. I wish the reason I find myself
here could be that uncomplicated.

As if for the first time, I realize Lukas has a room, just a few floors above. The
reason he thinks I’m here swims into focus.

‘Are you okay?’ he says. There’s a tension in the air; we’re hesitant. I remind myself
that he thinks we’re both single and that even if his path has crossed with Kate’s
there’s still no reason I should be finding this difficult.

‘Fine. Thanks.’ I pick up the glass as if to prove it. ‘Cheers!’

We chink our glasses. I try to imagine him with my sister. I can’t.

I wonder what would usually happen now. I imagine Kate, or Anna – I know she’s done
this kind of thing, too. I see kissing, tearing at each other’s clothes. I see people
being pushed on to a bed in fevered lust. I see naked bodies, flesh.

I sip my water. When I put my glass down there’s lipstick on the rim and I’m shocked,
momentarily, by its colour. It seems bright, as if it’s in Technicolor, plus it’s
not what I wear, not in the middle of the day. It’s not me. Which was the point of
wearing it, of course.

I feel lost. I’d thought this would be easy. I’d thought I’d meet him and the answers
would spill out, the path to the truth about what happened to Kate instantly become
clear. But it’s never felt more muddied, and I don’t know what to do.

‘You look beautiful,’ he says. I grin and thank him. I look at him. He looks solid,
more solid than anything has looked for a long time. I can hardly believe he’s here,
that with almost no effort at all I could reach out and touch his flesh.

He smiles. I hold his gaze, but still, somehow, it’s me that feels naked. I look
away. I think of Hugh, at work, a body under the sheets in front of him, flesh parted,
wet and glistening. I think of Connor in the classroom, his head bent over his desk
at the end of another school year, the long holidays in front of him. And then Lukas
smiles and I put these feelings back, lock them away. He puts down his glass and
my eyes catch on something glinting on his left hand.

I’m almost relieved. It’s a shock, but the awkwardness that has built between us
is broken.

‘You’re married.’

‘I’m not.’

‘But your ring . . .’

He looks at his own hand, as if to check what I’ve seen, then at me. ‘I never told
you?’

I shake my head. I remind myself that I can’t accuse him of deception, with the lies
I’ve told.

‘I
was
married . . .’ He takes a deep breath, then sighs heavily. ‘Cancer. Four years
ago.’

‘Oh.’ I’m shocked. It’s brutal. I search his eyes and see only pain. Pain, and innocence.
I reach out my hand as if to take his. I do it automatically, without thinking. A
moment later he reaches and takes hold of mine. There’s no crackle of electricity,
no spark of energy jumping from one to the other. Even so, I’m dimly aware that this
is the first time we’ve touched, and the moment therefore has significance no matter
what happens next.

‘I’m so sorry.’ It feels inadequate, as it always does.

‘Thank you. I loved her very much. But life goes on. It’s a cliché, but it’s true.’
He smiles. He’s still holding my hand. Our eyes lock. I blink, slowly, but I don’t
look away. I feel something, something I’ve not felt for a long time, so long I can’t
quite work out what it is.

Desire? Power? A mixture of both? I can’t tell.

Once again I try to visualize him with Kate. I’d know, surely? All through our childhood
I’d known what she was thinking, when she was in trouble. If this man had anything
to do with her death then wouldn’t I just know?

‘I can’t bear this any more. Shall we go upstairs?’

This isn’t right. This isn’t why I came.

‘I’m sorry. Can we just talk, for a while?’

He smiles and says, ‘Of course.’ He takes off his jacket and hangs it over the back
of the chair, then takes my hand once again. I let him. We speak for a while, but
it’s small talk, we’re avoiding things, though what we’re avoiding is different for
each of us. For me it’s Kate, but for him? The fact he wants to take me upstairs,
I guess. After a few minutes there’s a moment of decision. He’s finished his drink,
mine is gone already. We can get more and carry on talking, or we can leave. There’s
a hesitation, a drawing in, then he says, ‘I’m sorry. For not telling you I was married,
I mean.’ I don’t reply. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘Why did you say you were in Paris? When we first talked, I mean.’

We’re skirting the edges now, circling in.

‘I was. I was on holiday out there.’

‘Alone?’

I think of Anna. ‘With a friend.’ I see my chance. ‘Why? When were you last there?’

He thinks for a moment. ‘September last year, I think it was.’

‘Not since?’

His head tilts. ‘No, why?’

‘No reason.’ I try a different tack.

‘You have friends there?’

‘Not really. No.’

‘No one?’

He laughs. ‘Not that I can think of!’

I pretend to look wistful. ‘I’ve always wanted to be there in winter. February. Valentine’s
day in Paris, you know?’ I smile, as if dreaming. ‘Must be beautiful.’

‘So romantic.’

I sigh. ‘I guess. You’ve never been in winter?’

He shakes his head. ‘It’s funny, I can’t imagine it snowing there. I guess I associate
it with the summer. You’re right, though. It must be beautiful.’

I look at my glass. Why would he lie? He doesn’t know who I am. Why would he tell
me he’d never been to Paris in winter if he had?

‘So who’s your friend over there?’

I look puzzled.

‘The one you were visiting?’

‘Oh, just a friend.’ I hesitate, but I’ve already decided what I have to do. ‘I thought
you might know her actually.’

‘Know her?’

‘She sometimes uses encountrz.’

He smiles. ‘I don’t know many people off that site, believe it or not.’