Second Life (36 page)

I pick it up. I scan through his updates. Most days he’s posted several; there are
too many to check, and many of them I don’t understand. Messages to his friends,
in-jokes, gossip, chat about the football or things he’s watched on TV. I go back,
rewinding through the year, to the summer, and I see what I’m looking for. ‘Off to
Islington Vue,’ says one. ‘With my MOTHER.’ I scroll back further, to older messages,
realizing as I do how used I am to reading things in backwards chronology. A few
messages later I see, ‘Family trip to the cinema tomorrow. Planet of the Apes!’

‘Who are you friends with?’ I hand the phone back to him. ‘Show me.’

He begins to protest, but I interrupt. ‘Connor! Show me, now!’ He hands back the
phone. There are hundreds of people following his updates, some whose names I recognize,
but many I don’t. I scan them quickly, and after a moment I see it. David Largos.
Without warning I flash back on my first conversation with Lukas, back when things
had felt simple, manageable. The surname is the same as his username back then.
Whatever hope I’d had – that I was mistaken, that I was wrong – collapses.

I hold the phone out to him. ‘Who’s this?’ I shout. ‘Who’s David Largos?’

‘I don’t know, Mum.’ He raises his voice. ‘Just somebody. Okay? That’s the way it
works. I don’t know
everybody
who follows me. Yeah?’

I select the username and a picture appears. It’s a picture of a dog, wearing a baseball
cap with the word ‘Vans’ written on it. There’s no other information, but it’s him.

That’s it, I think. That’s how he knew. That’s how he knew everything.

First Anna, then me. And now I know it. Connor is involved as well.

‘Delete it.’ I give him his phone back. ‘Delete your profile.’ I’m shaking, but he
doesn’t move.

‘No!’ He looks horrified, as if what I’ve asked him to do is utterly unreasonable.
I wish I could tell him why it’s so important, but I can’t. I wish I could tell him
how much his ridiculous and almost constant sense of being hard done by infuriates
me, but I don’t.

‘I’m not joking, Connor. You have to delete your profile.’ He begins to argue, a
barrage of buts and can’ts and won’ts.

I ignore him. ‘Connor!’ I’ve shouted. There’s a momentary hush – a stillness – in
the restaurant and I know that if I were to look around I’d see people staring at
us. There’s a young couple on the table next to us, he, wearing tracksuit trousers
and a hooded top, she, in a mini-dress, and on the other side a woman with someone
I imagine is her daughter, a pram parked between them. I don’t want to be their entertainment
for the evening, but neither do I want them to know I’m embarrassed. I lower my voice
but keep my eyes fixed on my son.

‘This isn’t a game. I’m telling you. Delete your profile. Now. Or else I’ll take
your phone off you and you can go back to using your old one . . .’

‘You wouldn’t!’

‘Watch me.’

His jaw drops. He’s incredulous, it’s outrageous, he doesn’t believe I’d even consider
such a thing. He stares at me, and I stare back.

I hold out my hand.

‘Your phone, Connor. Give it to me. Now.’

He snatches his phone out of my reach and stands up. At first I think he’s going
to say sorry, or make some other plea to my better nature, but he looks furious and,
sure enough, does no such thing. Instead he hisses at me, ‘Fuck you.’ A moment later
he’s turned and is heading for the exit, leaving me open-mouthed with shock.

I stand up, too; my napkin slides to the floor. ‘Connor!’ I say, as firmly as I can,
but he ignores me. ‘Get back here!’ People stare, there’s a hush. I’m losing control,
everything’s receding. It’s as if I’m hurtling down a tunnel, trying to get back
to a reality that’s slipping away from me as quickly as I am from it. I try to follow
Connor as he shoulders past people at the door and goes outside. I have to catch
up with him, and I force myself back to reality.

‘I’ll come back,’ I say to the waiter, who looks as though he’s seen this sort of
thing before. I squeeze past the tables – people move their chairs out of the way,
turning their faces away from me as they do, as if I’m best avoided – but by the
time I get outside Connor has gone. I glimpse him in the distance, running along
Upper Street in the opposite direction from home, and without thinking any further
I begin to give chase.

Hugh’s waiting for me when I get in. He comes to the door as I open it. I’m flustered,
fumbling with my keys. I drop them as I take them out of the door. He bends over
and picks them up, then gives them to me.

‘What’s going on?’ I shrug off my coat.

‘He’s here?’

‘Yes.’

He must’ve doubled back, or gone through the backstreets.

‘Where is he?’ I say.

‘Upstairs. What’s going on, Julia?’ He’s raised his voice but appears largely unflustered.

I push past him. I’m furious. I’d had to go back to the restaurant; people had stared
at me as I’d asked for the bill and paid it. A woman had tilted her head, half smiling,
in a way that I suppose was meant to convey sympathy and understanding but in fact
made me want to slap her. I’d then left in a hurry, forgotten the bag I’d stashed
under my seat, had to go back for it.

‘He made me look an absolute bloody idiot.’

He tries to interrupt, but I don’t let him. I go upstairs, towards Connor’s room.
What I can’t let him see is that I’m scared, as well as furious. Lukas has got to
my son, as well as to me, as well as to my friend. He’s stalking him now, and I don’t
know why. I can only hope it’s to intimidate me, to let me know he has the power
to do that. I can only hope that he’s made his point now, and that’s all it is.

But maybe he’s got a taste for it. For scaring me, for proving just how deeply he’s
infiltrated my life. I realize that I’m going to have to see him again, somehow confront
him. I can’t let him get away with it.

I’m at the top of the stairs when Hugh calls me back. ‘Julia! What the hell is going
on?’

I turn to face him. ‘What’s he told you?’

‘Some argument about his phone. The internet? He said you were being totally unreasonable.’

I could tell Hugh, I think. I could tell him everything. Lukas would have no power
over me then.

But it would end our marriage. And Connor wouldn’t be able to cope with that, not
on top of his mother’s death. I might lose him, too, if it all came out.

I have to protect him. I promised Kate I’d put him first, always. I told her that
he was the world to me, when we first had him, and then again and again when she
was trying to take him back. To let him down now would be the final betrayal, the
ultimate failure.

‘He’s grounded.’ It’s a punishment – for leaving me in the restaurant, for using
Facebook to tell the whole world about my life – but then I realize it would also
be a protection. If he can’t go out, Lukas can’t get to him.

‘I mean it.’

Hugh stands still. He shrugs, as if to say it’s up to me, but then says, ‘Is it really
that important?’ It enrages me even further. He thinks he’s protecting Connor, but
he doesn’t understand. I turn to go into Connor’s room; by now my fury is stoked,
throbbing. Dimly, I’m aware that it’s an anger that would be better directed at Lukas,
but that’s not possible, and it must be discharged somewhere. And so, here we are.
‘And I’m taking his phone,’ I say, adding, ‘That’s all there is to it,’ as if he
were about to argue.

Connor has closed his door, of course. I knock, but it’s perfunctory; I’m opening
the door before I’ve even finished telling him I’m coming in. I don’t know what I
expect to see – him lying face down on his unmade bed perhaps, wearing headphones,
or lying back to stare grimly at the ceiling – but what I do see surprises me. The
room is even more untidy than usual, and he’s standing at his bed, frantically stuffing
the contents of his chest of drawers into the sports bag he has open in front of
him.

‘Connor!’ He looks up, his face grim, but says nothing. I ask him what he thinks
he’s doing.

‘What the fuck does it look like?’

‘Don’t you use language like that with me!’ I’m aware of Hugh arriving at my side,
though he hangs back slightly; this is my argument, and he won’t take sides until
he’s sure which one he should be on. The room is silent for a moment, thick with
venom and animosity.

Connor mutters something. Again it sounds like ‘Fuck you’, though that might be my
imagination finally refusing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘What did you just say?’ I’m shouting, now. I can feel my heart in my chest, too
fast. Preparation for the fight.

‘Julia—’ begins Hugh at the doorway, but I silence him.

‘Connor Wilding! Stop what you’re doing right now!’

He ignores me. I go over, snatch the bag off the bed and toss it to the floor behind
me. He raises his hand, as if he’s about to strike me, and I look in his eyes and
see that he’d like to. I grab his wrist. For a moment I think about Lukas grabbing
mine, and I’d like to twist my son’s in the same way, hurt him in the same way. Instantly,
I’m ashamed. Distantly, I get the impression I’d never think this with a son of my
own, one I’d given birth to; the thought of causing him pain wouldn’t cross my mind,
not even fleetingly. Yet I’ll never know, and in any case I don’t get the chance.
He wrenches his arm out of my grip; I’m surprised at his strength.

‘You stupid little boy!’ I can’t help it. I can feel Hugh bristle behind me; he takes
a step forward, is about to speak. I get in ahead of him. ‘Where d’you think you’re
going to go? Running away? At your age? Don’t be so ridiculous.’

He looks wounded.

‘You think you’d last more than five minutes?’

‘I’m going to see Evie!’ he yells, his face inches from mine. His spittle falls on
my lips.

‘Evie?’ I start to laugh. I’m regretting it already, but
somehow powerless to stop
speaking. ‘Your
girlfriend
?’

‘Yes.’

‘Your girlfriend who you only talk to online?’

His face falls. I can see I’m right.

His voice cracks. ‘So?’ I experience a moment of triumph then feel utterly wretched.

‘Are you even sure she’s who she says she is?’

I mean it to be a genuine question, yet it comes out as a sneering accusation.

‘Julia . . .’ Hugh’s taken another step forward, is by my side now. I can feel his
heat, the faint aroma of his body after a day in the office. ‘Enough,’ he says. He
puts his hand on my arm and I shrug it off.

There’s a long silence. Connor stares at me with a look of absolute hatred in his
eyes, then he says, ‘For fuck’s sake, of course she’s who she says she is!’

‘That’s enough of your language,’ says Hugh. He’s picked his team. ‘Both of you,
just calm down—’

I ignore him. ‘You’ve spoken to her? Have you? Or are you just
Facebook
friends?’

My tone is supremely condescending, as if I find him pathetic. I don’t. It’s me I’m
really talking to. I did exactly that, fell for someone on the internet. It’s myself
I’m furious with, not him.

I try to calm down, but I can’t. My anger is unstoppable.

‘Of course I’ve spoken to her. She’s my girlfriend.’ He stares right at me. ‘Whether
you like it or not, Mum.’ He pauses, and I know what he’s going to say next. ‘She
loves me.’

‘Love?’ I want to laugh out loud, yet manage to stop myself. ‘As if you –’

‘Julia!’ says Hugh. His voice is loud. It’s an attempt to shock me into silence,
but I won’t be silenced.

‘ – as if you have
any
idea about love. You’re fourteen years old, Connor.
Fourteen
.
How old is she?’

He doesn’t answer.

‘How old, Connor?’

‘What does it matter?’

Hugh speaks again. ‘Connor! Your mother asked you a question.’

He turns to his father. Go on, I think. I dare you. Say ‘Fuck you’ to him.

He won’t, of course. ‘Eighteen,’ he says. He’s lying, I know it. I snort. It’s through
nerves, through fear, but I can’t help it.

‘Eighteen?’ I say. ‘No, Connor. No way can you go and see her. No way—’

‘You can’t stop me.’

He’s right. If he were determined enough, then there’d be nothing I could do.

‘Where does she live?’

He says nothing.

‘Connor,’ I say again. ‘Where does she live?’

He remains silent. I can see that he won’t tell me. ‘I’m guessing from the bag that
it’s not up the road,’ I say. ‘So how’re you going to get there? Eh?’

Connor knows he’s beaten. He can’t survive without me, not yet.

‘I want to go and see her!’ His voice rises, it takes on a pleading edge, and I’m
taken back to when he was a child, to when he wanted an ice cream or another bag
of sweets, to stay up late to watch some show on TV. ‘Everything else this year’s
been shit!’ he says. ‘Except for her! And you know why, Mum!’ It’s an accusation,
hurled; it hurts because it’s true, and he knows it. It crosses my mind he did see
the kiss I shared with Paddy after all; he’s been storing it up, it’s now when he’ll
tell his father. I shake my head. I want him to cry, to turn back into the child
I know
how to comfort, but he remains resolute. He’s determined.

‘I hate you. I wish
you’d never taken me. I wish you’d left me with my real mother!’

It breaks. Whatever I’d been holding in check, it finally breaks. I slap him, hard,
across the face.

‘You ungrateful little
shit
.’ I hate myself as soon as it’s out of my mouth, but
it’s too late. His eyes are smarting, but he’s smiling. He knows he’s won. I’ve lost
my temper. He’s become the adult and I’m the child.

I hold out my hand. ‘Give me your phone.’

‘No.’

‘Connor.’ Still he doesn’t move. ‘Your phone.’

‘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.