Second Life

Chapter Twenty-Three

I made it out of the hotel. My legs shook, I was sweating, my heart was hammering so hard I thought my chest might burst, yet still I managed to pretend to be calm as I walked through the lobby, on to the street. Once outside I walked and walked, and it wasn’t until I was sure I was out of sight of the hotel that I stopped to check what direction I’d gone in. I hailed a cab, got in. ‘Where to?’ the driver said, and I said, ‘Anywhere,’ and then, ‘The river,’ and then, ‘The South Bank.’ We began to drive, and he asked me if I was all right. ‘Yes,’ I said, even though I wasn’t, and when we reached the South Bank I found a bench overlooking the Thames and, because I knew Adrienne would say ‘I told you so,’ and I didn’t know who else to call, who there was that I hadn’t pushed away, I phoned Anna.

‘How’re you?’

I told her everything, blasting it out in a mess of non-sequiturs that must have been largely incomprehensible, and she first listened then calmed me down and asked me to try again. When I finished she said, ‘You must go to the police.’

She sounded steely, determined. Absolutely sure.

‘The police?’ It was as if it were the first time I’d considered it.

‘Yes! You’ve been attacked, Julia.’

I flashed on his hands on me, all over me, grabbing my flesh, tearing at my clothes.

‘But—’ I said.

‘Julia. You have to.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘No, they didn’t… he didn’t… and Hugh…’

I imagined telling Hugh, making the call to the police. What would I say?

I’ve heard the stories. Even if I had been raped, they almost certainly wouldn’t take me seriously, and if they did it’d be me who’d be on trial, not David, not Lukas. ‘And you went there for sex?’ they’d say, and I’d have to say yes. ‘Dressed in clothes that he sent you?’ Yes. ‘Having told him, more or less, that rape was a fantasy of yours?’

Yes.

And what would my defence be? I didn’t want it to happen, though. Not like that!

I felt myself crumple. I began to cry again as I imagined what might have happened, what Lukas might’ve done and got away with.

I thought of Hugh, and Connor. I imagined them finding out where I’d been, how I’d ended up. I’d have to tell them, there’s no way I’d be able to lie; I’ve done enough of that already.

‘I don’t even know where he lives.’

She paused. ‘Is there anything, anything at all, I can do to help?’

There’s nothing anyone can do, I thought. I just have to leave him, to walk away, to make the severance that, just a few hours earlier, I’d been dreading.

‘No.’

I went home. I knew what I had to do. Let Lukas recede into the past, do my best to forget him. Not log on. Not check my messages. Not raise my hopes that there’ll be flowers, apologies, explanations. Move on.

Mostly, I’ve succeeded. I’ve carried on working. I told Hugh I’d decided to stop seeing the counsellor but to start going back to my meetings. I’ve done so, and kept busy in other ways. I’ve called Ali and Dee and the rest of my friends, and spoken to Anna every day. I’ve spent more time with Connor, even tried to talk to him about Evie, to reassure him that he can tell me about his girlfriend, if he wants. ‘I’d like to meet her, one day,’ I said. His shrug was predictable, but at least I’d made the effort.

I’ve met up with Adrienne, too. Finally. She invited me to a concert and we had dinner afterwards. We chatted; the argument we’d had outside the house felt all but forgotten. Before we said goodbye she turned to me.

‘Julia,’ she said. ‘You know I love you. Unconditionally.’ I nodded, waiting. ‘And so I’m not going to ask you what’s going on. But I need to know. Are you all right? Is there anything I need to worry about?’

I shook my head. ‘No. Not any more.’

She smiled. It was the nearest I’d come to a confession, and she knew I’d tell her, one day.

I’ve only been weak once, one Sunday afternoon a few weeks ago. I’d fought with Hugh, Connor was being impossible. I couldn’t help myself. I logged on to encountrz, ignored the couple of new messages I’d accumulated, then searched for his username.

Nothing. Username not found. He’d vanished.

I couldn’t help it. I called him.

His number was unavailable. It didn’t even go to voicemail. I tried again – in case there’d been a problem, he was out of the country, there was an issue with the connection – and then again, and again, and again. Each time, nothing.

And then I realized where I was, what I was doing. I told myself I was being ridiculous. I’d promised myself complete cut-off; I’d told myself it would be easier, the best way.

And here it was. The severance I craved. I should be grateful.

I get in late. I’ve been out, taking photos, first portraits of a family that had been in touch through the website, then on the way home I’d stopped off to get some shots of people as they stood outside the bars of Soho – trying to get back to the subjects who really interest me, I guess – but now Hugh is already home. He asks me to come with him, he has something to tell me.

It sounds ominous. I think of the time I got home from the gallery, the police in the kitchen, the news that Kate was dead. I know Connor is fine, his light is on upstairs, it’s always the first thing I ask when I arrive home and I’ve already done so tonight, but still I’m nervous. Tell me now, I want to say, whatever it is, but I don’t. I follow him into the kitchen. I dump my bag on the floor, my camera on the table.

‘What is it?’ He looks serious. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

He takes a deep breath. ‘Roger called. From the Foreign Office. They think they know what happened to Kate.’

I feel myself collapse. Questions tumble out – What? Who? – and he explains. ‘There’s a man, this guy who they arrested on something totally unrelated. Roger isn’t allowed to tell us what, exactly, but he hinted it was something to do with drugs. A dealer, I guess. Anyway, apparently he’s known in the area; they even questioned him about Kate but he said he’d seen nothing.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘When they searched his place they found Kate’s earring.’

I close my eyes. I picture him ripping it off her, or her being forced to give it to him, thinking that cooperation might save her life when in fact it did no such thing.

A dealer. Was it drugs, after all? Not sex?

Suddenly I’m there, again. Me and Marcus. We’d go together, but I’d wait for him. At the end of the street, on the corner, outside the station. He’d meet our dealer, hand over the cash. He’d come back with what we both wanted. Smiling.

But Kate saw none of that. I made sure of it, even the one time she visited us, during the school holidays. She hadn’t wanted to go home and be alone with Dad, she begged me to let her come for a visit. ‘Just for a few days,’ she said, and I relented. I scraped some money together to pay for her ticket, and our father put up the rest. She came for a long weekend and slept on the bed in our room while we slept on the couch, but I’m certain she saw nothing. It was a few weeks before Marcus died, and neither of us was using. I took her to the galleries, we walked the length of Unter den Linden, drank hot chocolate at the top of the Fernsehturm. I photographed her on the streets of Mitte – pictures that are lost, now – and we wandered around Tiergarten. I left her with Marcus only once, when I went to buy groceries, but he knew how much I wanted to keep her from drugs and I trusted him completely. When I got home they were playing cards with Frosty, the TV on in the background, showing cartoons. She saw nothing.

Still, shouldn’t I have set a better example?

I begin to sob, a sound that turns into a howl of pain. Hugh holds my hands in his. I’d thought it might make me feel better. Knowing who’d killed my sister. Knowing he’d been arrested, would be punished. It should draw a line under everything. It should open up a future, allow me to move on.

But it doesn’t. It feels so meaningless. So banal. If anything, it’s worse.

‘Julia. Julia. It’s all right.’

I look at him.

‘I can’t bear it.’

‘I know.’

‘It’s definitely him?’

‘They think so.’ I begin to cry properly, tears run in thick streams. My sister dead, her son devastated, over drugs?

‘Why?’ I say, over and over. Hugh holds me until I calm down.

I want my son.

‘Have you told Connor?’

He shakes his head.

‘We need to tell him.’

He nods, then stands up. He goes to the stairs as I go into the kitchen. I grab some kitchen roll and wipe the tears from my face, then pour myself a drink of water. When I go back into the living room Connor is sitting opposite his father. He looks up. ‘Mum?’

I sit down on the sofa and take Connor’s hand.

‘Darling…’ I begin. I’m not sure what to say. I look at Hugh, then back at our son. I dig as deep as I can, searching for the last reserves of strength. ‘Darling, they’ve caught the man who killed Auntie Kate.’

He sits, for a moment. The room is perfectly still.

‘Darling?’

‘Who?’

What to say? This isn’t the movies, there’s no big plot, no satisfying resolution to the story, tied with a bow at the end. Just a senseless waste of life.

‘Just a man,’ I say.

‘Who?’

I look again at Hugh. He opens his mouth to speak. Don’t say it, I think. Don’t tell him it was someone selling drugs. Don’t put that idea into his head.

‘Auntie Kate was in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ he says. ‘That’s all. She ran into an evil man. We don’t know why, or what happened. But he’s been caught now, and he’ll go to prison and pay for what he’s done.’

Connor nods. He’s trying to understand, trying to come to terms with the lack of an explanation.

After a moment he lets go of my hand. ‘Can I go back to my room now?’

I say yes. There’s an urge to follow him, but I know I mustn’t. I leave him for ten minutes, fifteen. I ring Adrienne, then Anna. She’s shocked. ‘Drugs?’ she says.

‘Yes. Did she—?’

‘No! No. Well, I mean, she partied, you know? We all did. But nothing hard core.’

As far as you know, I think. I’m only too well aware how easy it can be to keep these things hidden. ‘Maybe you just didn’t know?’

‘I don’t think so,’ she says. ‘Honestly, I don’t.’

We talk for a while longer, but I want to see my son. I tell Anna I’m looking forward to seeing her in a couple of weeks and she tells me she can’t wait. We say goodbye, and then I tell Hugh I’m going up to see Connor.

I knock, he tells me to come in. He’s playing music, lying on the bed, facing the ceiling. His eyes are red.

I say nothing. I go in. I hold him, and together we cry.

Chapter Twenty-Four

She’s arriving today. I’m picking her up later, we’ll have a coffee or something, but for now I’m alone. I have the newspaper spread out in front of me. I turn to the magazine, skim read something about some fashion designer, what she wishes she’d known when she was young, then turn the page. A real-life article, someone whose daughter became a heroin addict; I turn that page, too. I think of my own narrow escape – if that’s what it was, if I really can be said to have escaped – and wonder for a moment whether they’d run a story about me and Lukas. I shudder at the thought, but my story isn’t unusual. I got myself involved with a man who wasn’t the person I thought he was, and things went too far. It happens all the time.

I close the magazine and empty the dishwasher, on autopilot. I pick up the dishcloth, the bottle of bleach. I clean the surfaces. I wonder if this is how my mother’s generation felt; Valium in the bathroom cabinet, a bottle of gin under the sink. An affair with the milkman, for the adventurous. So much for progress. I feel ashamed.

When I’ve finished my chores I go up to see Hugh. He’s in his office, despite the cold he’s been fighting for almost a week. He’s working on a statement; the case against him has progressed, the patient has relapsed and solicitors have been instructed. The hospital’s legal team want to prevent it going to a tribunal. ‘They’ve said I’m screwed if it does,’ he told me. ‘The fact is I didn’t write down what I’d told them, so I might as well have said nothing.’

‘Doesn’t it make any difference that they’d have gone ahead anyway?’

‘No. They just want some cash.’

It’s Maria dealing with the family now. According to Hugh, if they were that upset they’d have sought their second opinion from a different hospital altogether.

I’ve asked him if he’ll lose his job. He said no, no one’s died, he hasn’t been criminally negligent, but I can see the stress it’s causing him. I knock on the door and go in. He’s sitting at his desk. He has the window open, despite the draught, the cool air of early October. He looks pale.

‘How’re you feeling?’ I say.

‘Fine.’ Sweat sheens his brow.

‘Are you sure?’ I say. It’s good to care for him; it’s been a long time since I’ve felt he needs me. ‘Want anything?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, thanks. How about you? What’re your plans today?’

I remind him about Anna. ‘I’m picking her up from the station.’

‘She’s not staying with us, though?’

‘No. She’s booked into a hotel. She’s coming for dinner on Monday.’

‘Where’s Connor?’

‘Out. With Dylan, I think.’

‘Not his girlfriend?’

‘I don’t know.’ Again I feel that sense of loss. I turn to Hugh’s shelves and begin straightening things. I’m beginning to worry now. Connor is still upset after our discussion the other night, yet he won’t talk to me. How can I be expected to protect him, to counsel him as he enters the world as an adult, if he won’t let me in?

And that’s my job. Isn’t it? In the last few weeks the need to protect him, to keep him safe, has only increased. Yet I know I have to trust my son. To be old enough, mature enough. Not to get into any trouble – or not too much at least, and nothing with real repercussions. There’s little point in me demanding that he lives a blameless, spotless life, after what I’ve done. He has to make his own mistakes, just as I made mine.

And he will make them; I just hope they won’t be as catastrophic. Smoking in an alleyway, yes. A bottle of vodka or cheap cider, bought from the off licence by whichever of his friends is nearest to growing a beard. Weed, even; it’s going to happen sooner or later, whether I like it or not. But nothing stronger. No accidents, no pregnancies. No running away from home. No getting mixed up with people when you should know better.

‘Is he still seeing her?’ I say.

‘I’m not sure.’ I’m momentarily relieved. I’m aware it’s a contradiction; I want Connor to be close to Hugh but don’t like the thought of him telling him things he won’t tell me. ‘What d’you make of it all?’

‘What?’ I turn back to Hugh. ‘His girlfriend?’

He nods. ‘They met online, you know?’

I flinch. I turn back to the shelves. ‘Facebook?’

‘I think so. She’s a friend?’

‘I don’t know. She must be, I guess.’

‘Well, is he still seeing her?’

‘Hugh, why don’t you ask him? He talks to you about this stuff more than he talks to me.’

He points to his screen. ‘Because I have enough on my mind as it is.’

I arrive at St Pancras, order a mineral water from the champagne bar and sit down. From my seat I can see the statue at the end of the platforms where I met Lukas, all those weeks ago.

I sit facing it. Memories come back; there’s pain, but it’s dulled, bearable. I think of it as a test. He’s won enough. I just have to get over him, finally and completely, and here is where I can start. I sip my drink as the train comes in.

I see Anna through the glass partition that separates the trains from where I sit. She walks down the platform, her phone pressed to her ear, with a case that’s surprisingly large for the week she’d told me she was going to be in London. I watch as she ends her call then disappears down the escalators. She looks serious, as though something’s wrong, but just a few minutes later she’s in front of me, her grin huge and instantaneous. She looks delighted, relieved. I stand, and she envelops me in a hug.

‘Julia! It’s so good to see you!’

‘You, too.’ My words are lost in the folds of the silk scarf she’s wearing. She squeezes me, then lets go. ‘Is everything okay?’

She looks puzzled. I nod towards the platform she’s just walked down. ‘When you got off the train. You looked worried.’

She laughs. ‘Oh! No, everything’s fine. It was just my office. Some mix-up. Nothing major.’ She looks at me. ‘You look well. In fact, you look beautiful!’

I thank her. ‘You, too.’

‘Well…’ she replies, and there’s something about the way she smiles that makes me think her delight isn’t just because of seeing me again. She has something to tell me, something she’s been bottling up but can hold in no longer.

‘What is it?’ I’m excited, too, and intrigued, though already I wonder if I’ve guessed. I’ve seen the same expression before; I’ve even worn it myself.

She laughs.

‘Tell me!’

She grins and holds up her left hand. A moment later I see it: a ring on her finger, catching in the light from the windows above.

‘He asked me…’

I grin, but for the briefest moment all I feel is jealousy. I see her life, and it’s one of excitement, of exploration and passion.

I hug her again. ‘That’s wonderful. Truly wonderful!’ I mean it – my initial reaction had been unkind, but short-lived – and I look at the ring. It’s a single round diamond in a gold setting; it looks expensive. She begins talking. He asked her just last week. ‘He had the ring, he didn’t quite go down on one knee, but…’ She hesitates, clearly remembering. ‘I wanted you to be one of the first to know—’

I force a smile. I’m jealous on Kate’s behalf. It’s as if her death has somehow set Anna free. She doesn’t seem to notice, though. She squeezes my arm. ‘I just feel very close to you, Julia. Because of Kate, I suppose. Because of what happened.’

I take her hand. ‘Yes. Yes, I agree. I guess sometimes it’s not so much about how long you’ve known someone, but about what you’ve been through together.’ She looks relieved: we really are friends. I let go of her hand and pick up her bag before linking my arm in hers. ‘So,’ I say, as we begin to walk towards the car. ‘Tell me what happened! How did he ask you?’

She seems to jump to attention, her mind was wandering, back into the memories, I guess. ‘We went to the Sacré-Coeur,’ she says. ‘I thought we were just going for a stroll, to look at the view, you know, or maybe get some lunch.’ The words tumble out of her mouth, all exclamations and half-sentences. As they do I’m swept up in her enthusiasm and I feel bad about my earlier reaction. I wonder if it hadn’t been jealousy but simple sadness. Sadness that this joy had been visited on her, and not Kate.

As she talks I think back to Hugh’s proposal to me: we were in a restaurant – our favourite, in Piccadilly – and he’d asked me between the main course and dessert. ‘Julia,’ he said, and I remember thinking how serious he looked, how nervous. This is it, I’d thought, for the briefest of instants. He’s brought me here to end it, to tell me he’s met someone, or that now I’m better, now I’m cured, it’s time for me to move on. But at the same time I thought it couldn’t possibly be that; we’d been so happy, over the previous few months, so much in love.

‘What?’ I’d said. ‘What is it?’

‘You know I love you. Don’t you?’

‘And I love you…’ He smiled, but didn’t look particularly relieved. I think that’s when I first realized what he was about to say.

‘Darling,’ he began. He took my hand across the table. ‘Julia, I—’

‘What, Hugh? What is it?’

‘Will you marry me?’

The happiness was instant, overwhelming. There was no romantic gesture, no going down on one knee or standing up to announce his intentions to the other diners, but I was glad of that; it wasn’t his style, and neither was it mine. He was a good man, I loved him, why would I say no? Plus, he knew me, had seen me at my absolute worst, knew everything about me.

Almost everything, anyway. And the things he didn’t know were the things I’d never tell anyone.

‘Of course!’ I said back then, yet still some part of me hesitated, the part that felt I didn’t deserve what Hugh was offering, what he’d already given me – this second life. But the relief that flooded his face told me I was making the right – the only – decision.

I realize Anna’s stopped speaking. I force myself to snap back to the present.

‘He sounds perfect!’

‘Yes. You know, I think he is!’

‘And he’s from Paris?’

‘No. He’s based there. His family’s from somewhere down in Devon.’ She grins. ‘This visit is a bit too rushed. I’m meeting them in a few weeks.’

We get to the car and I put her bag in the boot. Once we’re buckled up and I’ve started driving she tells me again the story of how they met. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘I told you about the dinner party?’ She sighs, as if their meeting were an inevitability, a coming together of the fates. I say yes, even though I’m not sure she did. She goes on to tell me anyway, about how they clicked straight away, about how instantly perfect it felt.

‘You know when something doesn’t feel sensible, but just feels right?’ she says.

‘I do,’ I say, turning the wheel. I sigh. ‘I do.’ She thinks I’m talking about Hugh, but I’m not. I’m thinking of Lukas. I’ve been trying to pretend to myself that I don’t miss him, but I do. Or rather, I miss what I’d thought we could have had.

I believed he knew me; it felt like he’d cracked me open and seen through to who I really am. I’d convinced myself he was the only person who could still do that.

‘…so we think we’ll carry on living in Paris for a bit,’ says Anna, ‘and then maybe move back here.’

‘Good idea. So, remind me when you met?’

‘When? Oh, it was just after Christmas. It was a few weeks before Kate…’ She stumbles, corrects herself, but the damage is done. ‘…Just before I met you.’ I smile, but she can see I’m upset. I can talk about Kate, now. I can think about her. But such an explicit reference to her death, coming from nowhere, still throws me. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘Me and my big mouth…’

‘It’s okay.’ I don’t want to dwell on it, and neither do I want her to feel guilty. Anna is the last person I should expect to avoid the topic of my sister. Nevertheless, I change the subject. ‘But it all seems to have happened very quickly,’ I say. I’m thinking of Lukas again, of how rapidly I’d fallen. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying that? I mean, are you sure?’

‘Oh! Yes, you’re right! But no, I’m totally sure! We both are,’ she adds. ‘He says the same. Neither of us thought there was any point in hanging around, when we’re so certain.’

She’s silent for a moment. I can feel her looking at me as I drive, no doubt weighing up what to say, wondering how much happiness I can stand. ‘You know, I think in a weird way it’s all connected with Kate. With what happened. It just reminded me that life is for living, you know? It’s not a rehearsal.’

‘No,’ I say. It’s a cliché, but only because it’s true. ‘No, it isn’t.’

‘I think that’s what Kate’s death taught me.’

‘Really? I feel it’s taught me nothing.’

It comes from nowhere. I wish I could unsay it, but it’s impossible.

‘Don’t say that.’

‘It’s true. All I’ve done is try to escape it.’

And look where it led me. I spent the summer obsessed with Lukas, a man ten years younger than me, falling in a love that I was stupid enough to think might be reciprocated.

I’d ended up running from a pain that I owed it to my sister to experience, and I’ll never be able to repay that. It feels like a final betrayal.

‘I’m just feeling sorry for myself. Ryan sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to meet him.’

‘You will! He might be coming over, this week. He’s not sure. You might even meet him on Monday.’

‘I didn’t know he was in town. He must come to dinner.’

‘Oh, no. He’s not here yet. He had to stay behind to finish some work. I don’t know when he’ll be arriving, and… well, I’ll ask him, anyway, if you’re sure you don’t mind?’

I shake my head. ‘Of course not.’

‘How’re you and Connor getting on now?’

‘Much better.’ She nods. ‘He seems to have got himself a girlfriend.’

‘A girlfriend?’

I feel a flash of pride. ‘Uh-huh.’ I pull up at some traffic lights. In the wing mirror I see a cyclist weaving through the traffic, coming up too close. ‘Though he won’t talk to me about it, of course,’ I add. ‘He barely even admits that she exists to me, though he seems to talk to Hugh.’

‘Is that usual?’ She sounds genuinely interested. ‘For him, I mean?’

I think of what Adrienne has told me. ‘It’s probably usual for all teenagers.’ I sigh. The lights change and we pull away. We’re almost at Great Portland Street. Nearly there. I’m happy Connor’s growing up, sad that must also, inevitably, mean growing away. I remember talking to Adrienne about that, too, a few weeks ago. ‘It’s something they go through,’ she’d said, then she hesitated, corrected herself. ‘Well, not exactly go through,’ she said. ‘They don’t really come out of it. This is the first stage of him leaving you, I’m afraid…’

I glance at Anna. ‘He doesn’t want to come out with us when we go out any more. He just stays in his room…’

She smiles. ‘So you’re sure it’s a girlfriend?’

‘Oh, yes. I think so, though he tells me to mind my own business, of course.’ I don’t tell her I insisted he showed me a photograph, this morning, after much discussion with Hugh. She looks a little older than him. I’m still convinced it’s the girl from Carla’s party, though he’s certain she wasn’t there. ‘She’s a friend of a friend of his. They met on Facebook.’ She looks at me with a knowing smile. ‘Hugh’s spoken to him about her. They chat online, apparently, though she doesn’t live far away.’

There’s a long pause, then she says, ‘And did you ever hear from that guy again? Lukas?’

‘Oh, no. I haven’t heard from him at all.’

I’m glad I’m driving; I can take my time to answer, decide what to say. I can pretend my silences are due to an increased need for concentration, rather than the fact that I’m finding the conversation difficult. I can fix my gaze on the road, disguise the expression on my face. I can skirt the truth as I tell her what’s been going on. As much as I feel I can confide in Anna, I feel shame, too.

‘So Hugh—?’

‘He doesn’t know any of it,’ I say quickly. I glance at her. She’s looking at me, her face impassive. I try to lighten the tone, to reassure her that I know I was stupid but it’s over now. ‘He’d never… he wouldn’t understand.’

‘Oh, God, I won’t say anything to Hugh! Don’t… I just wouldn’t.’

‘It was a bit of fun. You know? A distraction. Good while it lasted.’

‘Oh, yes. Totally. Of course…’

Until it wasn’t fun any more, I think.

‘He’s vanished, anyway.’

‘You sound disappointed.’

‘Not at all.’

There’s a longer pause, then. I’m tense, embarrassed, because we both know how my affair with Lukas ended. The silence goes on; each of us waits for the other to break it. Eventually she does. She asks me what my plans are for the week, and I tell her. A bit of work, I might catch a movie. At last we reach the hotel.

‘Ah, we’re here.’

We pull up. The place is surprisingly nice, though nothing like as grand as the places Lukas was taking me to. ‘Want me to come in?’

She shakes her head. ‘It’s fine. You probably need to get on.’

It’s an excuse, and I smile. I’d like to catch up some more, but she looks tired; I’ve forgotten she’s here to work, will probably want to have a rest before preparing for her conference in the morning. There’s plenty of time for catching up when she comes round for dinner.

We get out and I get her case from the boot of the car. ‘See you on Monday, then.’

She asks what time she should arrive. ‘And what shall I bring?’

‘Nothing, nothing at all. Just yourself. I’d better give you directions,’ I say. She takes her phone out of her bag.

‘Oh, I’ll use this.’ She swipes through more screens. ‘It’s so much easier. There. I’ve added you…’

I don’t know what she means. ‘I don’t—’ I begin, but she interrupts me.

‘Find Friends. It’s an app that shows where your friends are in relation to you. On a map. It’s standard. Check your emails.’

I do. There’s a new message. ‘Accept that invitation,’ she says, ‘then our profiles are linked. I can see where you are on the map, and you can see me. I use it all the time back home. After Kate died it was kind of reassuring to know where my friends were.’

She takes my phone and shows me. A map opens, showing where we’re standing. Two dots pulse over each other. ‘One for me, one for you,’ she says.

I look at the screen. Underneath the map there’s a list of people who’re following me. Anna’s name is there, but underneath is another. Lukas.

I feel like I’ve been slapped.

‘Shit.’

Anna looks shocked. ‘What is it?’

‘Him. Lukas.’ I try to keep my voice steady. I don’t want her to hear the fear in it. ‘He’s been following me on here…’

‘What?’

I hold out my phone. ‘Look. How—’ I begin, but she’s already explaining.

‘He must’ve linked your profiles. You didn’t know?’

I shake my head. I can’t believe what’s happening.

‘He must’ve found some way of sending you a request, then accepting it on your behalf. Easy enough, if you left him alone with your phone.’

All those times I was in the bathroom, my phone in my bag or on the bedside table. She’s right. It would’ve been easy.

‘Can we stop him following me?’

‘Easy.’ She swipes something on the screen, then hands the phone back to me. ‘There,’ she says firmly. ‘Deleted.’

I look. It’s just her name, now. ‘He can’t see where I am any more?’

‘No.’ She puts her hand on my arm. ‘Are you all right?’

I nod, and I realize that yes, yes I am. I’m weirdly relieved. So this is how he’d known where I’d be. All that time. At least now I know. At least now I’m finally rid of him.

‘You’re sure?’

‘It’s a bit of a shock, but I’m okay. Honestly.’

‘I’ll see you Monday, then?’ I nod. ‘I’ll let you know what Ryan’s doing as soon as he knows himself.’

‘Great. He’s very welcome. I’m looking forward to meeting him.’

She kisses me, then turns to leave.

‘He can’t wait to meet you.’

At home I go straight to my computer. Seeing his name has awoken something. One last time, I tell myself. I open encountrz, search for his name, and again I get the same message, as stark and unambiguous as my disappointment.

Username not found.

It’s like he never existed. He’s vanished as completely as the bruises he caused.

I type his name into Google. There’s nothing. No mention of him, or anyone that could be him. I try Facebook and find his profile is nowhere to be found, then ring his number again, even though I know exactly what dead sound I’ll hear. Usually I’d circle back now, and do it all again. And again. But this time is different. This time I know it has to stop. I log back on to my own profile, the one on encountrz, the one I’d set up that afternoon in the garden. I navigate the menus until I find it. Delete profile.

I hesitate, breathe deeply, once, twice, then click.

Are you sure?

I choose yes.

The screen changes: Profile deleted.

Jayne doesn’t exist any more.

I sit back. Now, I think. Now, finally, it’s over.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I’m in the living room when Anna arrives. She’s alone. Ryan had plans, she’d said, but will pick her up later. I call upstairs to Hugh and go to the door. Our guest is standing outside, holding a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers. ‘I’m early!’ she says as I usher her in. ‘Sorry!’ I tell her it’s fine and take the coat she’s wearing, a red rainproof that’s slightly damp.

‘Is it raining?’

‘A little. Just drizzle. What a lovely house!’

We go through to the living room. Her conference is going well, she says, though there’s a lot to think about, and yes, her hotel room is fine. As she speaks she goes over to the picture of Kate on the mantelpiece and picks it up, looking at it for a moment before putting it back. She looks as though she’s about to say something – we’ve spoken about the fact that they’ve found the man who murdered her, perhaps she wants to say something else – but then Hugh comes downstairs to say hello. They embrace warmly, as if they’ve known each other for years.

‘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 Anna as my new best friend and I feel first anxious about Adrienne, then guilty. Our friendship has been through a rocky patch and we’re only just getting back on track.

Yet it’s only natural that Anna and I would be friends, too. We’ve both lost Kate; the bond is recent but immensely powerful.

‘Where’s Connor?’ she says when I go back in. ‘I can’t wait to meet him again!’

‘He’s out with friends.’ I sit down on the sofa opposite Hugh, next to Anna. ‘His friend Dylan, I think. He’ll be back soon…’

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 Anna telling me about her parents, back in Paris, while we were sitting on her couch, having a drink. Her mother suffered with depression. She tried to kill herself. She’d survived, but required full-time care for the years she remained alive. Her father’s drinking got worse, and after just less than a decade they died within six months of each other and she and her brother were left alone.

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 dinner. I’ve made a chicken pie and it’s turned out well. Connor arrives not long after I serve the soup and sits with us. He seems to bond with Anna particularly well. She asks him about school, about his football; she even gets out her phone at one point and he helps her with something with which she’s been struggling. When we’ve finished the main course she helps me to carry the plates through into the kitchen, and when we’re out of earshot says, ‘He’s such a lovely lad.’

‘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 Anna driving home?’

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 Adrienne; he won’t mention it, even though we still have it in the house. But he knows better than to try and manage my behaviour by pretending drink doesn’t exist.

‘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 reconnected.’

Dimly, it occurs to me that I’m thinking about Kate, talking about her, and it’s not painful. It’s because Anna’s here, I think. It’s getting easier, as long as it’s Kate’s life I’m thinking about, rather than her death.

I take the syllabub out of the fridge. Hugh finishes making the coffee and I call through to Connor and ask if he’ll fetch some dishes. He comes in almost straight away and the three of us carry the things through into the dining room, where we arrange them on the table. The family unity pleases me; part of me is disappointed that Anna isn’t here to see it. I call upstairs and ask if she’s all right. She shouts down, she’s okay, she’ll just be a minute, and when she appears she puts her phone on the table with a sheepish grin.

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

‘He should come for dinner,’ says Hugh. ‘How long is he staying for?’

‘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!’

Anna looks relieved. I pour her coffee. Connor asks if he can be excused and goes back to his room. We talk some more, sip our drinks, but the evening is winding down. After another fifteen minutes of chat we hear a car pull up outside. A door slams, there’s the pip-pip of the alarm, and a moment later footsteps up the path and the doorbell rings. I look over to Anna, who says, ‘He’s early!’ She looks electrified, like a little girl waiting for the postman to bring her birthday cards, and I feel a curious excitement, too; I’m looking forward to meeting this person, this man who has given Anna such transparent, uncomplicated happiness. Who has helped her grieve for Kate and move on.

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. Anna, who’s expecting Ryan.

Connor, upstairs.

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.

‘What—’ I begin, but then a moment later I realize Anna is right behind me. ‘Darling!’ she’s saying, and I think she’s talking to me, but then she reaches the doorway and goes to Lukas. He turns towards her, and then he has his arms around her and they’re kissing. It takes only a moment, but it seems to last for ever, and when they’ve finished she turns to me.

‘Julia,’ she beams. ‘Meet Ryan.’

Another wave crashes. A flush rises in my cheeks; I’m too hot. The hallway recedes; the sound of the music Connor’s playing upstairs seems somehow diminished and deafening at the same time, as if I’m hearing it at top volume yet through a fug. I feel as if I’m fainting. I reach out – for the door handle, for anything – but miss.

‘Honey?’ says Anna. ‘Are you all right?’

I try to compose myself. ‘Yes. I just… I don’t know. I feel a bit unwell…’

‘You look a bit flushed—’ says Lukas, but I interrupt him. ‘I’m fine. Honestly…’ And then a moment later the dynamic in the room shifts again. Hugh has appeared and I watch as he steps forward, saying hello. He’s grinning, shaking Lukas’s hand and saying, ‘You must be Ryan?’ He looks delighted to see him, to welcome him into our home. ‘Good to meet you,’ he says, and ‘How’re you?’ They look like two guys together, two old friends. My stomach clenches. My husband and my lover. Together.

‘Good,’ says Lukas. ‘Good. I’m a bit worried about Julia, though.’

Hugh turns to me. ‘Are you all right, darling?’

‘Yes,’ I say, even though I’m not. The room has stopped spinning but still I shake with an anxiety so intense I worry I’ll not be able to control it.

‘I don’t know what came over me.’

‘Well,’ says Hugh, ‘come in at least, Ryan. Come in.’

Lukas thanks him. We go through to the living room, an awkward entourage. Hugh invites Lukas to sit on the sofa, Anna sits next to him, takes his hand. Hugh offers him a drink, but he shakes his head, says he’s driving. I watch it all through a gauzy screen of fear, as if it’s happening elsewhere, to other people, this scene of polite normality that no longer has anything to do with me. Wordlessly, I accept the drink Hugh gives me: a glass of water.

‘Have this. You’ll feel better.’

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ says Anna.

I sip and nod and say yes, then Lukas turns to me.

‘It’s so great to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.’

I smile thinly. ‘You, too.’ I watch as he thanks me, then takes Anna’s hand and squeezes it. ‘Anna has told you our news?’ He strokes her hand, looking into her eyes with an expression I recognize, one of love, of pure adoration.

‘Yes. Yes, it’s wonderful!’

‘It is!’ says Hugh. He’s turned on the charm, is trying hard to impress. ‘You’re sure you won’t have a drink? Just one?’

Lukas says nothing for a moment, then nods his head. ‘Okay, then. Why not? One won’t take me over the limit. Just a short. You’re sure you don’t mind me dropping in on you like this?’

‘Not at all,’ says Hugh. He goes over to the drinks cabinet and gets out the bottles of whisky, vodka and gin. ‘What’ll it be?’ Lukas chooses a single malt, something I’ve never seen him drink before.

Hugh prepares the drink. Lukas turns to me. ‘Anna tells me you’re a photographer?’ His face is open, his head tilted, as if he’s genuinely interested. I look from him to Anna, back again. I can’t work out what he’s doing, whether I should say something, tell her now. I’m in shock, I suppose, though there’s a kind of weird detachment. I need to figure it out. All this time, while I thought I was having an affair, he was already seeing my sister’s best friend. I’ve been utterly betrayed. I was the affair.

But they met before Kate was killed, I think, so why did he choose me? It can’t be coincidence. If it were, he’d have been shocked when I opened the door to him tonight. ‘Julia!’ he’d have said. ‘What are you doing here? Where’s Anna?’ And then I guess I’d have told him how I knew his fiancée and we’d have agreed to keep quiet, to say nothing. He’d be trying to get out of here as soon as he could, not accepting a drink from Hugh, not settling in for a long chat, not asking questions he already knows the answers to.

I realize everyone is looking at me expectantly. The room is quiet, the air heavy and too warm. I’ve been asked a question and need to respond. ‘Yes. Yes. That’s right.’

I look from him to Hugh. One word, that’s all it would take. Is that what he wants? To break me and Hugh up, to detonate the bomb that I’ve placed underneath my family?

‘Sounds really interesting.’ He leans forward. He really does look like someone who is fascinated. Absorbed. He asks me what kind of photos I take, and even though the pain and anxiety is almost physical, even though he’s seen my pictures, even though we’ve lain naked on a bed together looking at my work, I tell him.

He nods, then after a moment he speaks again. ‘By the way, I was so sorry to hear about your sister.’

You bastard, I think. You’re fucking enjoying this.

I nod. I smile, but my eyes are narrowed. ‘Thanks,’ I say. I have to remind myself he didn’t kill Kate, though right now I could hardly hate him more if he had.

He looks at me, straight in the eye. ‘I never met her. I’m so sorry about her… passing on.’

Anger hits me, then. I can’t help it, even though the last thing I want is for him to see how he’s upsetting me. ‘She didn’t pass on. She was murdered.’ You know that, I’m thinking. I look for a sign of remorse, of sadness, even of mischief, but there’s none. I even think I might want him to laugh – then I can just hate him without being scared of him – but he does nothing. Nothing at all. Even his eyes betray no sign that we’ve ever met before; right now, he looks like his own twin brother.

The room is frozen. I’m aware I’ve raised my voice. I look defiant. I’m daring him to say something. Hugh looks from me to him, then back to me. The moment stretches; the only sound comes from Connor’s room upstairs.

The tension thickens, then breaks. Lukas shakes his head. ‘Oh, God, I’ve offended you. I’m so, so sorry. I never know what to say in these situations…’

I ignore him. I’m aware of Hugh, twitching, willing me to say something, but I don’t. I hold Lukas’s gaze. Anna looks from him over to me. She’s expectant, and after a moment I relent. ‘It’s okay. No one ever knows what to say. There’s nothing to say.’

He shrugs. He’s staring at me. Hugh and Anna are in the room, watching. They can see it, I think. Surely. Is he crazy? Does he want them to see what’s going on?

Or maybe he doesn’t care. We’re locked in combat, the power is flying wildly from one to the other. We’re both blind to our partners, they’re unimportant, relegated to the status of bystanders. We’re potassium in water, acid on skin. We could burn each other, wreck everything and hardly notice, hardly care.

I open my mouth to say something – I still don’t know what – but then Hugh speaks. ‘Remind me what you do again, Ryan?’ He’s trying to diffuse the tension, and for a moment Lukas doesn’t move. ‘Ryan works in the arts,’ says Anna, then Lukas turns to take her hand.

‘I have my own company. In digital production.’

Not what he’s told me.

Hugh nods. ‘Based in Paris?’

‘Yes. I’ve been there for almost five years now. I do a fair bit of travel, though.’

I look at my hands, folded into my lap. With each of his answers it hits again; it was me he was lying to all along, not Anna. Not his fiancée, the woman he’s been seeing several times a week. I look up. I can’t stop thinking about that last time, in the hotel room as David arrived. I can still feel his hands on me.

And now he’s back for more. I can’t bear it. Before I know what I’m doing I’ve stood up. But what can I do? What can I say? Anna is about to marry this man, and clearly knows nothing of what’s been going on. I open my mouth, close it again. My mind reels.

And then, suddenly, I feel myself collapse inwards. It’s as if I’m disappearing, reducing to nothing. ‘Julia!’ says Hugh. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes. Excuse me,’ I manage, and then I’m heading upstairs, into the bathroom.

When I return Anna asks me if I’m okay. ‘Yes. Fine.’ Lukas is draining his glass, putting it on the coffee table.

‘We should head off!’ he’s saying. He turns to me. ‘We thought we’d go to Soho. Maybe a jazz bar. Ronnie Scott’s. D’you know it?’ They both turn to me. ‘You should come.’

I say no. I’m numb. I just want all of this to stop.

‘You go if you like,’ says Hugh. ‘I’m far too tired…’

I feel a wave of guilt as I picture the two of them there. What have I done to my friend? What might still happen?

‘No. It’s late. I should turn in, too…’

‘Oh, come on,’ says Anna. ‘It’ll be fun!’

‘I really don’t mind, darling,’ says Hugh.

‘No!’ I speak a little too harshly, then turn back to Anna and soften my voice. ‘Honestly. You go ahead.’

They stand and we all move into the hallway. Anna turns to me, smiles. ‘Well…’ she says. She holds out her hands, I step forward, into her embrace, while Hugh and Lukas shake hands. ‘It’s all been too quick!’ says Anna. She can tell something is wrong. ‘Promise me you’ll come and see me soon. Bring Connor! Promise me! And I have to let you know about the wedding, as soon as we start to plan. You will come, won’t you?’

I look over to Lukas. He’s smiling, waiting for my answer.

‘Of course I will. I’m seeing you on Saturday, anyway. But I’ll call before then. Soon. Later. Okay?’ She releases me. I want to hold on to her, to tell her to be careful, to warn her, but I don’t want to frighten her. In any case, Lukas is stepping forward.

‘Well. It was great to meet you. I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you.’ For the briefest moment I think he’s talking about the attack, but then I realize he’s talking about Kate.

‘I’m not upset.’ I hold out my hand. The last thing I want is for him to touch me, but it wouldn’t be right for me to avoid him so obviously. ‘You, too.’ He takes my hand and pulls me towards him; I realize he means to embrace me, as if we’ve bonded, as if we’re now best friends. I don’t want to feel him, feel his body, and I resist. But he’s powerful. He hugs me tight, then kisses me. First one cheek, then the other. I can feel the muscles of his chest; despite everything I can’t help the barest fluttering of desire. He holds me for a moment, and I freeze. I’m hollow, scooped out. I’m aware that Anna and Hugh are saying their own goodbye, laughing about something, oblivious to what’s going on.

He whispers into my ear. ‘Tell her and I’ll kill you.’ I feel cold, paralysed, but then a moment later he lets go. He smiles at me once more, then takes Anna’s hand and squeezes my arm.

‘It’s been so great to meet you!’ he says, and then they both turn away and, with another flurry of smiles and waves, Hugh and I are on our own.

Chapter Twenty-Six

I close the door. I hear Lukas and Anna’s footsteps as they walk down the path to the street, and then I hear them laugh. They sound so happy, so at peace with a life that they are living together. I can almost believe Ryan really is who he says he is, that the last half-hour has been imagined. I can almost convince myself that my affair with Lukas is a thing of the past, that Anna’s engagement has just begun and these two things are totally unrelated.

But they aren’t. His final words still ring in my ears.

I turn to Hugh. He’s standing behind me, where he’d said goodbye to our guests. He hasn’t moved. ‘What on earth has got into you?’ He’s speaking quietly, so that only I can hear, but his tone is one of fury.

I can’t let him know. I can’t have him suspecting. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ I go into the living room.

He follows me. ‘What was that all about?’

I pick up a plate, a glass.

‘What?’

‘I know it’s annoying when people say “passed on”, but these euphemisms are pretty common, you know. I hear them all the time. He meant well.’

I can’t even begin to tell him the truth.

‘I’m just… I just get sick of it. You know? She hasn’t passed on, she hasn’t gone to a better place. She was murdered. That guy hit her over the head, with God knows what, until her skull caved in and she bled to death on the ground in an alleyway in… in… fucking Paris.’

He takes a step towards me. I can see he’s trying to calm down now, to be placatory. ‘Darling, I know you’re angry, but that was no reason to take it out on our guest. And think of Connor—’

‘Hugh. For God’s sake!’

I’m shaking, he can see how upset I am; I don’t want him even to suspect what it’s about. I don’t want him to connect it with my behaviour in the hallway when Lukas arrived.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes. I try to take myself out of my anger.

‘Look, I’m sorry.’

He smiles, but it’s a sad smile.

‘You’re not all right, Julia.’ I know where this is going.

‘Don’t start, Hugh!’ I turn to face him, trembling with rage, my heart hammering as though it’s about to explode.

‘I just—’ he begins and I turn round, slam out of the living room, storm up the stairs. I know Connor will be able to hear, but right now I don’t care; I no longer even have the capacity to consider my son.

I get to the bedroom and close the door. I stand still, paralysed. I don’t know what to do. I hear him follow me, stand at the top of the stairs.

I have to warn Anna. Even if it destroys our friendship. I have no choice.

‘Julia?’

‘I’m fine!’ I shout. ‘Just give me a minute. Please.’

I think again of what he said. I’ll kill you. I feel the bruises on my back, my arms, my thighs; they begin to pulse again, as if they were still fresh. I remember what he did to me in that hotel room, how he made me feel. I feel used; used and then discarded.

But kill me? He can’t have meant it.

I hear Hugh retreat. I try to calm down. I tell myself that Kate’s killer is in custody but, over and over, the thought keeps coming back. He did it. They’ve made a mistake. They’ve got the wrong guy.

My mind will not be still, will not be rational. This is what he’s done to me. This is how low he’s brought me. I’m rejecting all sense.

My heart hammers. I remember logging on to Facebook, navigating to his page. I’d scrolled back to the photos of him in Australia, in Sydney, in front of Uluru. The dates tallied. I clicked on his friends, the ones he was with, and saw they’d posted more pictures from that holiday. One of him on a beach, another in which he’s surfing, a third of him snorkelling off a boat. The evidence had been there.

If he had anything at all to do with Kate’s death, then half of his friends must’ve been in on it.

I feel my breathing go back to normal. He’s not a killer, just a nasty piece of work. Scaring me because he knew my sister had been killed. Maybe it’s his revenge, for ending it, for running out on him. How he must hate me.

There must be a way to warn my friend. I pick my phone up from the bedside table and scroll quickly through to Anna’s name. Without hesitating, I press call; I don’t think as it rings out, but then it goes to voicemail. It’s as if she’s silenced it, and I wonder what they’re doing. Maybe they’ve skipped Ronnie Scott’s, or wherever they’ve gone instead, and are on their way back to the hotel.

I picture them. She’ll be under him, kissing him as he enters her, running her fingers down the muscles of his back.

Or maybe she’ll be cowering, in terror, a bruise already forming.

A wave of nausea hits me and I swallow it down. I have to believe he loves her. I have to. Their relationship is genuine; he’s just someone who saw a photo of me – perhaps the one that Anna took when I was over in Paris – and decided he wanted me.

I imagine the conversation. Anna telling him she met me, showing him the snap. ‘She’s really nice,’ she says, and he agrees. And then he comes for me, and I was only too willing to let him have me.

That must be it. He won’t attack her.

But then my own memory surfaces again. The carpet beneath me in the hotel room, the burns on my wrists. I know what he’s capable of. I have to warn her. She has to know before they’re even married that he’s prepared to do something like that.

I pick up my phone once more. This time I leave a message. ‘Call me.’ I try to control my voice, make it sound like I’m not nervous, not scared. ‘It’s urgent,’ I add. ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about.’ I lower my voice, even though Hugh is still downstairs and can’t possibly hear me. ‘It’s about that guy I was seeing. It’s about Lukas.’ I wince when I say his name. ‘Please call me.’

I put the phone back down. I get my computer out of my bag and with shaking hands navigate to the trashcan. The file I deleted the other day is still there, the messages I’d saved. I open a few, as if to check I’m right. He said he lived in Cambridge. No mention of a girlfriend, much less a fiancée.

I decide I should print one out, just in case I need it to persuade Anna, but the printer’s upstairs, in Hugh’s office. I pick up my machine and go up, flicking on the light as I do, barely even registering the paperwork that’s begun to litter the floor since Hugh has had the complaint hanging over him. I select a message and print it out. On paper, it’s solid, irrefutable. ‘There’s no one else I want but you,’ it says. ‘We were made for each other.’

Even so, all it proves is that I’ve been messaging someone called Lukas, and she knows that in any case. I wish I had a photo, one of the two of us, but I don’t. I’ve deleted any I took, too scared that Hugh might find them.

I fold the page anyway and put it in my bag, then check my phone. She hasn’t called, and I know what I have to do. I go back downstairs. Hugh’s in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher.

‘I’m just going out.’

‘Where on earth to?’

I try to sound calm, breezy, even though I feel the opposite. ‘I thought I’d go and meet Anna and Ryan, after all. In the jazz bar.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes. I feel awful, about over-reacting. I want to apologize. Anyway, it might be fun. And Anna’s right. I don’t see her very often.’

He looks puzzled, bemused. For an awful moment I worry he’ll suggest coming with me, but then I remember Connor. ‘I won’t be late. Would you make sure Connor goes to bed?’

‘Of course.’ He picks up another plate.

‘He has school tomorrow.’

‘I know. You go. Enjoy yourself. Will you take the car?’

I know why he’s asking. He wants to make sure I won’t slip up and have a drink. He needn’t worry; I won’t go to Ronnie Scott’s. I can’t risk a confrontation in a noisy club, full of strangers. Instead I’m going to wait outside Anna’s hotel.

‘I will,’ I say. ‘And leave this, will you? I’ll tidy the rest of the dinner things in the morning.’

He nods. ‘Okay.’

I head straight to the hotel. When I arrive I park the car and call Anna again: still no answer; once again it goes straight to voicemail. I slam the steering wheel. I’m going to have to go in.

The lobby is large, impressive, but I barely notice it. I go into the bar and find a deep leather sofa, near the door. Through the glass partition I can see the main entrance. I won’t miss them.

A waiter comes over to ask if I’d like a drink. ‘Mineral water,’ I say, and he nods, as if that’s what he’d been expecting all along. He goes back to the bar and delivers my order with a whisper, a glance over his shoulder towards where I sit.

My drink arrives with a bowl of pretzels. The waiter hesitates for a moment, blocking my view of the entrance, then bends towards me. ‘Waiting for someone?’ he says as he wipes the table before setting my drink down and tidying the snacks and napkins. He’s trying to sound casual, but his question has an edge of disapproval. ‘Yes,’ I say. My voice cracks with nerves. ‘Yes, I am,’ I say more forcefully.

‘Very good.’ I don’t think he believes me. ‘A guest?’

‘Yes. She’s staying here.’ He doesn’t move on. ‘She’s just got engaged. In fact, could I get a bottle of champagne? A surprise, for when she arrives? Two glasses?’

He nods, then stands up. ‘Very good.’ He turns to leave. When I look back into the lobby I see Anna. She must have arrived while I was talking to the waiter. She looks different somehow, sadder and more serious than when she’d left my house an hour or so ago, and it takes me a moment to recognize her. I begin to stand, but she’s already heading into the lift. I could shout out, but the door between us is closed and she’d never hear me. Nevertheless, my heart lifts – for a moment I’m in luck: she’s alone – but then it plummets. I see Lukas just a few steps behind her. I freeze, then watch as he waits to let a couple go ahead of him. By the time I’ve started moving again I can see that I’m going to be too late.

‘Shit.’ The lift doors are about to close, but then Anna sees me, over her fiancé’s shoulder. She stares for a moment, she looks shocked, but before I can even smile the lift doors have closed and she’s out of sight.

I head out of the bar and into the lobby. I run over to the lift, but it’s already ascending. I watch, cursing silently, as it stops on the third, fifth and sixth floors; I have no way of knowing which is theirs, much less what room they’re in. When it begins to come back down again I turn and head back to my seat, scrabbling for my phone, imagining their conversation.

‘I’m sure I saw Julia in the lobby,’ she’ll have said. ‘I wonder what she’s doing here?’

‘No,’ he’ll say. ‘It wasn’t her.’

They’ll get to the room. ‘Come here…’ he’ll say, and he’ll kiss her, undress her, the way he had with me. She’ll feel herself give in to him. Their hands, their mouths, will find each other. His prick will already be stiffening when she begins to undo his trousers.

I push the thought away. I have to stay focussed. My phone is already buzzing when I find it, and I answer it quickly. It’s Anna.

‘Is that you? Downstairs?’

She sounds happy, relaxed, if surprised. I can hear Lukas in the background. It sounds like he’s pouring drinks.

‘Yes.’

‘I thought I saw you when I came in. Is everything all right?’

‘Yes.’ I realize there’s no point in pretending. ‘Actually, no. Listen, I have to see you. I’ve been trying to ring you. I left a message. I’ll explain. Can you come down?’

She sounds hesitant. Intrigued.

‘Why don’t you come up here?’

‘No. No, you come down. Please?’

I think of the printout I’ve brought with me. I don’t want to show it to her, but I might have to. Will she believe me? Surely she’ll have to, but still I’d rather not have to do that to her.

‘Is Hugh with you?’ she says.

‘He’s at home. Please come down. Please let me explain.’

I hear her cover the mouthpiece of her phone, confer with Lukas. It’s obvious what he’ll say. ‘Anna!’ I say. ‘Anna…’

After a few moments she answers. ‘We’ll be down in a couple of minutes.’

‘No!’ I try to control my voice, but still I must sound desperate, panicked. ‘No. It’s better… could you come alone? Please?’

She hesitates. ‘Give me five minutes.’

Even though it’s late, she’s changed into a pair of trousers, a sweater, trainers. The bar is less busy now; the few people there are finishing their nightcaps before heading upstairs. The bottle of champagne on the table in front of me looks out of place. ‘Julia!’ she says, once we’ve kissed. ‘Is everything all right? You sound so worried!’ She lowers her voice. ‘Is everything okay with Hugh?’

‘Yes.’ I look over her shoulder; there’s no one there, just the waiter, collecting glasses, checking the new arrival. We sit.

‘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 Anna’s expression change to one of anger.

‘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 Anna’s shoulder I see Lukas, scanning the room, looking for us. He looks utterly calm.

‘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?’ Anna’s face relaxes. She turns to kiss him, then looks back to me.

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

‘No. Listen to me…’

Lukas steps forward, puts himself between me and Anna. As if it’s me who’s dangerous. He looks angry, protective towards his future wife.

‘What’s this about?’

Anna turns to face me. ‘I know what this is about.’ She sounds upset but determined. ‘You’re jealous. Just because you and Hugh are falling apart and we’re just coming together. Or is it about the money?’

‘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.

‘Anna, no. No, it’s not that at all. That money is yours. Kate left it to you. I want you to have it.’

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.’

Anna is angry now. The bar staff have noticed; a man is coming over. ‘Miss,’ he’s saying, to me, and then, ‘Is everything all right here?’

‘Fine,’ says Lukas. ‘It’s fine. Nothing we can’t handle.’ He begins to steer Anna towards the door. She’s looking at me with an expression of disbelief, shaking her head as if she can’t believe the person I’ve become. I wonder what else she’s thinking, maybe that Kate was right all along, I’m a jealous bitch who betrayed her, stole her child and wouldn’t give him back. ‘I think you’d better leave,’ says Lukas firmly, turning to me, and at the same time I feel a hand on my arm. It’s the barman, turning me around, escorting me in the opposite direction.

‘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 Anna heard me. It’s only when I break free of the waiter’s grip on my arm and turn round to say it again that I see I’m too late.

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 Anna was right. Maybe it really is all about my sister’s money, though not in the way she imagines. I imagine Lukas, hearing about Kate’s death, moving in on me but then finding out my sister had left all the cash to her best friend.

But no, that makes no sense; he was definitely seeing Anna first, before Kate died. I’m back to square one.

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 thinner. I try to tell myself that if I met him now I wouldn’t look twice, but it’s a lie.

‘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 running. I wonder if that is what I should be doing. Running.

‘What d’you want?’

‘Oh, sweetheart. Don’t be like that…’ His voice sounds thick, not like him at all.

‘Where’s Anna?’ I have visions of her upstairs, pacing. I wonder if she knows he’s with me; it’s possible he’s told her he’s just popped out for a walk, to get some air.

He smiles. It’s bitter, resentful. ‘Relax. I don’t know what you think is going on, but let me tell you, you’re wrong on every count.’ He pauses. ‘Anna’s upstairs,’ he says. ‘I left her in the shower.’ He grins. I wonder if I’m supposed to find his comment suggestive, sexual. Titillating. Is this the game he’s playing? The three of us, upstairs, naked.

‘She knows I’m here. She sent me. She’s sorry about losing her temper. She wants you to come up and have a drink with us. Sort things out.’ He shrugs. ‘So how about it?’

I want to believe him, but I don’t. How can I? Anna thinks I’ve met him for the first time tonight.

‘Who are you? Tell me what you want.’ He ignores me.

‘No? Didn’t think so.’ He turns. ‘Look. Anna’s a big girl. She can look after herself. I don’t know why you want to come and interfere.’

‘Interfere?’

‘Warning her away? Telling her I’m not who she thinks I am? Maybe I’m exactly who she thinks I am, just not who you thought I was.’ He looks thoughtful. ‘Maybe it’s you who doesn’t know anything about me. Not her.’ He leans towards me. ‘Anna trusts me, you know? She tells me everything…’

I think of the printout I have in my bag. I should’ve given it to her when I had the chance.

‘Maybe, for now—’ I begin, but he moves abruptly. He grabs my arm, twisting it as he does so. It’s sudden, and brutal. I cry out, a scream of shock and pain, and then I’m silenced.

‘You know,’ he hisses, still holding my arm, still digging in his fingers, ‘I don’t like little tarts like you who come between me and my fun. So, this is what’s going to happen…’ He twists my arm further. I struggle, but he holds me. He’s using only one hand yet still it seems easy for him. It feels as if he could snap my arm with hardly any effort at all, as if that’s exactly what he’d like to do. I gasp once more; again I remember his hands on me, how once they’d caressed the very skin that now screams with pain. ‘You’re going to get the fuck out of my life,’ he says. ‘You’re going to leave Anna alone, and you’re not going to interfere. Get it?’

I gather all my strength. I turn to him; finally I manage to wrench my arm from his. ‘Or what? I saw you, you know. Earlier. Getting into the lift. You didn’t look that in love to me. I don’t know what you’re doing, but she doesn’t deserve it. She’s done nothing to you. She really thinks you love her.’

I feel his resolve waver, just slightly. I’ve hit a nerve. But then he speaks. ‘It makes no difference to me what you think you saw.’ His smile is sickly, thin. ‘And you are going to leave us alone.’

He seems so certain. Dread fills me.

‘Or what?’

‘Or I might just make my private archive a little bit more public…’

I don’t understand what he’s saying, yet I feel myself tense. It’s as if my body has already worked it out while my mind lags behind.

‘Your what—?’

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I’ve got some very interesting photos in my collection. Videos, too. Want to see?’

I feel myself falling. He seems so totally confident. I’m no one, nothing. He could destroy me, without even having to try.

I shake my head. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and scrolls through some screens. ‘Ah. This is a good one.’

He selects a photograph, and the glow from the screen briefly illuminates the dark interior of the car, then he angles the screen so that I can see the picture. It’s a woman, taken from the waist up. She’s naked.

It takes me a moment to realize it’s me.

I gasp. ‘This is…’ I begin, but the words catch in my mouth and I can’t get them out.

‘This is from that first time…’ he says. ‘The first time you turned your camera on. D’you remember?’

I do. I’d been in my studio, the door locked. I’d angled my camera, stood up. I felt stupid, at first, but then I’d become swept up in it until there was just me, and him, and the rest of the world had faded to nothing.

The betrayal seems absolute. I can’t look at it any more, but neither do I want to look at him.

‘You took it… you kept it?’

‘I like having an archive.’ He shrugs, as if it’s nothing. ‘For when I’m bored, you know?’

‘How dare you!’ Fury is rising in my chest, but something else, too. A new fear, cold and hard and piercing. If he has this, I think, then he’ll have more.

He begins to scroll through his phone. ‘I have plenty of others,’ he’s saying. ‘This, for example? Or this?’

He shows me image after image. A rerun of the past few months, the edited highlights. Almost every time I’d stripped for him, because he was bored, or horny, and I missed him and wanted to please him. With each picture I sink lower, until I feel I’m drowning. The water is closing over me, invading me, until I can’t breathe.

‘Oh, and this.’ This one is different, taken in the hotel after we’d had sex. In it I’m standing up, smiling at the camera; he’s caught me as I was dressing. I remember the day he took it. I’d been flattered at the time; he wanted a memento, some reminder of the day.

I’d been glad, yet I remember I’d asked him to delete it. ‘I just feel uncomfortable,’ I’d said. He told me I was beautiful, that he wanted a picture. ‘Please, Lukas,’ I said. ‘Delete it?’

Clearly, he hadn’t. Now, as I look at it, I’m horrified. It’s like one version of me looking at another. Julia, looking at Jayne. I’d thought I could keep them separate, in boxes, locked away, but I was wrong. Things have a habit of escaping.

Another wave of despair hits. None of it was real. From the beginning it was based on a lie, an illusion of love.

‘Anyway, you get the general idea.’

‘You bastard…’ I whisper. Even this word feels wholly inadequate, after what he’s taken from me.

‘Oh, come on now. These pictures are great! You should know. It’d be very selfish of me not to share…’ His hand goes to his pocket again. When he takes it out he’s holding a memory stick. He holds it up. ‘Here’s your copy, for example.’ I stare at it but refuse to take it from him. ‘No? You might as well have it. There are plenty more…’ He smiles, then puts it between us on the dashboard.

‘But you’re in half of these photographs. Why would you share them?’

‘I’m in some of them, yes. But not all. And, in any case, I don’t have a child. I’m not married to a surgeon. I think I’d just about get away with it.’ He smiles. ‘Just think…’ He shakes his head, tutting. ‘Imagine what the press would say. The Mail? TOP SURGEON’S WIFE IN SEX SCANDAL? It might even go viral. Don’t you think?’

I don’t reply. He’s right. The future collapses in slow motion. On top of the complaint against Hugh, it would be too much. I see the scandal, our friends turning away from us. Maria, Carla – all of his colleagues. I imagine myself walking down the street, feeling people’s eyes burning into me, not knowing what they’d seen, what gossip they’d believed.

He’s won, I think, and there’s nothing I can do. He has Anna, he will get his hands on my sister’s money, and then he’ll abuse and mistreat Anna the way he has me.

He hasn’t finished, though. ‘There’s Hugh’s boss at the hospital, too. All his colleagues. Can’t be good for business. For his reputation. There’s Connor’s school, all those parents. I can’t imagine it’d be too difficult to get hold of their email addresses. Oh,’ he says, as if something’s just occurred to him, ‘I just remembered. There’s all those porn websites I can upload these to. “Hot amateur.”’ He looks at me, watching for my reaction. ‘“Older woman fucks young stud.”’

It happens suddenly, comes from nowhere. I slap him, as hard as I can. It’s as if all the energy I’ve been clamping down has erupted. I want to kick and scream and fight.

Yet his only response is to laugh quietly, almost under his breath, and I realize he’s pleased.

He looks at me. His eyes are expressionless. I wonder if he’s capable of experiencing pain.

‘So, as I was saying, you’re going to stay away from me and Anna.’

I feel myself begin to cry. I tell myself I won’t let the tears come, I won’t give him the satisfaction, but they burn behind my eyes.

Yet at the same time I’m almost relieved. When everything’s gone, there’s no more pain, nothing else to lose.

Staying away from him and Anna – it might be difficult, but it can be done.

‘Plus,’ he says, ‘why not have a think about how much these pictures might be worth to you. I mean, I know your sister left a bit of money to Anna, but I understand there’s a lot more that’s gone to your son…’

‘You bastard,’ I say again.

He turns to open the door. The temperature in the car seems to drop as he moves away from me and the rest of the world rushes in. ‘I ought to be going,’ he says. ‘Anna will be wondering where we are. Plus, I guess you’ve got a lot to think about. I’ll tell her you were still upset, you had to get home to Connor. Something.’

I want to give up, to let him go, but then I think again of Kate and I know what I have to do. I’m strong enough; this year has taught me that, if nothing else. I’m stronger than I think.

‘Wait.’

He pulls the catch, but doesn’t step out. He turns to me, instead. ‘What?’

‘Anna trusts me.’ Now I’ve made my decision, my voice is strong, defiant. ‘She’ll never believe you. Not if I tell her what you’re doing.’

He closes the car door.

‘Tell her whatever you like. The truth is, Anna is beginning to think you’re a bit crazy. Sick. She thinks your sister’s death might have sent you off the rails. That perfect life you had… and now…’ His hand goes to his pocket. ‘She thinks you’re a little bit unpredictable. A tiny bit jealous, perhaps. Which of course you are, though she doesn’t know why.’

I think back to the time I spent with Anna in Paris, to all the conversations we’ve had over the months. He’s wrong.

‘You’re lying. Whatever—?’

‘Makes her think that? I guess this doesn’t help…’ He holds his hand up, between us. He’s holding something; it must’ve been in his pocket. It takes me a moment to realize it’s a knife.

I’m overcome with panic. I try to back away but the car is cramped and there’s nowhere for me to go. It happens in an instant. He grabs my hand with both of his, so that he’s holding me tight. The knife is exposed, sticking out towards me, in his hand though it looks as if it’s in mine. I struggle to free myself, thinking he’s trying to stab me, and he begins swinging my hand, left, right, back again. It’s as if we’re struggling, as if he’s trying to get the knife off me, even though he’s the one holding it. I hear a voice, shouting, and at first I think it’s coming from outside the car, but then I realize it’s me and I see it all. It’s as if I’m watching from the street, peering into the car. It looks as though I’m trying to stab him as he tries to hold me off with both hands. He relaxes for a moment, and just as I think he’s about to drop the knife he does it. With sudden ferocity he pulls both hands towards his face and the knife he’s holding catches against the skin of his cheek. ‘Fuck!’ he says, and then a moment later there’s a dull gush of blood.

‘You silly bitch.’ He smiles. He shoves my hands away as if I repulse him and drops the knife. It falls into my lap and I see it’s just a kitchen knife, one I’d use for preparing vegetables, and was never going to do much damage. Yet still it’s sharp, it’s cut him, the blood is beginning to run down his cheek.

‘You tried to stab me!’ He scrabbles, as if he’s trying to get away from me, then he’s stumbling, out of the car. I’m speechless, dumb. There are a couple outside the car, a man and a woman. They peer in, trying to see what’s going on. My mouth opens and closes, pathetic. I can see the wound on his cheek is a scratch more than anything, but still the blood pours. It’s over his mouth now, running off his chin, dripping on his white shirt.

I think of Anna’s reaction when he gets upstairs. There’ll be blood everywhere by then, it’ll look like a frenzied attack. It’ll look like he’s had a lucky escape and she’ll believe whatever he tells her. That I’m jealous, crazy. That I’m trying to split them up out of spite, because I have no one of my own.

‘Still think she’s going to trust you?’ he says, then a moment later he’s gone and I’m alone – even though there are cars and people, I’m alone – and all I can hear is the beating of my heart and a dog, way in the distance, howling into the dark.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I have no choice. I go home.

It’s late; the house is quiet, in darkness. It ought to feel safe, a place of refuge, but it doesn’t. Hugh and Connor are upstairs, asleep. Completely unaware of what’s happening, of where I’ve been. I’m separate from my family. Separate and alone.

I go into the lounge and turn on a table lamp, then sit in its warm glow. I turn the memory stick over and over in my hands. It’s so small, fragile. I could destroy it easily, crush it under foot, melt it over the flame from my lighter. For a moment I think I will, but I know it’s futile. I put it down, pick it up again.

I fetch my computer, switch it on, slide the stick into the port. I know I shouldn’t look, but somehow I can’t help it. Once, maybe even just a few weeks ago, I’d have still been hoping it might all turn out to be a joke, that he’ll have loaded the device with one of those tacky e-cards I used to hate but now send routinely when I’ve forgotten someone’s birthday. I’d have half expected the file to be an animated cartoon. Dancing monkeys, my face superimposed, singing a song. Fooled you!

But not any more. I can’t even pretend to myself now.

There are a dozen or so files, some pictures, some videos. I make sure my machine is muted then choose one at random.

It’s a video. The two of us. On the bed, naked. I’m underneath him, but my face is in the frame. I’m recognizable.

My eyes are closed, my mouth open. I look faintly ridiculous. I can bear it only for a second or two. I feel a sort of detached horror; detached because I could easily believe the woman on the screen has nothing to do with me, horror because this most intimate of acts is here, recorded without my knowledge, preserved for ever.

Exhaustion wipes me. How did he film this? Did he set up his laptop, angle the inbuilt camera towards the bed? I would’ve noticed, surely?

Maybe it was something more sophisticated, then. A hidden camera, disguised as a drinks can, built into the cap of a ballpoint pen. I know they’re available, I’ve even seen them in the department stores – John Lewis, Selfridges – when I’ve been looking at cameras. At the time I wondered why anyone would want one. They were for professionals, surely, private investigators. They belonged in the realm of James Bond. I guess now I know.

I shiver. These videos and pictures go right back to the beginning of our affair; he must have been planning this, all along. A wave of nausea breaks. I breathe as deeply as I can, long, slow breaths that don’t help at all, then slam my machine closed before ripping the memory stick out of the port and throwing it across the room. It bounces off the wall and clatters to the floor at my feet.

I stand up. I can’t leave it here. I imagine Connor picking it up, taking a look. What would he say? What would he think? I find it and go upstairs. I put it in my drawer; tomorrow I’ll take it out, throw it in the canal or under the wheels of a bus. I want a drink, yet am aware it’s the last thing I ought to do. Once I start I might not be able to stop. I run a shower instead, as hot as I can bear it. Still my skin has never felt less alive. It’s only when the water is so hot it nearly scalds that I feel anything at all.

For the next two days I don’t sleep. I call Anna, over and over, but she doesn’t answer. I’m on edge. I startle at every noise, wondering if it’s Lukas. I dread every call or message, every package in the post. I’m not sure what to do. I call Adrienne, but I can’t tell her what’s wrong. I just say I’m not well, I have a virus, I’ll talk to her next week. She’s going to be away for a few days anyway, she says. Bob’s taking her to Florence.

I decide I’ll turn up for lunch with Anna, at her hotel as we arranged. He might be there, of course, or she might not want to speak to me, but I have no other option. In any case, I decide a severance might actually be better; I could go back to my own life, then, concentrate on Connor and Hugh.

Still I can’t settle. I want to leave the house but can think of nowhere to go. I want to switch my phone off, but daren’t in case I miss a call from Anna. By Thursday Hugh has noticed; he tells me I need to get out, to do something to take my mind off Kate. ‘You’ve just taken a step backwards,’ he says. He thinks the grief has returned, and in a way he’s right. There’s the grief he knows about, and also the grief he doesn’t.

I take Connor out for supper. I choose a bun-free burger and a salad, though when I look over at Connor’s meal, all melting cheese and twice-fried chips, I wonder why I’m bothered. My life is falling apart, my affair about to be exposed in the worst possible way. Why do I care what I look like, what I eat?

Perhaps Kate had the right idea. Eat, drink, fuck who you like and never mind the consequences.

And then die.

I reach over and grab a couple of Connor’s fries. He looks up from his phone, his brow furrowed, his face a picture of mock-indignation. ‘Mum!’ he says, but he’s laughing. It’s a tiny moment of pleasure, seeing him happy. I wonder if it’s the first time since we told him they’d caught Kate’s killer.

I nod at his phone. ‘What’re you up to?’ I say.

He puts his phone back on the table. Within reach, face down. It buzzes almost straight away.

‘It’s just Facebook. And I’ve got a chess game going.’

‘With Dad?’

‘No. Hugh only likes to play in real life.’

‘Hugh?’ I’m shocked, momentarily.

‘He said I could call him that, if I wanted. He said he didn’t mind.’

It bothers me. He’s growing up, but also pushing away from us. The first is inevitable, but like every parent I’d hoped to avoid the second, for a little while longer at least.

But in a way it’s good to be upset by this. After the horrors of the last few days, the worry about Anna and the pictures Lukas has on his computer, this is something mundane and easily sorted. It feels normal. Family stuff.

‘Just don’t ask to call me Julia.’ I’m Mum, I want to add.

‘Okay.’

I smile. I want him to know I understand, that I remember being a teenager; that desperate hunger for adulthood and responsibility. I want him to know I’m part of his world, that I love him. He takes a huge bite of his burger; juice runs down his chin. He wipes it with the back of his hand and I pass him a napkin. I can’t help myself. He takes it from me but doesn’t use it. I pick at my salad, casting around for something to talk about.

‘How’s football?’

‘I was picked for the team again. I’m playing next Saturday.’

He pauses, then says, ‘Oh! Did I tell you?’

I put down my fork. The noise in the restaurant seems suddenly to increase. He’s looking at me, expectantly, his eyebrows raised, and I shake my head.

He takes another bite of his burger, a few fries.

‘Well…’ he begins. I’m about to tell him to please finish chewing before beginning to speak but something, some kind of premonition, stops me. ‘You remember when we went to see Planet of the Apes?’

I feel myself tense. ‘Uh-huh?’

He reaches for the mayonnaise. ‘Well, you remember the creepy guy? The guy who came in and sat right by us and then just left?’

I try to sound as though I’m struggling to recall. ‘Oh, yes,’ I hear myself say. I don’t recognize my own voice; it sounds filtered, distorted, as if it’s coming from some distance away. ‘I’d completely forgotten about him,’ I add. There’s a catch in my voice and it sounds false, even to me. Yet he doesn’t seem to notice. I watch, silently, bile rising to my throat, waiting for him to continue as he squirts mayonnaise on to his plate, then goes for the ketchup. As he speaks he mixes the two to a marbled pink mush. I want him to hurry up with whatever he’s got to tell me.

‘Last night I saw him again,’ he says. ‘You remember I went bowling? With Dylan and Molly and the others? Well, he was there. Over in the next alley.’ He picks up a handful of fries, dips them in the pink sauce. ‘I noticed him first of all ’cos it looked like he was there on his own. Y’know, no kids or anything. We thought he was waiting for someone, but nobody turned up. He just stood there bowling by himself. Then he left. Weird, eh? I mean, who does that? Molly thought he looked like a paedo.’

My head begins to spin. I flush, as if all the blood in my body were rushing to my head and neck, then a moment later everything – Connor, the rest of the restaurant – begins to recede, as if disappearing down a tunnel.

‘Mum?’ says Connor. ‘Are you okay?’

I reach for the glass of water in front of me. It’s cool to the touch; I bring it to my mouth. The movement is mechanical, I do it without thinking. I sip, and some spills from the overfull glass. I barely notice; it’s as if I’m watching myself from the other side of the room.

‘Mum?’ says Connor, more urgently. He looks worried, but I can do nothing to allay his fears.

My head spins with images of Lukas. I should’ve known. I should have protected my son. I’ve let him down, just like Kate and Anna. I force myself back to the present.

‘Yes?’ I realize water is dripping down my chin. I wipe it. ‘I’m fine. Sorry? Go on…’

‘Well, that’s it. He just turned up and bowled and—’

Another rush of panic hits. ‘How did you know it was him?’

‘Oh, y’know?’ He picks up another couple of fries. I grab his hand.

‘Connor. How did you… are you sure?’

He looks at my hand on his arm, then up to my face. ‘Yes, Mum. I recognized him. He was wearing the same cap. Remember? The Vans trucker? It was a classic patch—’

I don’t know what he’s talking about. I must look puzzled; he seems to be about to describe it to me when he changes his mind. ‘Anyway. He had the same cap on.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes!’

‘Did he say anything to you?’

‘Not really…’

Anger begins to displace the panic. Anger with myself, with Lukas, with Connor. ‘Not really? Is that not really yes, or not really no? Which is it, Connor?’

My voice has risen, in both pitch and volume. I fight to control it.

‘He just said sorry.’ Already he sounds resentful, sulky. He’s looking at me as if I’ve gone crazy. I can see he wishes he hadn’t mentioned it. ‘He spilled his beer over me. That’s all. It was an accident. Anyway…’

It’s clear he wants to change the subject, but I ignore him. ‘So what did this guy say?’

He sighs. ‘He said, “Hey, dude, I’m sorry.” That was it. That’s one of the ways I knew it was the same bloke, ’cos that’s what he’d called me in the cinema. Dude. No one says it any more.’ He sips his milkshake. ‘Can you let go of my arm?’

I hadn’t realized I was still clutching him.

I release him and sit back. Anger is burning within me now, a rage. Yet it has nowhere to go, nothing to burn, and so it sits, deep and poisonous. I’m trying to keep my face neutral, my features calm. I’m failing. I tense, I’m chewing my bottom lip.

A question comes to me, with an awful, sickening lurch: I now know Lukas has been following me on the iPhone app, but how did he know where my son would be? How did he get to Connor?

I sit forward. ‘Who knew you were going bowling?’ I say, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. ‘Who did you tell?’

‘No one. Why? Mum?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ I’m almost shouting. ‘You must’ve told someone!’

‘Mum—?’

‘Molly, and Dylan? They knew, for a start! Who else was there with you?’

He looks at me. His expression is odd; almost fearful. ‘Dylan’s dad took us.’

‘When?’ The questions come thick and fast. ‘When did you arrange it? Who did you tell, Connor? Who knew you were going?’

‘Jesus, Mum! Some of the guys. Y’know? We invited Sahil, and Rory, but they couldn’t come. Oh, and I guess Molly might’ve invited a few people. And I guess Dylan’s dad might’ve told Dylan’s mum. Just possibly…’

His voice has a new note, one I haven’t heard in him before. Sarcasm.

‘There’s no need for that attitude—’

He ignores me.

‘…and I probably told Evie, and I suppose I just might’ve posted it on Facebook, so there’s all the people who follow me there, and—’

I interrupt him. ‘Who follows you on Facebook?’

‘I dunno. Friends. Friends of my friends. People like that.’

Something begins to coalesce in my mind. All the way through, Lukas had always known more than I thought I’d let him know. I now know he was tracking my location, moment by moment, but I’ve never worked out how he knew the other details. The fact we were planning on going to a cinema at all, what film we were going to see. Hugh’s name, when I’d only ever called him Harvey.

And now I think I know. If he was following Connor’s posts, and Connor was posting everything…

An awful thought occurs. Could that be how he’d figured out Paddy’s last name, too? And where he lives? I can see how it might be. Connor might’ve mentioned our guests by name, and from there a quick search – Maria, Hugh, surgeon – would lead to a surname. He could then easily look at Paddy’s Facebook page, or LinkedIn, or whatever else he might use.

‘Give me your phone.’

‘Mum—!’ he begins, but I silence him.

‘Give me your phone, Connor. Now.’

He passes it over and I tell him to unlock the screen, to open his Facebook profile. I can see he wants to fight, to protest, but he knows he’s not old enough to stand against me, yet. I hold my hand out for him to give me the phone back, but he tosses it on to the table.

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.

‘Give your mother your phone, Connor. You’re grounded for a week.’

Hugh and I sit on the sofa. Together, but separate. We’re not touching. Connor is upstairs. Sulking. He’s surrendered his phone, dug out his old model from one of his drawers, which we’ve told him he can keep. It has no internet connection; he can make calls, receive texts, take pictures. But that’s it. No Facebook. No Twitter. We’ve left his computer in his room, but I’ve told him he has to delete every friend he doesn’t know in real life. He complained, but I told him it was that or I’d take away his computer altogether. He’s behaving as if we’ve cut off a limb.

‘So…’ I begin. Hugh looks at me with something like pity. There’s a calmness in the room, despite the music Connor has insisted on playing loudly upstairs. In an odd way it’s refreshing that Hugh and I are united on something.

‘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 Connor. All of it would go.

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 Anna of all people, and he has pictures and now he’s trying to blackmail me.’

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 Connor hears it all.

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 Anna, but that would be it. Our relationship would be over.

And he’d want to take Connor, and Connor would want to go with him, and I’d be powerless to stop them. My life would be over. Everything gone. Even the thought of it is utterly unbearable.

‘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. Adrienne’s told me. Kids being groomed…’

‘Well, Adrienne can be a bit melodramatic at times. He’s a sensible boy.’

‘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 Connor thinks she is. She might be older, a bloke, anything.’

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 Connor is safe, but also annoyance. Hugh has been allowed into a part of our son’s life to which I’ve been denied access.

‘What? When?’

‘I can’t remember. She called. The night you went out with Adrienne, I think. She wanted to speak to Connor.’

‘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 Connor’s friends knows he plays chess with his father. ‘Carry on. What happened?’

‘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 Connor’s somehow back on Facebook already, broadcasting to the world.

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 Connor gets ready for school. I feel nothing. I’m numb with fear. Unable to think of anything other than what I have to do today.

I take the tube. I’m thinking back to Lukas’s last message. Who would I bring, anyway? Does he think I know someone who could be trusted with this? Anna still isn’t answering my calls, and even if I felt I could confide in Adrienne, she’s away until next week. I realize again how grief has overwhelmed me, has taken everything, and in its place there’s nothing but emptiness. And so I’m here, facing Lukas, alone.

I emerge from the tube station into the clear light of a sunny day. There are people everywhere, on their way to lunch, pushing prams, smoking on office steps and outside the station. Ahead of me there are blocks of flats, silver and glistening after a misting of rain, and beyond them the river. I follow the map on my phone and walk through a tunnel, lit with neon, as trains roll overhead, and emerge to traffic and more noise. There are alleyways, graffiti, refuse bins everywhere, but the area has a strange beauty. It’s rough, it has edges. It’s real. In different circumstances I would have wished I’d remembered my camera; as it is, I couldn’t care less.

I check my phone again. I’m here, more or less, the corner of Kennington Lane and Goding Street. The Royal Vauxhall Tavern stands alone; beyond it is a park. I wonder if that’s where Lukas intends us to go. I tell myself I’ll refuse, if so. It’s too dangerous.

I light a cigarette, my third of the day. I guess this means I’ve started smoking again. I inhale. Hold. Exhale. Its rhythms calm me, even in these desperate circumstances; I can’t believe how much I’ve missed it. I look at my watch.

I’m late. He’s even later, I think, but then I feel his gaze burning into me and I know. He’s here, out of sight, watching me.

Suddenly I see him approach. He’s in front of me, wearing a blue parka jacket. He’s walking slowly, his head up. I’m aware my hands are shaking. Instinctively I put my hand in my pocket, feel for my phone, just as I’ve been practising. By the time he’s level with me I’m ready, composed. For a long moment we stare at each other, then he speaks.

‘Hello, Julia.’ He glances at what I’m wearing: jeans, a sweater, my Converse trainers. I tell myself not to react. I mustn’t let him make me angry. I’m here to find out exactly what he wants, to make him stop.

I notice the red mark on his cheek. I open my mouth to speak when he lunges for me. He grabs my arm, I yelp.

‘What the—?’ I begin, but he silences me. His grip is strong, and then he kisses me on the cheek. It’s rough, unpleasant, yet brief. Even so, every part of my body reacts powerfully, reflexively. I pull away.

‘For old time’s sake. Come on.’

He tries to direct me down Goding Street, towards the arches under the railway. A street of bike shops and storerooms, the shuttered rear entrances of the bars and clubs of the Albert Embankment. I resist. ‘What’s down there?’ I say, my voice high and anxious. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘Somewhere quiet,’ he says.

I have visions of being found, my neck broken, bleeding, gutted like one of Hugh’s patients. I have to remind myself again that he didn’t kill Kate, that I mustn’t let him see my fear. Whatever else he did, he didn’t do that. I repeat it like a mantra.

I shake my arm free. I could run, I think. Into the pub, though its shuttered windows suggest it might not be open.

‘Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘Just stay away from me.’ I’m shaking with fear, my voice is unsteady. ‘We can talk here—’

‘You want me to stay away from you?’ He looks incredulous. ‘I want you to stay away from me, and from Anna.’ I begin to protest, but he continues. ‘You’re the one who’s messaging me non-stop, who’s ringing me up day and fucking night, over and over. I had to change my fucking number, just to get rid of you.’

I stare at him. We’re both totally still, as if locked in stalemate, then I speak. ‘No,’ I say. ‘No.’

‘So, you’re the one who won’t leave me alone.’ He points to his cheek. ‘I mean, look at this. Crazy. You’re crazy.’

The wound has healed, more or less. It’s superficial. Soon it won’t be visible at all.

‘You did that.’

He laughs. ‘Are you mad? I brought the knife down with me to protect myself, not so that I could stab myself! I didn’t know you were going to lose it and try to grab it out of my hand…’

‘No. No, no…’ I take a step back. I remind myself why I’m here. To protect Connor. ‘You’re stalking my son!’

‘What?’

‘The bowling alley. He told me.’

He laughs. ‘You’re crazier than I thought! So keep away from me, okay? Or else—’

‘Or else what?’

‘Haven’t you worked it out yet? I can do anything. Anything at all… Hugh? Anna? I can destroy them both. Unless there’s a way you could make it worth my while not to…’

‘You’re wrong.’ I try to keep my voice steady. I want it to have a strength I don’t feel. I want him to think I’m telling the truth. ‘You think I care, but I don’t. Hugh and I are only staying together because of Connor. I’ve already told him all about you. He understands. So,’ – I shrug – ‘what you’re trying won’t work. Show those photos to anyone you like…’

‘Anyone?’

I nod.

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘How about Connor?’

I try not to recoil, but I can’t help it. He sees it.

‘Connor’s grounded. You won’t get near him again. Coincidentally or not.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. Me and Connor? We have history now. We’re virtually friends.’

I feel a chill. What does he mean? Is there something else, something I don’t know about? Again the fear comes, that he’s got something to do with Evie. I have to remind myself that Hugh’s spoken to her, in real life. He’s heard her voice. It can’t be Lukas. I have to remember that.

‘You don’t scare me.’

‘Don’t you get it? You and me? It was fun while it lasted. But now I just want what’s owed to me. You have to back off. I’m having my fun with someone else. You have to get it into your stupid head that it’s over.’

I’m shocked. ‘Anna? Anna? You make her sound like an object, but you asked her to marry you!’

‘There are lots of different types of games, you know…’

He’s a few feet away, a little further than arm’s length. It might not be close enough. I step towards him. I raise my voice.

‘What’re you doing with Anna? Really? I know you’re using her. You don’t love her, like you didn’t love me.’

He’s smiling. It’s an answer in itself, but I want to hear him say it.

‘What are you doing with her? I know this is about the money, my sister’s money, but why involve her?’

He leans in. ‘How else was I going to get close to you?’

I remember why I’ve come here.

‘You don’t love her? You’ve never loved her?’

I’m careful to phrase it as a question. It takes him only a moment to reply.

‘Me? Love Anna? Look, we have a nice little arrangement going on, but I don’t love her. The sex is great, that’s all. And you know what? I like to think of you as we do it.’

I take a deep breath. There, I think. I have it. I almost smile. It’s my turn to feel smug now.

‘Oh, by the way, don’t even think about contacting Anna again.’

I can’t help but reply: ‘You can’t stop me.’

‘How so?’ He hesitates, he’s enjoying this. ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘You think you’re having lunch with her tomorrow?’ His smile is chilling. ‘I guess she hasn’t told you? She’s changed her ticket. Some family emergency, I think. Or something at work? I can’t quite remember. Maybe it’s just that she thinks you’re absolutely crazy and wants to get as far away as possible. In any case, you won’t be seeing her tomorrow. In fact, I reckon she’ll be leaving the hotel,’ – he looks at his watch – ‘around about… now.’

My eyes narrow. I have to make him think he’s beaten me.

‘What?’

‘You heard me. Anna thinks you’re crazy. She’s on her way back home, and I’m joining her in a few days. So why don’t you just toddle off home? Go back to your husband and be a good little wife for him? Eh?’

I don’t react. I can’t. I don’t want him to see how scared I am. I haven’t won, not yet. Not until I can speak to Anna. I have to make him think I’m going to do exactly as he says. Go back home.

I shake my head. ‘Fuck you,’ I say, and turn away from him.

His gaze burns into me as I retrace my steps. I don’t run, I have to look unconcerned. I daren’t turn round, I don’t want him to know how much I hope he’s not following. Everything depends on him leaving me alone, just for a couple of hours. Everything depends on me getting to Anna before she boards her train. I turn the corner and am out of sight. Then, I run.

I head through the bus station, on to the main road. I look behind me, but he’s nowhere in sight. Why would he hang around? He’s won. A taxi pulls up, at the lights. It’s available and I hail it. ‘St Pancras,’ I say, then get in.

‘Okay, love,’ says the driver. She must sense my urgency. ‘Traffic’s bad today. What time’s your train?’

I tell her I don’t know, I’m meeting someone. ‘Please hurry,’ I say again. The lights change and she pulls away. She says she’ll do her best. I take my phone out of my pocket, where it’d been the whole time, the voice memo recorder already running, and press done. I’d hit record as soon as we met. With any luck I’ve recorded our entire conversation.

I look over my shoulder. Lukas is still nowhere to be seen.

We’re in luck. Our route through Lambeth is pretty clear, the lights are in our favour. I listen back to what I’ve managed to capture. It’s muffled, recorded as it was from the pocket of my jacket, while the two of us were moving around. Some of it is okay – in places my voice is loud but it’s Lukas’s reply I need and it’s barely registered on the recording – but a good deal of it is usable. I can hear him saying ‘For old time’s sake’ after he kissed me, and he’d also raised his voice to say, ‘You’re crazier than I thought.’ But that’s not good enough. It isn’t what I’m looking for. I fast forward, desperate to find a section that is incontrovertible proof of what I need Anna to know; that he’s not who he says he is, that she’s in danger and that we need to help each other.

It’s there. The part I’d hoped for. Luckily, I’d stepped towards him, he’d been close; plus, my plan to raise my voice in the hope that it would encourage him to raise his had worked.

I rewind. Play it again. At first it’s broken: ‘…using her… love her…’ but then there’s a gap and the next sentence is clear. ‘I know this is about the money, my sister’s money, but why involve her?’

Lukas’s answer is clear, too.

‘How else was I going to get close to you?’

Then it’s me. I must’ve shifted on my feet as I spoke; the first part of the sentence is lost as something rubs against the microphone of my phone’s recorder. I recognize my own voice, but what I’m saying is all but lost. Only one word is audible: ‘her’.

It shouldn’t matter, though. I know it’s his response I need next; I remember what he’d said, but the whole recording is meaningless unless it’s audible.

Luckily, his answer is perfectly clear. I play it twice, just to be sure.

‘Me?’ he’s saying. ‘…Look, we have a nice little arrangement going on, but I don’t love her.’

I close my eyes, as if in victory, then rewind and listen to it a third time. It should be enough to convince my friend, I think. I just need to get there in time now.

I freeze. It occurs to me, as if for the first time. I don’t have to do this. I could just leave it, just walk away, go home. Lukas has demanded I leave them alone, so why not?

I think of his hands on me. I think of the places he’s taken me. Can I abandon my sister’s best friend to that? What kind of person would that make me?

From nowhere I think back to Anna’s reading, at the funeral. ‘To the angry I was cheated, but to the happy I am at peace.’

She thinks she’s happy, but it won’t last. I can’t abandon her now and live with myself, knowing I’ve betrayed her. I can’t.

I glance at the time and shift forward in my seat. It’s just after one o’clock. The traffic is bad, but we’re moving; already we’re over the river and skirting the city. If only I knew what time her train was, I think, then I’d be able to work out whether I have time, or no chance at all.

I look on my phone, navigate to the Eurostar webpage, to the timetable. It’s grindingly slow – I need to press refresh two, three times – but it makes me feel like I’m doing something, at least. Eventually the page appears. There’s a train just after two, and she’ll be checking in at least half an hour before it.

I look up. We’ve got as far as Lambeth North. It’s a twenty-minute trip, I’d guess, then we’ll have to find somewhere to pull in. I’ll need to pay the driver, then I have to find my friend. I’m desperate, yet helpless. I will the traffic to move, the lights to change. I curse as we get stuck behind a cyclist, as someone steps out on to a pedestrian crossing and we have to brake.

I’m not sure we’re going to make it, plus Lukas may ring her and tell her I’m on my way. It’s hopeless.

It’s almost one thirty when we pull up outside the terminal; I’m numb, certain I’ll have missed her. I pass my fare over to the driver – far too much, but I tell her to keep the change – and then I start to run. She shouts, ‘Good luck, love!’ but I don’t answer, don’t even turn round. I’m already frantically looking for Anna. I run in, towards the gates to the terminal, past the coffee shops and ticket offices, remembering as I do the times I’d met Lukas here. The images assault me, in Technicolor. I think of the second time we’d met, just after he’d lied to me and told me he lived near London after all. Back when I felt almost nothing for him, by comparison to what came later, at least. Back when it would’ve been easy, relatively, to walk away. Back when I was worried he had a wife, when really he was about to ask someone else to marry him.

Not just someone, I think. Anna. And now, I realize with increasing panic, I’m here rushing to try to save her.

The station is crowded; I can’t see her. I stop running. ‘Find Friends,’ I think she’d called it. We’d linked our profiles. I scrabble for my phone, drop it, pick it up again. I open the map, but there’s only one dot. Mine.

She’s disconnected her profile from mine. She hates me. I’m about to despair. She’ll go back home; all is lost. I could try to call her, yes, but she probably won’t answer the phone, and even if she does how will I make her believe me? I need to be there, in front of her. I need to make her understand.

I see a flash of red in the crowds, and somehow I know it’s her coat. When the crowd clears I see I’m right. She’s at the gate itself, pulling her case behind her with one hand, with the other already fumbling her ticket over the automatic scanner. ‘Anna!’ I shout, but she can’t hear me and doesn’t respond. I start running again. My words are lost in gasped breath, caught up in the noisy chaos of the station, rising and echoing in the vault of the ceiling. I shout again, louder this time – ‘Anna! Wait!’ – but by the time she looks up and sees me I’m too late; the automatic gates have registered her ticket, swung open and she’s gone through.

‘Julia!’ she says, turning back to face me. ‘What’re you…?’

I stop running. We’re on either side of the gates, a few feet apart. There’s a security booth just beyond her, and beyond that the waiting rooms and restaurants of the international terminal. ‘I met Lukas.’ She looks momentarily confused, then I remember myself. ‘I mean, Ryan. I saw Ryan.’

She looks at me, her head tilted, her mouth turned down. It’s pity. She feels sorry for me. Again I’m reminded that Lukas has won.

‘I know. He called me.’

‘They’re the same person, Anna. I swear. Ryan is Lukas. He’s been lying to you.’

She seems to well up. Something she’s so far been holding in check erupts to the surface.

‘I thought you were my friend.’

‘I am.’ But then my mind goes to the scar on Lukas’s cheek, just beginning to crust. I can only imagine what he’s said to her.

‘Whatever Ryan’s told you, he’s lying.’ I look her in the eye. ‘Believe me…’

She shakes her head. ‘Bye, Julia.’ She turns to leave.

I grip the barrier. For a second I think I could jump it, or push through, but already we’re attracting attention. A staff member is watching us, he’s stepping forward, as if he expects trouble.

I call instead. ‘Anna! Come back. Just for a minute. Let me explain!’

She looks over her shoulder. ‘Goodbye, Julia.’ She begins to walk away.

‘No!’ I say. ‘Wait!’

The guy in the uniform is standing right by us, now looking from one to the other. Anna doesn’t turn round.

I cast about for a way to convince her. I’m desperate. I need something that proves I know him as Lukas, have slept with him. Then I remember.

‘He has a birthmark. On his leg. His thigh. His upper thigh.’

At first I don’t think she’s heard me, but then she stops walking. She turns, then slowly comes back towards the barrier that separates us.

‘A birthmark.’ I point to my own body. ‘Just here.’

At first she says nothing. She shakes her head. She looks hurt, devastated. ‘You… bitch.’

The last word is hissed. Of course she hates me, and I hate myself for having to do this to her.

‘Anna!… I’m sorry…’

She’s standing just on the other side of the barrier now. If either of us were to reach over we could touch each other, yet she is utterly unreachable, as if the barrier between us were impenetrable.

We both remain utterly still, just staring. A moment later a voice cuts in with a jolt.

‘Is there some kind of a problem here?’

I look over. It’s the guard. He’s standing just beyond Anna. We both shake our head. ‘No. It’s fine.’ Dimly, I’m aware that I’m blocking the barrier, a queue is forming behind me.

‘Could you move along, please?’ He sounds so calm; his politeness clashes with what’s going on.

I put my hand out, palm up, as if offering something. ‘Anna, please.’ She looks at it as if it’s an unknown object, dangerous, alien. ‘Anna?’

‘Why are you doing this?’ She’s crying now, tears pouring down her cheeks. ‘I thought we were friends…’

‘We were.’ I’m desperate, insistent. ‘We still are.’ I wish I could make her understand, let her know I’m doing this because I do love her, not because I don’t. I get out my phone. ‘He’s not the person you think he is. Ryan, I mean. Believe me.’

‘You have everything. From the moment I told you we were engaged you haven’t been able to even pretend to be happy for me. I feel sorry for you. D’you know that?’

‘No—’ I begin, but she interrupts me.

‘I’ve had enough.’ She turns to go, and I try to grip her arm. The guy watching us steps forward; again he asks us to move along.

‘Give me a second, will you? Please?’

I have to make Anna understand, before she gets on the train and disappears back to Paris and everything is lost. Otherwise she’ll marry this man and ruin her life. It hits me that, even if I succeed, Lukas will carry out his threat, send Hugh the pictures. Whatever happens I might lose everything.

I feel myself slip back into the blackness, but I know I can’t. This is my last chance to do the right thing.

‘Wait a minute. I need you to hear something.’ The rest of the station disappears; I can think of nothing else. It’s just me and her. My words come out in a rush. ‘He’s… I know him as Lukas… he’s the one I met through the website you told me about… he… he’s… he’s got to Connor. He’s been following him… following me, too… he’s flipped, I swear…’

‘Liar.’ Over and over again she says it. ‘You’re a liar. A liar.’

‘I can prove it.’ I hold my phone in front of me. ‘Just listen to this. Please. And then—’

‘Miss. I’m going to have to ask you to move out of the way. Now.’

He steps between us. My desperation turns to anger; the world comes back in a furious rush. The station seems noisy and I don’t know whether Anna will be able to hear my recording. A small crowd has now gathered, on both sides of the barrier, staring at us. A man has taken his phone out and is taking pictures.

‘Please! This is important.’ I’m fumbling with my phone, unlocking the screen, opening the file. ‘Please, Anna? For Kate?’

She stares. It’s calm, suddenly, and then the guard asks me again to move away. This is my last chance.

‘Just give her this. Please?’

‘Miss—’ he begins, but Anna interrupts him. She’s holding out her hand.

‘I’ll listen. I don’t know what you want, but I’ll listen.’

I hand the phone to the man standing between us, and he passes it to Anna.

‘Press play. Please?’ She hesitates, then does so. She stands, her head craned forward. The section I’d selected is ready. My voice, his voice. Just as it’d been in the taxi. She’s too far away and I can’t hear what she’s listening to, but I know it by heart: ‘…a nice little arrangement… I don’t love her.’ She plays enough, just a few moments, then it ends. She crumples. It’s as if all the tension of the last few minutes has caused her to snap.

‘I’m sorry.’

She looks at me. She’s crushed. She seems diminished, empty. All emotion is squeezed out. I wish I could reach out, comfort her. I can’t bear the thought of doing this to her and then sending her on her way. Back home. Alone.

Then she speaks.

‘I don’t believe you. It doesn’t even sound like him. Ryan’s right.’

I see the doubt on her face. She’s not sure.

‘Listen again. Listen—’

‘It’s not him.’ Her voice falters, broken. ‘It can’t be.’

Her free hand goes to my phone, though. She presses the play button, tries to turn up the volume.

‘Love Anna?… I don’t love her.’

‘Anna. Please…’ There’s a hand on my arm, someone tugging at the sleeve of my jacket, trying to drag me away.

‘Anna?’

She looks up at me, then. The expression on her face is chilling, her eyes wide with disbelief and pure horror. It’s as if I’m watching all of her plans evaporate, taking flight like nervous birds, leaving nothing behind.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘We need to talk.’ It’s so quiet I can barely hear her. The crowd around us senses the breaking tension and begins to move, to go back to their day. The bubble of drama that had formed in front of them has burst. Anna turns to the official standing between us and says, ‘Can you let me back through? Please? I need to talk to my friend…’

Time seems to speed up. The world has been on pause, held in the thrall of her fury, and my desperation. But now it’s all been released; it crashes in. The noise of the station, the bustle and chatter, the old piano that’s been installed on the concourse and which somebody is playing badly, the same phrase, again and again. I take her arm and she doesn’t resist; together we go, up the escalator, supporting each other. We’re silent. I suggest a coffee, but she shakes her head, says she needs a drink. I need one, too, I tell myself I could, just this once, but I force the thought away. Anna is crying, her voice cracks as she tries to speak. She fumbles for a tissue and we go upstairs to the bar. I feel wretched, my guilt is almost overwhelming. All I can think is, I’ve done this. This is my fault.

We sit under the umbrellas. Behind me the door leads to the hotel, to the room in which Lukas and I first had sex. Memories of our affair are everywhere, and I look away, trying to ignore them. Anna is murmuring something about her train. ‘I’m going to miss it,’ she says, stating the obvious. ‘I want to go home.’

I hand her a tissue. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll help. You can stay with me, or—’

‘No. Why would I want to do that?’

She looks angry. It’s as if things are finally coalescing for her, the hurt she feels condensing, becoming easier to comprehend. I want to do something, make some small gesture, however meaningless.

‘Then I’ll pay for you to go on the next train. But Anna, you have to let me explain. I didn’t want any of this to happen…’

‘I can pay for my own ticket.’ She’s defiant, but then she looks down at her lap. I imagine she wonders how she could ever have got herself into this situation, how she could have let herself trust Ryan. And also how she could have ever trusted me. The waiter comes over and I order some water and a glass of white wine. He asks which we want, whether we’d like to see the list. ‘Anything. Just the house white is fine…’

Anna looks up once he’s moved away. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. Believe me. I never knew… I didn’t know that that man, Lukas was seeing you. If I had, I’d never have dreamt—’

‘You mean he didn’t tell you? He didn’t tell you he was engaged? To me?’

‘No.’ I’m emphatic. ‘Of course not.’ I want to make her understand; right now it’s all that seems to matter.

‘And you didn’t think to ask?’

‘Anna, no. I didn’t. He was wearing a wedding ring—’

She interrupts me, shocked.

‘A ring?’

‘Yes. He told me he’d been married, once, but that his wife had died. That was it. I thought he was single. I didn’t… I wouldn’t have seen him if I’d known he was involved with someone else. Least of all you…’

Even as I say it I wonder if it’s true. Am I kidding myself? My relationship with Lukas had developed incrementally, had started off with my search for the truth, developed into chatting online, and from there had turned into what it became. Even if he had been married, or engaged, at what point would I have stopped it, said, no, this far but no further? At what point should I have done that?

There’s a point when an online dalliance might become dangerous, but who can really say when it is?

‘I swear.’

‘And I’m supposed to believe that?’

I feel a flicker of anger, of injured pride, but her face is impassive.

‘He pursued me, Anna. You might not want to hear that, and I’m sorry, but you need to know. He came after me.’

She blinks. ‘You’re lying. He wouldn’t.’

Her words are a slap. They sting. Why not? I want to say. Why wouldn’t he? I’m aware again of the way he’d made me feel. Young, desirable. Alive.

‘Because of my age?’

She sighs. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t mean that. I just meant…’ The sentence dissolves, her head sags to her chest. She looks exhausted. ‘I don’t know what to think.’

‘Anna—’

She raises her head. She looks defeated, she’s searching for help, for somewhere to turn. ‘Tell me what happened. I want it all.’

And so I do. I tell everything, in great detail. She’s silent as I talk. Five minutes. Ten. The waiter comes with the glass of wine and my water, but I push my drink away and keep talking. There are things she’s heard before, and things she hasn’t, yet this is the first time she’s known the story is not about me and a stranger but about me and her fiancé. I find it hard enough; for her the pain must be unbearable. Every time I ask her if she’d like me to stop she shakes her head. She says she needs to hear it. I tell her about Lukas’s first approach. I tell her that we’d started to message regularly, that I thought he lived abroad, in Milan, that he told me he travelled a lot. I explained that he’d asked me to go and meet him, in real life, and because I’d thought it could only happen once and might lead me to the truth about my sister I’d done so.

‘And you had sex?’ Her lips are set in a hard line. I hesitate. She knows we did.

I nod.

‘What was it like?’

‘Anna. Please… I’m not sure it’s a good idea—’

‘No. Tell me.’

I know she wants to hear that it was disappointing. That we didn’t click, that it was obvious his heart wasn’t in it. She wants to be allowed to think what they have is special, and that what happened between me and him was a one-off, nothing.

I can’t lie, but neither do I want to make her feel any worse than she already does.

I look away. Unwittingly, my eyes are drawn to the statue across the platforms. ‘It was… all right.’

‘All right. So you never saw him again, after that one time. Right?’

Her sarcasm is caustic. She knows I did.

‘I never intended for it to become an affair. I never intended any of it.’

‘And yet here we are.’

‘Yes. Here we are. But you must understand, Anna, I didn’t know he even knew you. I promise. What can I swear on?’ I whisper. ‘Connor’s life? Believe me, if that’s what it takes I will.’

She looks at the wine in the glass in front of her, then back up to me. She seems to make a decision. ‘Why? Why is he doing this?’

‘I don’t know. Money?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘He knows Kate left money to you, and to Connor. Maybe he was hoping to get his hands on Connor’s share as well as yours—’

‘He isn’t going to get his hands on mine!’ She sounds shocked, affronted. ‘We’re getting married!’

‘I’m sorry. You know what I mean.’

‘And how would he get his hands on yours, anyway?’

Once again I look away. ‘He has pictures. Pictures of us. Of me…’

‘Having sex?’ She sounds devastated, the words are seeping out.

I nod. I lower my voice. ‘He’s threatened to show them to people. To Hugh.’

I see Hugh’s face, sitting at the dining table, looking at the pictures. He looks confused, then shocked, then angry. ‘How could you do this?’ he’s saying. ‘How could you?’

‘He’s asked you for Connor’s money?’ says Anna. I think about blackmail. If I let it start, it’d never stop. He’d just demand more and more and more.

‘Not yet. But he might.’

She looks down again. Her eyes seem to lose their focus. She slowly nods her head. She’s remembering, piecing things together.

‘That recording,’ she says eventually. ‘He says he doesn’t love me.’

I reach across the table and take her hand.

‘None of this is your fault. Remember that. He could be anyone. He’s probably not called Ryan or Lukas. We don’t know who he is, Anna. Neither of us does…’ I take a deep breath, this is painful. I’m trying to support her when I have no strength left myself.

But I have to do this.

‘Anna,’ I say. I hate myself for asking her, but know I must. ‘Has he ever hurt you?’

‘Hurt me? No. Why?’

‘During sex, I mean?’

‘No!’ She answers a little too quickly, and I wonder whether she’s telling me the whole truth.

‘I just wanted to make sure—’

She looks horrified. ‘Oh my God. You still think he killed Kate?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m certain he didn’t. He can’t have—’

‘You’re crazy,’ she says, but at the same time I see horror flash on her face. It’s as if I can see her faith, her belief in her fiancé, disappear.

‘He killed Kate,’ she says.

‘No. He can’t have—’

She interrupts.

‘No! You don’t understand,’ she says. She’s speaking quickly, caught up in the whirring cogs of her own fantasy. I’d done it myself, not long ago. Tried to make his behaviour fit into a pattern I could recognize. ‘He might’ve met her, online, then found out about the money. He might’ve got close to me just to get to her, then killed her, and—’

‘No. No, it’s coincidence. Lukas was in Australia when Kate died. And anyway—’

‘But we don’t know that! He might’ve lied to both of us…’

‘They’ve caught the man who killed her. Remember?’

She still looks unconvinced. I go on. ‘Anyway, there’re photos. They show him, in Australia. They’re dated from the time that Kate was killed…’

‘Is that conclusive? I mean, can’t you alter those things?’

I don’t answer. ‘But the main thing is they caught him, Anna. They caught the man who killed her.’

It seems finally to sink in. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she says. A low moan starts in her throat; I think she’s going to scream. ‘How could he do this to me? How could he?’

‘It’ll be okay. I promise.’

‘I have to end it, don’t I?’ I nod. She reaches for her bag. ‘I’ll do it now…’

‘No! No, you mustn’t. He can’t know I’ve told you. He said if I told you he’d show Hugh those pictures. Anna, we have to be clever about this…’

‘How?’

I’m silent. I know what I want her to do. To wait for a while, to pretend to the man she calls Ryan that she’s still in love with him. And then to end it, in a way that seemingly has nothing to do with me.

Yet how can I ask her to do that? I can’t. The idea is monstrous. She has to realize it for herself.

‘I don’t know. But if you end it now he’ll know I had something to do with it.’

She’s incredulous. ‘You want me to carry on seeing him?’

‘Not exactly—’

‘You do!’

‘No, Anna. No… I don’t know…’

Her face collapses. All her defiance rushes out, replaced by bitterness and regret.

‘What am I going to do?’ She opens her eyes. ‘Tell me! What am I going to do?’

I reach out to her. I’m relieved when she doesn’t push me away. Sadness fills her face. She looks much older, nearer to my age than to Kate’s.

‘It’s up to you.’

‘I need to think about it. Give me a few days.’

I’ll have to live with the uncertainty. But next to what she has to live with, that’s nothing.

‘I wish this had never happened. I wish it could be different.’

‘I know,’ she says.

We sit for a while. I’m drained, without energy, and when I look at her I see she is, too. The station seems less crowded, though that might be my imagination; the lunchtime rush can hardly make any difference to somewhere so perpetually busy. Nevertheless, a quietness descends. Anna finishes her drink then says she has to leave. ‘There’ll be another train soon. I need to go and get a ticket…’

We stand. We grip our chairs for support, as if the world has tilted to a new axis. ‘Do you want me to help? I really don’t mind paying—’

‘No. It’s fine. I’m fine. You don’t have to do that.’

She smiles. She knows I feel guilty, that the offer of money is my attempt to assuage that guilt.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say again. I desperately need to know I have her friendship, but for a long moment she doesn’t move. Then she’s melting into me. We hug. I think she’s going to start crying again, but she doesn’t.

‘I’ll call you. In a day or so?’

I nod. ‘You’ll be okay?’ I’m aware of how trite the question sounds, how meaningless, yet I’m exhausted. I just want her to know I care.

She nods. ‘Yes.’ Then she lets go. ‘Will you?’

‘Yes.’ I’m far from certain it’s the truth. She picks up her case. ‘Go. I’ll get this. And good luck.’

She kisses me again. Wordlessly, she turns to leave. I watch as she crosses the concourse, heads for the stairs that lead down to the ticket offices. She rounds the corner and goes out of sight. I feel suddenly, terribly, alone.