Second Life

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Monday. Hugh is due to have a meeting about his case today; he’ll find out whether his statement has satisfied the chief executive, the medical director, the clinical governance team. If it has, they’ll refute the claim; if not, they’ll concede that he made a mistake. ‘And then they’ll close ranks,’ he said. ‘It’ll all be about preserving the reputation of the hospital. I’ll probably be disciplined.’

‘But you won’t lose your job?’

‘Doubtful. But they’re saying I might.’

I couldn’t imagine it. His job is his life. If he were to lose it the repercussions would be catastrophic, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to cope with something like that hitting our family. Not with everything else that’s going on.

Yet I’d have to, there wouldn’t be a choice. I clung to the word ‘doubtful’.

I have to be strong.

‘Are you all right?’ I said.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, tilting his head back. ‘I am. I have to be. I have to go into theatre this morning. I have to operate on a woman who’ll most likely be dead within weeks if nothing is done. And I have to do that with a clear head, no matter what else is going on.’ He shook his head. He looked angry. ‘That’s what really pisses me off. I haven’t done anything wrong. You know that? I forgot to warn them that for a few weeks their father might forget where he’d put the remote control. No’ – he corrected himself – ‘I didn’t even do that. I forgot to write down that I’d warned them. That’s what this amounts to. I was too busy worrying about the operation itself to write the details of some trivial conversation down in the notes.’

I smiled, sadly. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ll call me?’

He said he would, but now the phone is ringing and it’s not him.

‘Anna?’

She’s hesitant. When she does speak she sounds distant, upset.

‘How’re you?’

‘Fine,’ I say. I want her to tell me what she’s decided. For two days I’ve been convincing myself that she’s reconsidered, or hasn’t believed me at all. I’ve imagined her talking to Lukas, telling him that I’d caught up with her at the station, recounting what I’d said.

I daren’t imagine what his next move would be then.

‘How are you feeling?’

She doesn’t answer. ‘I’ve been thinking. Ryan’s away for another week. He’s staying in London. I need a week after he gets back.’

I’m not sure what she means.

‘A week?’

‘I need to finish it with him. But I need to make him think it has nothing to do with you at all. I’ve already told him I haven’t seen you since the other night at the hotel, that you haven’t been in touch. I told him I thought you were a freak, and that I didn’t want anything else to do with you. When he comes back I’ll just have to be busy, I’ll pretend I’ve got a lot on at work or something. I can manage it for a week, I think.’

‘And then?’

‘Then I’ll end it.’

She sounds defiant. Absolutely certain.

‘I’ll get the pictures – the ones he’s got of you – and delete them from his computer. I’ll find a way, I have a key to his flat, it shouldn’t be too difficult. Then, even if he does suspect, it’ll be too late to do anything about it.’

I close my eyes. I’m so grateful, so relieved. It might work. It has to work.

‘You’ll be all right?’

She sighs. ‘Not really. But I suppose I kind of knew, really. There was always something about him, I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was. He’d always be travelling, at short notice. I should’ve known.’

I’m not sure I believe her. It sounds like justification after the fact.

She carries on. ‘Maybe when all this is over we can get together and go out for a drink. Not lose our friendship because of it.’

‘I want that, too,’ I say. ‘Will we stay in touch? Over the next couple of weeks, I mean?’

‘It wouldn’t be good if Ryan finds out we’re speaking.’

‘No.’

‘I’ll try and call you, when I can.’

‘Okay.’

‘You’ll have to trust me,’ she says.

We talk for a minute or so more, then she says goodbye. Before we end the call we agree to reconnect on Find Friends. Afterwards I sit for a moment as relief floods me, relief and fear, then I call Hugh. I’m not sure why. I want to hear his voice. I want to show that I support him, that I haven’t forgotten what he’s going through today. His secretary answers; he’s still in his meeting.

‘Will you ask him to call me when he gets out?’

She says she will. Almost on a whim I ask if I can speak to Maria. I want to know that Paddy’s okay, that he’s recovered.

I think of the steps. I’ve made my moral inventory now; without even being conscious of it, I’m working on making amends.

‘She’s not in today,’ she says. I ask if she’s on holiday. ‘No, some problem at home.’ She lowers her voice. ‘She sounded very upset.’

I put the phone down. I’m uneasy. Hugh has always said that Maria can be relied upon; she’s never sick, never late. I can’t imagine what might be going on. An illness? Paddy, or her parents, perhaps? They’re not elderly, but that rules nothing out, I should know that as much as anyone.

I almost call her at home but then decide against it. I have plenty going on as it is, and what could I say to her? We’re not friends, not really. I haven’t seen her since we visited Paddy, weeks ago. Hugh hasn’t invited them round, or maybe he has and they haven’t come. I wonder if that was Paddy’s decision, and if so what excuses he may have given his wife.

I spend the afternoon working. Connor arrives home and goes upstairs. Doing his homework, he says, though I’m not sure I believe him. I suspect he usually spends hours online – with his friends, Dylan, his girlfriend – and even now, every time I go up, to check if he wants a drink, to try to persuade him down for dinner, to make some sort of a connection, he seems to make a point of being cool towards me. He’s still angry over the grounding, I guess; even though it’s only for a week, it seems to be taking a long time to wear off.

Maybe it’s something else. He’s still upset that the arrest of the man who killed Kate hasn’t brought him the relief he’d hoped. He’s looking elsewhere, now. ‘Do you know who my real dad is?’ he said the other day, and when I said no, he said, ‘Would you tell me, if you did?’ Of course you wouldn’t, he seemed to be saying, but I tried to stay calm. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, of course I would. But I don’t know.’

I want to tell him it won’t change anything. I want to say, Your father – whoever he is, whoever he was – was probably very young. He abandoned your mother, or more likely didn’t even know she was pregnant. ‘We’re your family,’ I said instead, but he just looked at me, as if that was no longer enough.

It’s upsetting, but I tell myself it’s normal, he’s a teenager. He’s just growing up, away from me. Before I know it he’ll be sitting exams, then leaving home. It’ll just be me and his father, then, and who knows if he’ll even come back to see us? All children go through a phase of hating their parents, but they say adopted children can find it all too easy to break away. Sometimes the severance is permanent.

I’m not sure I could cope with that. I’m not sure it wouldn’t kill me.

I’m in the kitchen when Hugh gets home. He kisses me, then goes straight to the fridge and gets himself a drink. He looks angry. I ask him how it went.

‘They’re making them an offer. Out-of-court settlement.’

‘Do they think the family will take it?’

I wait while he empties his glass and pours another. ‘Hope so. If it goes to court I’m fucked.’

‘What?’

‘I’m in the wrong. It’s unequivocal, to them at least. I made a mistake. If it goes to court we’ll lose, and they’ll have to make some kind of example of me.’

‘Oh, darling…’

‘Next week I have to go on a course.’ He smiles, bitterly. ‘Record keeping. I have to cancel surgery to go and learn how to write a set of bloody notes.’

I sit opposite him. I can see how injured he is. It seems so unfair; after all, no one is dead. It’s not as if he made a mistake during surgery.

I try to look hopeful. ‘I’m sure everything will be okay.’

He sighs. ‘One way or the other. And bloody Maria didn’t turn up today.’

‘I know.’

‘You know?’

‘I called. They said she wasn’t in. What’s going on?’

He takes out his phone and makes a call. ‘No idea. But I hope she’s intending to come in tomorrow.’ He puts the phone to his ear. After a few rings it’s answered, a faint hello. Maria’s voice. ‘Maria? Listen…’ He glances at me, then stands up. ‘How’re things?’

I don’t hear her reply. He’s turned away and is walking out of the room, his attention completely focussed on his colleague. I go back to preparing the meal. Hugh, Connor, Anna. I just hope everything will be all right.

Two days later Paddy calls. It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice in weeks, and he sounds different, somehow. I wonder if something’s happened to Maria, but he says no, no she’s fine. ‘I just thought you might want to meet up. Lunch, or something?’

Is that what all this is about? Does he want to make another attempt at seduction?

‘I’d better not—’

He interrupts. ‘Please? Just a coffee? I only want to talk to you.’

It sounds ominous; certainly it’s not casual. How can I say no?

‘Okay.’

That evening I tell Hugh. ‘Paddy?’ he says. I nod. ‘But what does he want to see you for?’

I tell him I don’t know. I ask him why he wants to know; we’re friends, after all, it shouldn’t be that shocking.

He shrugs but looks worried. ‘Just wondered.’

It crosses my mind that Connor did see something that day. Maybe he’s told his father but Hugh has decided to say nothing as long as things don’t progress.

Or maybe he’s worried that we’ll go to a bar, that I’ll be persuaded to drink alcohol.

‘There’s nothing going on between me and Paddy Renouf,’ I say. ‘We’re just going for a coffee. And it will be a coffee. I promise.’

‘Okay,’ he says. But he still doesn’t look convinced.

We arrange to meet in a Starbucks in town. It’s cold, raining, and he’s late. I’m sitting with a drink by the time he arrives. The last time I saw him he was bruised, his face swollen, but that was weeks ago and he looks back to normal now.

We kiss awkwardly before sitting down. A friendly kiss, a peck on each cheek. I think of the time we kissed in Carla’s summer house. How different that had been. It crosses my mind that it would have been better if I’d slept with him, rather than Lukas. But then that might have turned out worse. How do I know?

‘How are you?’

I sip my drink. ‘I’m all right.’ The atmosphere is heavy, awkward. I hadn’t known quite what to expect, but it hadn’t been this. It’s obvious he’s here for a reason. He has something to tell me.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.’ It’s a surprise, him apologizing to me.

I look down at my drink. A hot chocolate, with whipped cream swirled on top.

‘For what?’

‘What happened, over the summer. You know. At Carla’s party. And then—’

I interrupt. ‘Forget it.’ But he continues:

‘—and then not ringing you. All summer, I’ve wanted to apologize. I’d had too much to drink, but it was no excuse. I guess I was embarrassed.’

I look at him. I can see what this honesty is costing him, yet I can’t reciprocate. For a moment I’d like to. I’d like to tell him everything. I’d like to tell him he has nothing to apologize for because, next to mine, his transgressions are insignificant.

But I don’t. I can’t. These are things I’ll never be able to tell anyone.

‘Honestly. It’s fine—’

‘I haven’t been a good friend.’

It’s been an odd time, I want to say. I haven’t been a good friend either.

But I don’t.

He looks at me. ‘How’re you doing now?’

‘Not bad.’ I realize it’s mostly true; my grief hasn’t gone, but I’m beginning to see a way I can live with it. ‘You know they caught the guy who killed my sister.’

He shakes his head. Hugh must not have told Maria, or else Maria hasn’t told her husband. I tell him the story, and in doing so realize that the fog of Kate’s death is lifting. The pain is still there, but for the first time since February it’s no longer the prism through which everything else is refracted. I’m not stuck, wading through a life that’s become thickened with grief and anger, or else ricocheting out of control, and I’m no longer angry – with her for getting herself killed, with myself for not being able to do anything to protect her.

‘It still hurts,’ I say. ‘But it’s getting better.’

‘Good.’ He pauses. We’re building up to something. ‘You have friends around you?’

Do I? Adrienne, yes, we’ve spoken in the last couple of days, but there’s still some way to go to reverse the damage done. ‘I have friends, yes. Why?’ He looks oddly relieved, and I realize the reason he’s here involves me, somehow.

‘What is it, Paddy?’

His face is expressionless for a few moments, then he seems to make a final decision.

‘I have something to tell you.’

I try to focus, to pull myself into the present. ‘What is it?’

I don’t breathe. The air between us is as thick as oil.

‘Maria told me she slept with someone.’

I nod slowly, and then I know what’s coming. Some part of me – some buried part, some reptilian part – knows exactly what he’s going to say.

He opens his mouth to speak. It seems to take for ever. I say it for him.

‘Hugh.’

His face breaks into relief. Still part of me hopes he’ll contradict me, but he doesn’t. I wonder when he’d known.

‘Yes. She told me she slept with Hugh.’

I can’t work out how I feel. I’m not shocked; it’s like I’ve known all along. It’s nearer to numbness, an absence of feeling. I take a deep breath. The air fills my lungs. I expand, I wonder if I could keep breathing in until I’m bigger than the pain.

‘When?’ My voice echoes off the walls.

‘In Geneva. She says it was just once. Apparently, it hasn’t happened since.’ He stops speaking. I wonder if he’s waiting for me to say something. I don’t have anything to say. Just once? I wonder if he believes his wife. I wonder if I do.

‘Hugh hasn’t told you?’

‘No.’ So that’s why Hugh hasn’t invited them round for months. It has nothing to do with what Connor may or may not have seen in the summer house.

I feel cold, as if I’m sitting in a draught. Hugh and I have always told each other the truth. Why hasn’t he told me this?

But then, look at what I haven’t told him.

‘I’m sorry.’

I look at him. He’s in more pain than I am. He looks empty, hollow. I can see he hasn’t slept.

Then, I realize. That’s why he kissed me. He knew, or suspected at least. I was his revenge.

I don’t blame him. I ought to reach out and hold him and tell him it’ll be all right, the way I tell Connor things will be all right. Because I have to. Because it’s my job, whether I believe it or not.

But I don’t. I keep my hands on the table.

‘Thank you for telling me.’

‘I thought I ought to. I’m sorry.’

We sit for a moment. The space between us seems to expand. We should be able to help each other, but we can’t.

‘No, you did the right thing.’ I pause. But did he? It’s not so clear cut; sometimes there are things it’s better off not knowing. ‘What’re you going to do?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t decided. Maria and I have some talking to do, but I know that. I suppose we all make mistakes.’ He’s talking to himself, not to me. ‘Don’t we?’

I nod. ‘We do.’

On the way home I call Hugh. I feel different, in some way I can’t quite determine. It’s as if something has shifted within me, there’s been some violent rearrangement and things haven’t yet settled. I’m furious, yes, but it’s more than that. My fury is mixed with something else, something I can’t quite identify. Jealousy, that Hugh’s affair has been short-lived and uncomplicated? Relief, that my husband has a secret of his own, one that almost matches mine, and now I don’t have to feel quite so bad?

His phone rings out. I’m still not sure what I’m going to say to him when we speak and I’m relieved when it clicks through to voicemail.

I hear myself speak. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were okay.’ I realize that’s all I’d really called for. To hear his voice. To make sure he still exists, and hasn’t been swept away by the tidal wave that has threatened everything else. ‘Phone me back, when you get the chance.’

I end the call. I wonder how I’d feel if he didn’t ring back, if he were never to ring back again. I imagine a car smashing into him, a terrorist bomb, or something as mundane as a heart attack, a stroke. I imagine trying to live with myself, knowing during the last months of his life I’d been resenting him, suspecting him, looking elsewhere so that I could avoid confronting myself. As I try, I realize I can’t. He’s always there. He always has been. I still remember getting off that flight – the one he’d paid for, the one that brought me home. He was waiting for me, not with flowers, not even with love, but with something far simpler, and far more important back then. Acceptance. That night he took me to his home, not to his bed, but to the spare room. He let me cry, and sleep, and he sat with me when I wanted him to and left me alone when I didn’t. The next morning he set about getting me help. He demanded nothing, not even answers to his questions. He promised to tell no one I was there, until I felt strong, until I felt ready.

He was there for me in the most real, the most honest, way possible. And still he’s the person I go to, the person I trust. The person who I want the best for, and want to be the best for, as he does for me.

I love him; finding out he’s slept with someone else – even boring Maria – has somehow made that feel more real. It’s reminded me he’s desirable, capable of passion.

I close my eyes. I wonder if they really have slept together only once. Either way, he’s had an affair that goes some way to countering my own. One of the holds Lukas thought he had over me is shrugged off, as simply as that. Anna will erase the photos and get him out of her life, and mine. For the first time in months I imagine emerging into a future without Lukas, clean and pure and free.

Hugh comes home. He’s late; a case had overrun. ‘Sorry, darling,’ he says when he comes into the kitchen. ‘Nightmare day. And Maria let me down again, at the last minute.’ He kisses me. Again I’m relieved. ‘Some crisis at home.’

So she hasn’t told Hugh that Paddy knows everything. I wonder why she told her husband, what prompted her confession. Guilt, I guess. That’s what it always boils down to, in the end.

‘How was your coffee with Paddy?’

It occurs to me that if I’m going to tell Hugh, this would be the moment. I know about you and Maria, I could say. Paddy told me. And I have something I want to tell you.

‘Hugh?’ He looks at me.

‘Uh-huh?’

I pause. I’m serving dinner. I wonder what would happen, if I went ahead. If I told him about Lukas. I wonder if he’d understand, if maybe he’s already guessed. I wonder if he’d forgive me, as I realize I’ve already forgiven him.

I change my mind. The secret I now know he’s keeping makes Lukas’s hold over me feel somehow diminished. I love Hugh, and I don’t want to give that up. Two wrongs don’t make anything right, but maybe they make things more equal.

‘Call Connor down, would you?’

He does, and a few minutes later our son comes downstairs. We eat together, sitting at the dining table. As we do, I watch my family. I’ve been a fool, an idiot. I’ve come close to losing everything. But I’ve learned my lesson – what good would a confession do now?

That night we go to bed early. I tell him I love him, and he tells me he loves me too, and we mean it. It’s not automatic, a call and response. It comes from a place of truth, deep and unknowable.

He kisses me, and I kiss him back. We’re truly together, at last.

Chapter Thirty

It’s the day Lukas is due to go back to Paris, to Anna. I’m working when Hugh calls, photographing a family who contacted me through the Facebook page I set up. Two women, their two little boys.

It’s going well, it’s a distraction. We’re near the end of the shoot, or else I’d have let the call go to voicemail. ‘D’you mind?’ I say, and the taller of the two women says, ‘Not at all. I think Bertie wants to go to the loo anyway.’

I direct them to the downstairs bathroom at the back of the house and then answer the call. ‘Hugh?’ I say.

‘You busy?’

I step outside into the cold autumn air and close the shed door behind me. I’m jumpy today, on edge.

‘Just finishing a shoot. Is everything okay?’

‘Yes, fine.’ He sounds upbeat. The fear that had begun to grip loosens its hold. ‘I just wanted to let you know.’

‘Yes?’

‘They’ve accepted the offer of an out-of-court settlement. They’re dropping their complaint.’

My shoulders sag with relief. I hadn’t realized how much tension I’d been holding in my body. ‘That’s great, Hugh. That’s wonderful.’

‘I thought we should celebrate. Dinner, tonight? The three of us? You’re not busy, are you?’

I tell him I’m not. It’ll help me to relax, I think, it’ll take my mind off whatever might be happening in Paris. For a week I’ve been wondering what Anna is thinking, trying to resist the temptation to call her, worrying that she’ll change her mind and decide to stay with him. What would happen then, if she does? A demand, I guess, for money. I never believed all he wanted was for me to leave Anna alone.

And even if it were, I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t leave her to a man prepared to lie in the way Lukas has. She’s my friend. My sister’s best friend. I owe it to her.

But all that is to come, I tell myself. Just one more week, and then it’ll be over.

‘I’d like that,’ I say to Hugh.

‘I’ll book somewhere. You’ll tell Connor?’

It’s just before lunchtime when I finish the shoot. I tell the couple I’ll email them when the shots are ready and they can choose which ones they like. They thank me, we say goodbye, then I put my equipment away, take down the lights. I’m thinking about what Anna will have to do. I imagine her, having the conversation. It’s not you, it’s me. I’m not sure I want to marry right now.

Would it work? Will Lukas believe that it has nothing to do with me, that I’ve stayed away?

She should do it in a bar, I think. Somewhere neutral, where he can get angry but not violent. I should have suggested she change the locks first.

I wonder if I should go over there, to be with her. But that might make things worse. For now, she’s on her own.

I finish tidying and go inside. I open the fridge; there’s some salad for lunch, some smoked mackerel. I take them out and look at the time; Connor will be at lunch. I take my phone and ring him. I tell him we’re going out tonight. He complains, ‘But I’m meant to be going out with Dylan!’ His voice implores, he’s looking for me to tell him it doesn’t matter, he should spend the evening with his friend, but I don’t.

‘It’s important, Con. To your dad.’

‘But—’

I swap the phone to my other ear and take a plate from the cupboard.

‘I’m not arguing, Connor. After school, you need to come home.’

He sighs but says he will.

I finish preparing my lunch and eat it in the kitchen, then go back to my studio. I look at the pictures I’ve taken and begin to think about the edit, making notes of which have worked best. At about two in the afternoon the phone rings.

I jump. It’s Anna, I think, but when I answer it the voice is unfamiliar.

‘Mrs Wilding?’

‘Yes?’

‘Ah.’ The woman on the other end of the line sounds relieved. She introduces herself: Mrs Flynn, from Connor’s school. ‘I’m just ringing from Saint James’s. It’s about Connor.’

I shiver, a premonition. ‘Connor? What’s wrong?’

‘I just wondered whether he was at home?’

The world stops; it tilts and shifts. The room is suddenly too cold.

‘No. No, he’s not here. He’s at school.’ I say it firmly, with authority. It’s as if simply by saying it I believe I can make it so.

‘I rang him at lunchtime.’ I look at my watch. ‘He’s there. Isn’t he?’

‘Well, he wasn’t in for afternoon registration.’ She sounds unconcerned, in complete contrast to the panic that’s beginning to grow within me, but it feels forced. She’s just trying to reassure me. ‘It’s not like him, so we just wanted to check he was at home.’

I begin to shake. He’s been not like him a fair bit lately. ‘No. No, he’s not here.’ I don’t know whether I’m supposed to be apologizing for him or not. I’m both angry and defensive, and behind all that the swell of fear is about to break. ‘I’ll call him. I’ll find out where he is. He was in this morning?’

‘Oh, yes. He was in as usual. I’m told everything seemed fine.’

‘Okay.’ I tell myself to stay calm. I tell myself that there’s nothing to worry about; he’s sulking, I’ve made him come home rather than seeing his friends, he’s teaching me a lesson.

‘He just hasn’t come back from lunch.’

‘Okay,’ I say again. I close my eyes as another wave of panic washes on the shore. Have I been worrying too much about what’s happening in Paris, not enough about what’s in front of me?

‘Mrs Wilding?’

‘Thanks for letting me know,’ I say.

She sounds relieved I’m still here.

‘Oh, it’s fine. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be having a word with him about it on Monday, so it’d be great if you could talk to him over the weekend.’

‘I will.’

‘You will let me know when you find him?’

‘Of course.’

‘It’s just there are procedures. If he disappears from the school grounds, I mean.’

‘Of course,’ I say again. ‘I’ll let you know.’

We say goodbye. Without thinking, I call Connor. His phone rings out then goes to voicemail, so I try Hugh. He answers straight away.

‘Julia?’ I can hear a discussion in the background; he’s not alone in the office. Vaguely, I wonder if he’s with Maria, but I hardly care.

My words tumble over each other, my voice cracks. ‘Connor’s gone missing.’

‘What?’

I repeat myself.

‘What do you mean, missing?’

‘The school secretary rang. Mrs Flynn. He was in school this morning, but he hasn’t gone back this afternoon.’

As I say it I see an image. Lukas, bundling him into a car, driving him off. I can’t shake the feeling that something dreadful is happening, and that Lukas is behind it, somehow. I thought I’d escaped, but he’s still there, a malevolent force, a siren pulling me into a nightmare.

I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, though I don’t believe it.

‘Have you called him?’

‘Yes. Of course I have. He didn’t answer. Has he phoned you?’

‘No.’ I picture him shaking his head.

‘When did you last speak to him?’

‘Calm down,’ he says. I hadn’t realized how panicked I sounded. He coughs, then lowers his voice. ‘It’ll be fine. Just calm down.’

‘He’s run away.’

‘He’s just bunking off school. Have you tried his friends?’

‘No, not yet—’

‘Dylan? He’s been hanging round with him a fair bit.’

I imagine the two of them in the park, drinking from a cheap bottle of cider, my son getting hit by a car as he crosses the road. Or maybe they’re messing about on a railway bridge, daring each other to go over the edge, to dodge an oncoming train.

‘Or Evie. Can’t you call her mother?’

Of course I can’t call her mother, I want to say. I don’t know who her mother is.

Again I see Lukas, this time standing over Connor. I blink the image away.

‘I don’t have her number. You think he’s with her?’

‘I don’t know.’

I think back to the other day, after he left me in the restaurant. He’d been packing his bag. I’m going to see Evie!

‘He’s with her.’ I begin to head up the stairs, towards his bedroom. ‘We need to find her.’

‘We don’t know that—’ says Hugh, but I’m taking the stairs two at a time, already ending the call.

I hesitate in the doorway of my son’s room, looking helplessly for some kind of clue. His bed is unmade, piles of clothes sit unhappily on his desk and chair, an empty glass is by the bed, a plateful of crumbs. He’s become more private in the last few weeks, I guess worried I’ll find a stash of magazines or a semen-encrusted T-shirt thrown under his bed, not realizing that the more private he becomes the harder I find it not to look.

I take a step in, and then stop. I call him again, but this time his phone is switched off. I try a third time, and a fourth, and this time I leave a message: ‘Darling, please call me.’ I try to keep my voice even, to keep everything from it but my concern. I don’t want him to hear anything he might mistake for anger, even for a moment. ‘Just let me know you’re all right?’

I go further into his room. I know why he’s doing this. I’d stopped him from running to Evie that day; now he’s showing me that if he wants to do something he will. There’s nothing I can do about it.

I look in his wardrobe first, then under his bed. Piles of clothes, old trainers, CDs and video games, but the bag isn’t there. He must have taken it to school, already packed. ‘Fuck!’ I say to myself. I stand in the middle of the room in the fading light of the afternoon. I’m drowning, helpless.

I open his computer and navigate first to his emails. There are hundreds, from Molly and Dylan and Sahil and lots of others, yet none from his girlfriend. I try Skype next, and then Facebook. He’s back online, of course. In the search box at the top of the screen I type ‘Evie’.

Her name appears, next to her photograph. It’s a different picture to the one he’s shown me; she looks a little older and is smiling happily. It’s not the girl at Carla’s party, I realize, though they don’t look dissimilar.

But in the background is the Sacré-Coeur.

I feel another tug downwards, another sickening plunge.

It’s nothing, nothing at all. I hear myself talking out loud. Lots of kids have been to Paris. The Sacré-Coeur is somewhere to visit, absolutely on the tourist trail, something to have your photograph taken in front of. It’s just coincidence that it’s also where Lukas proposed to Anna. It has to be.

A moment later the machine pings and a box appears in the bottom of the screen. It’s a new message. From Evie.

– You’re online! it says. Immediately, I’m back in the middle of my affair with Lukas. So many conversations that started with those words, or similar. So many times I let myself be drawn in.

Yet I’d wanted it, at the time. Hadn’t I? I’d wanted it all.

I push the thoughts away. I have to focus. I have to answer Evie’s message.

I remind myself she thinks she’s talking to my son. I could tell her she’s wrong, or I could find out what’s going on.

– Yes! I type.

– On your phone?

For a moment I don’t understand the relevance of her question, but then I realize. She’s assuming he’s not at his computer, not at home.

– Yes.

– I love you.

I don’t know what to say. Again I’m being slammed backwards, into the past, with a ferocity that leaves me breathless.

– Tell me you love me, too.

I have to focus on Connor. This girl thinks she loves him, or tells him so at least.

– I love you, I say.

– You got out of school okay? Are you on your way?

So it’s true. He’s bunking off, he’s gone to meet this girl. I’m about to reply when my phone rings. It sounds way too loud and I startle before snatching it up. ‘Connor?’ I say, but it’s not him. It’s Anna.

‘Julia,’ she says. She sounds hurried, breathless with anxiety, but I can’t deal with her right now. Next to Connor she seems utterly unimportant.

‘I can’t talk now. I’m sorry.’

‘But—’

‘Connor’s missing. It’s complicated. I’ll call you right back, I promise. I’m sorry.’

I end the call before she can reply, then type again.

– Yes. I’m on my way.

– I can’t believe I’m finally going to get to meet you! I can’t believe we’ve found him!

I feel myself contract, my skin pulls tight. Found who?

– Just imagine! After all this time! Your dad!

The trapdoor opens. I plunge.

So this is what he’s been doing? Trying to find his father.

Succeeding.

But how?

I force myself to stay in the present. I have to. I force myself to imagine what my son might write.

– I know! It’s going to be amazing! Where shall I meet you again?

I press send. A moment later she replies.

– At the station, where we arranged! See you there!

I lean forward to type, but a moment later her final message arrives. Three kisses. And then she’s gone.

Fuck, I think. Fuck. Maybe I should have told her who I am, that I’m furious, that she’d better tell me right now where she plans to meet my son.

But now it’s too late. The green dot next to her name has disappeared. She’s offline, and there’s no way of contacting her. I’m stuck, with no idea where my son has gone. The station. It could be anywhere.

The whirring cogs of my mind engage, the engine catches. I can’t afford the descent into despair. I have to stay focussed. I have to find him. Which station, where? There has to be a clue. There’s a pile of papers and magazines on the desk and I riffle through these, then I open the drawer. Nothing. Just pens and pencils, a copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy that Hugh gave him for his birthday a few years ago, a hole-punch and a stapler, a pair of scissors, Post-it notes, the detritus of study.

I stand up, turn round. I take in the football poster above his bed, the scarf over the back of his door. No clue, nowhere obvious to look.

And then I have an idea. I turn back to his computer and a moment later have pulled up his browser history. The first thing I see is a new Twitter account he must have created. @helpmefindmydad. But before I can even absorb what this means, I see, at the top, the last website he looked at. This morning, before school. Eurostar.com.

When I click on the link it takes me to a map of Gare du Nord.

He’s on his way to Paris.

Chapter Thirty-One

I try to tell myself it’s a coincidence, it has nothing to do with Lukas.

But I can’t believe it. Not today of all days. The day he’s due to return to Paris; it can’t be a coincidence that my son is going there, too.

Even if Hugh has spoken to Evie, even if he is sure she’s a girl.

Anna answers after the second ring. ‘Thank God,’ she says.

My mouth is dry, but I’m desperate.

‘Anna, listen—’

‘Thank God,’ she says again. I can hear relief in her voice, but there’s something else. She sounds awful. Out of breath, almost stricken with panic. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Her voice drops, almost to a whisper, I can barely hear what she’s saying. It’s as if she doesn’t want to be overheard. ‘I tried to tell him. I tried. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’

She sounds terrible, and her fear infects me. ‘Anna, what’s wrong? Where’s Lukas? Is he there?’

It’s as if she hasn’t heard me. ‘I couldn’t wait. I tried to tell him. Today. I tried to tell him it was over, that he had to go—’

‘Where is he? Anna!’

‘He’s stormed out. But he’ll be back any second. I went into his computer, Julia, like we agreed. To look at those files. I found something else.’

There’s a tremor in her voice. An uncertainty I haven’t heard before.

‘What? What did you find?’

‘There were these files. There was the one called “Julia”, but there was another.’

I know what she’s going to say.

‘It was called “Connor”…’

My world shrinks to nothing.

‘There were all these pictures.’

I’m frozen, a tiny point. I feel like I haven’t breathed for days. I force myself to speak. My voice is a whisper.

‘What sort of pictures?’

‘Just… you know. Pictures of him—’

‘What sort?’

‘Ordinary pictures. He’s just smiling at the camera.’

‘Jesus—’

‘Do you think he was using me, just to get to Connor—’

‘No. No, no.’

I wonder if my certainty is only because I can’t face the thought of it being true.

‘Connor’s run away.’

‘Run away?’

‘He’s gone to see Evie. His girlfriend. But he’s gone to Paris. They’re meeting Connor’s father.’

‘His father, but how—?’

‘I don’t know. Online, I think.’

‘Wait. What did you say his girlfriend’s name was?’

I close my eyes. Fear builds, infecting me. My skin is crawling. I force myself to speak.

‘Evie. Why?’

She sighs. ‘Julia, I found this list. On Ryan’s computer. All these usernames and passwords.’ She speaks hesitantly, as if she’s unsure, or is figuring something out as she goes. ‘At least that’s what I think they are.’ There’s a long pause. ‘One of them’s Lukas, but there are loads more. Argo-something-or-other, Crab, Baskerville, Jip. And there are all these names. Loads of them, God knows what he’s been doing.’

I know what she’s going to say, even before she says it.

‘One of them’s Evie.’

Something gives within me. I’m sure, now. ‘Oh God,’ I say. I’ve had weeks to understand. Months. I just haven’t wanted to.

‘How do you think he knows her? How does he know Connor’s girlfriend?’

‘Anna. He doesn’t know her. I think he is her.’

‘But—’

‘Is his computer there now?’

‘Yes…’

‘Go online. Look on Facebook.’

I listen as she goes into another room. I hear as she picks up a machine, there’s a swell of music as she wakes it from sleep. A few moments later she says, ‘I’m in. He’s left it logged on. What…?’

And then she stops.

‘What is it? Anna, tell me!’

‘You’re right. The photo he’s using is a young woman,’ she says. ‘And the name… it isn’t Ryan. You’re right, Julia. It’s Evie.’

It all hits me at once. All the things I’ve ignored, not wanted to see. All the things I’ve left unexamined. I go over to Connor’s bed. I sit on it; the mattress gives, the duvet smells of him. Of my boy. My boy, who I’ve put in danger.

‘Anna,’ I say. ‘You have to help me. Go to the station. Gare du Nord. Find my son.’

Downstairs, I call a taxi first and then Hugh. There’s no time to go round to his office, to explain face to face. I have to be on the next train to France.

He answers on the third ring. ‘Julia. Any news?’

I still don’t know what I’m going to say to him.

‘He’s on his way to Paris.’

‘Paris?’

He’s shocked. I want to tell him. I have to tell him.

Yet at the same time I don’t know how.

‘I can explain—’

‘Why Paris?’

‘He’s… he thinks he’s on his way to meet Evie.’

‘How d’you know?’

‘I spoke to her.’

‘Well, I hope you told her how ridiculous this is. He’s fourteen, for goodness’ sake. He shouldn’t be skipping school, taking off for Paris.’ He draws breath. ‘What did she say?’

I try to explain. ‘It’s not that simple. We were talking online. I logged on to Connor’s machine. She thought I was him. It’s how I know where he’s headed.’

I stop speaking. My cab is here, I can hear it idling on the street outside the front door.

‘I have to go,’ I say. I haven’t had time to pack a bag, but I have my passport, and the forty euros I brought back last time and left in a pot on one of the shelves in the kitchen is in my purse.

‘Where?’

‘To Paris. I’m going over there. I’ll get him back.’

‘Julia—’

‘I have to, Hugh.’

There’s a moment of silence as he decides what to do.

‘I’ll come, too. I’ll get the first train I can. I’ll meet you there.’

I sit on the train. I’m numb, I can’t focus on anything. I can’t read, or eat. I’ve left safety behind and don’t know what’s ahead of me.

I concentrate on being as still as possible. I look at the people around me. An American couple sitting across the aisle are discussing the meeting they’re obviously heading back from; they sound clipped and professional, I decide they’re not lovers, just workmates. Another couple, opposite, are sitting in silence, she wearing earbuds and nodding along to music, he with a tourist guide to Paris. I realize with sudden clarity that we’re wearing masks, all of us, all the time. We’re presenting a face, a version of ourselves, to the world, to each other. We show a different face depending on who we’re with and what they expect of us. Even when we’re alone it’s just another mask, the version of ourselves we’d prefer to be.

I turn away and look out of the window as we tear through the city, the countryside. We seem to be building momentum; we hit the tunnel at speed. The noise we make is a dull thud, and for a moment everything goes black. I close my eyes, and then see Frosty, putting her drink down – red wine, and as usual she’s drinking it through a straw. She’s fully made-up, even though it’s the middle of the day and her wig is still upstairs.

‘Honeybunch,’ she’s saying. ‘Where’s Marky?’

I look up. She looks terrified, and I don’t know why. ‘Upstairs. Why?’

‘Come on,’ she says, then she’s running out of the kitchen, and even though I’m following as quickly as I can we still move in slow motion, and we’re going up the stairs, up those dark, carpetless stairs. When we get to the bedroom I shared with Marcus the door won’t open. He’s propped a chair against it, and Frosty has to shoulder it open.

I shake the vision away. I check my phone again. There’s supposed to be a signal down here now, but I have none. I lean over to the American couple, and ask if they’re picking anything up. ‘Not me,’ says the woman, shaking her head, and her colleague tells me he’s already asked a member of staff and no one is. ‘Some problem with the equipment, apparently.’ I force a smile and thank them, then turn away. I’m just going to have to wait.

My mind goes to what Anna told me. Lukas’s usernames. Argo-something-or-other, I know. Crab, Baskerville, Jip. They’re related, I’m sure of it, though I can’t work out how.

Baskerville is easy, I think. There’s the typeface, of course, but the only other reference I can think of is Sherlock Holmes, The Hound of. Slowly it comes: Jip is from David Copperfield, as well as The Story of Dr Dolittle, and Crab is from Shakespeare, though I don’t remember which play. And Argos is from The Odyssey.

They’re all dog’s names.

I see it all, then. A burst of realization. A few years ago, when Connor was nine or ten, the three of us went on holiday to Crete. We stayed in a hotel, near the beach. One night we were at dinner, discussing our names, where they’d come from, what they meant. Later Hugh had looked them all up online, and at breakfast he told us what he’d found. My name means ‘youthful’, his means ‘mind’ or ‘spirit’.

‘And mine?’ asked Connor.

‘Well, yours is Irish,’ said his father. ‘Apparently, it means “lover of hounds”.’

The truth I’ve been dodging is no longer avoidable. Right from the beginning, from the very first time Lukas had messaged me, calling himself Largos86, it’d been about Connor.

All along.

Chapter Thirty-Two

We emerge from the tunnel into dusk. I grab my phone but there’s still no signal, and as I wait I look out of the window.

The French landscape looks unreal, shrouded in a thin gauze. I see the desolate hypermarkets, their huge car parks without a sign of the shoppers who’ve driven there. The train seems to have a different rhythm now, as if the mere fact of travelling to a different country has caused the world to shift, just slightly. I put my watch forward by an hour; my phone has set itself automatically. A minute later I see three bars in the display and a second after that my phone beeps with a waiting voicemail. It’s from Anna.

I listen to it. ‘Julia!’ she begins. Already I’m searching for clues; in the background I can hear what sounds like the bustle of the station, and she sounds excited. Good news? Can it be? She goes on.

‘I’ve got him! He was just getting off the train as I got here.’ Her voice is muffled, as if she’s holding her phone against her chest, then, ‘Sorry, but he won’t speak to you.’ She lowers her voice. ‘He’s embarrassed, I think. Anyway, we’re just sitting here having a milkshake, and when we’ve finished we’ll head back to my place. Ring me, when you get this, and we’ll see you there.’

Relief mixes with anxiety. I wish she’d sit with him, where she is, or take him somewhere else. Anywhere but back to her flat, I want to say. She doesn’t understand the danger she’s in.

I call her back; the phone rings out. Come on, I say to myself, over and over, but she doesn’t answer. I try her again, then a third time. Still nothing. It’s no good. I leave a message, it’s all I can do, and then I try Hugh.

No answer there either; his phone goes straight to voicemail. I guess he’s on a train behind me, with no reception. I leave a message, asking him to call me. I’m on my own.

I sit where I am. I concentrate on my breathing, on staying calm. I concentrate on not wanting a drink.

I try to work out why he’s doing it. Why he’s pretending to be my son’s girlfriend, why he’s luring him to Paris.

I think of the dogs. Largos86.

Finally my mind settles on the last truth it’s been avoiding.

Lukas is Connor’s father.

The elements begin to slot into place. He must’ve befriended Kate, first, maybe Anna around the same time. It’s possible neither knew of the existence of him in the other’s life; perhaps he was friends with Kate online only. He’d have been the one persuading her to try to get Connor back, and then, just when it looked like it might be about to succeed, she’d been killed.

And so he came after my son using the only other route open to him. Through me.

Why didn’t I see it? I think of all the times I’d suspected that there was more to our relationship than I knew, all the things I’d glimpsed, and then avoided.

I wonder what Lukas thought would happen. I wonder if he’d hoped I’d end my marriage to be with him, that we’d all become one big happy family.

I think back to those times. Kate, calling me. I want him back. He’s my son. You can’t keep him. I wish I’d never let you take him from me.

Now I know it was him. Lukas, telling her what to say. Lukas, who’d come back for his son. My son.

‘I want Connor,’ she’d said, over and over, night after night.

Deep down, I know she’d still be alive if I hadn’t said no.

We reach Gare du Nord and I step off the train and get a taxi. It’s dark now, rain falls on the silvered streets of Paris as we glide towards the eleventh arrondissement. I’ve called Hugh and given him Anna’s address; he said he’ll meet us there. Now I try Anna again. I have to speak to my son.

The screen shows that she’s online, available for a video chat. I press call and a few moments later a window opens on my screen. I can see Anna’s living room, the same furniture I’m used to, the same pictures on the walls. A moment later she appears.

‘Thank God. Anna—’

I freeze. She looks distressed, her eyes are wide, tinged with red. She looks terrified.

‘What’s wrong? Where’s Connor?’

She leans in close to the screen. She’s been crying.

‘What’s happened? Where’s my son!’

‘He’s here,’ she says, but she’s shaking her head. ‘Ryan came back. He was angry—’

I interrupt. ‘But you had Connor with you!’

‘No, no. Connor was waiting outside. But… I couldn’t stop him. The pictures on his computer… I think he’s going to send them to Hugh. And… and he hit me.’

She looks numb, almost as if she’s been anaesthetized.

I think of the time with David, the incident in the car, the knife.

‘He was angry.’

‘That’s no excuse! Anna, you have to get out of there!’

She leans in, close to the machine. ‘I’m okay. Listen’ – she looks over her shoulder – ‘I haven’t got long. I need to tell you something. I have a gun.’

At first I think I’ve misheard her, but her face is grave. I realize I haven’t, and she’s serious.

‘What…? A gun? What d’you mean?’

She begins speaking quickly. ‘When Kate died… a friend of mine… he said he could get me one. For protection. And I said no, but…’

‘But what?’

‘But then, this stuff with Ryan. I was scared. I…’

‘You said yes.’

She nods. I wonder how it came to this, and whether there’s anything she’s not telling me about Ryan. About what he might’ve done already.

‘But…’ I say. ‘A gun?’

She doesn’t answer. I see her look over her shoulder. There’s been a noise, and then it comes again. A thudding.

‘Listen…’ She’s speaking quickly, whispering. I struggle to make out what she’s saying. ‘There’s something else. Hugh made me promise not to tell you, but I have to—’

‘Hugh?’ His name is the last I expected to hear.

‘—it’s about Kate. The guy. The one they found with the earring. It wasn’t him.’

I shake my head. No. No, this can’t be.

‘What do you mean, it wasn’t him?’

‘He had an alibi.’

‘Hugh would’ve told me. He wouldn’t let me go on thinking…’

The sentence peters out. Maybe he would. For the sake of peace.

‘I’m sorry, but it’s true. He said—’ There’s a noise at her end, loud. It sounds like a door slamming, a voice, though I can’t make out what’s being said.

‘I’ve got to go. He’s back.’

‘Anna—!’ I begin. ‘Don’t—’

I never finish the sentence. Over her shoulder I see Lukas. He’s shouting, he looks furious. There’s a flash of something in his hand, but I can’t tell what it is. Anna stands, blocking my view. I hear him ask who she’s talking to, I hear the words ‘Who the fuck?’, and ‘kid’. She gasps, and the screen goes dark. I realize he’s pushed her into the table, she’s fallen against the laptop and blocked the camera. When the image returns the computer is on the floor and through its camera I can see the floorboards, a rug, the edge of one of the chairs.

Yet I can hear what’s going on. I can hear him saying he’s going to kill her, and her, gasping, crying, saying ‘No!’, over and over. I call out her name, but it’s no use. I hear a thud, a body against the wall, or the floor. I’m unable to take my eyes off the screen. Anna’s computer is knocked, the image changes. Her head appears, flung to the floor. She gasps, and then a moment later is jerked violently backwards. There’s a thud as his fist connects with her, a sickening crunch. I call out her name, but all I can do is watch as her head is jerked back again and again until, eventually, she’s silent.

I stare at the screen. The room is quiet. Empty. And still there’s no sign of Connor. Terror descends.

Desperate, I end the call. In terrible French I ask the driver how long we’re likely to be, and he says five minutes, possibly fifteen. I’m frantic, every nerve hums with energy that won’t be contained. I want to open the car door, to leap out into the traffic, to run to our destination, but I know even if I could it would be no quicker. And so I sit back and will the traffic to clear, the cars to go faster.

I dial Hugh. Still no answer.

‘Fuck!’ I say, but there’s nothing I can do. After a while I begin to recognize the streets. I remember walking here, back in April. Consumed by grief, burning in a fire that I’d fooled myself into thinking I had managed to avoid. How simple things had been back then – all I had to do was get through it, survive the pain – yet I hadn’t even seen it.

Finally we arrive in Anna’s street. I see the laundrette, still closed, and opposite there’s a boulangerie where, last time, we bought fresh bread for our breakfast. I need to be cautious.

I ask the driver to stop a few doors down from Anna’s building; it might be better if I surprise them. He does so, and I pay him. A moment after he pulls away my phone rings.

It’s Hugh. ‘I’ve just arrived in France. Where are you?’

‘At Anna’s,’ I say. ‘I think Connor’s here.’

I tell him what I’ve seen, ask him to call the police.

‘Anna was attacked,’ I say. ‘I’ll have to explain the rest later. And Hugh?’

‘Yes?’

I don’t want to ask him, but I know that I must.

‘The guy they arrested. What happened?’

‘What do you mean, what happened?’

Tell me the truth, I think. Tell me the truth, without me demanding it, and maybe we still have a chance.

‘You told me they charged him.’

He’s silent, and I know what Anna told me is right, and Hugh knows I know it, too.

I hear him cough. ‘I’m sorry.’

I don’t speak. I can hardly breathe, but I have to stay calm.

‘I thought I was doing the right thing. Julia?’

I tell myself everything will be fine. Hugh will call the police, they’ll be on their way soon. I try to tell myself that whatever he’s done, Lukas is Connor’s father. He might take him somewhere, but he won’t hurt him.

I should tell him. I should tell Hugh why we’re here. But I can’t. Not like this.

‘Just call the police and get here. Please.’

I run up to Anna’s building, then try the handle. I’m in luck. The digital entry lock is broken, as she told me it often is. The door opens and I step inside, closing it softly behind me.

I don’t turn on the light but climb the stairs. On the first landing I see Anna’s door, just as I remember it. A dull light shines through the glass panels, but when I stand beside it and listen I hear no sound. No voices, no shouting. Nothing. I go over to the writing bureau and, as softly as I can, pull out the drawer, praying that the key Anna stowed under it hasn’t been removed, and that she hasn’t changed her locks since I was last here.

My luck holds. It’s there, taped to the underside. I take it and stand once again outside Anna’s door. Still no sound. I let myself in. The light in the hallway is on, there’s a vase of dead flowers on the side table. I step forward; the creak of my shoes sounds improbably loud in the silence.

The apartment seems much larger in the dark. It takes all my willpower not to shout out, not to ask if anyone’s there. I realize I don’t know which I’m hoping for more; that someone is, or that the place is empty.

I search the apartment. One room at a time. The TV is on in the living room – some news channel, but muted – and in the kitchen I see that a chair is overturned and the sticky brown remains of a meal smear the walls. My foot crunches underfoot; when I look down I see the remains of the striped blue bowl that must have once contained it.

I carry on. I look in Kate’s bedroom then move on to Anna’s. I hesitate outside. I wonder what I might find in there. I picture Kate, with her head staved in, her hair matted with blood, her eyes open and limbs twisted.

I take a breath and swallow. I push open the door.

The bed glows blood red in the dim light, but when I flick on the light it’s just the duvet cover, slipped off the end of the bed. The room is as empty as the rest of the apartment.

I don’t understand. I take out my phone, switch on Find Friends. The purple dot still blinks, now superimposed on mine, right here, right where I’m standing. She should be here.

I press call. For a second I hear the international tone, and then there’s a buzzing, low and insistent, from somewhere near my feet. I bend down. A phone is rattling across the floor under the bed, flashing as it goes. It must’ve fallen to the floor, been kicked under there. I get on to my hands and knees and grab it, and at the same time see that there’s something else under there, too, something shiny and metallic. The gun.

I freeze. I don’t want to touch it. I wonder how it got here, under the bed. I imagine her and Lukas fighting, Anna going for the gun, trying to threaten him. Maybe it was kicked under here in the struggle. Or maybe she never got that far. Maybe she kept the gun here and didn’t even have the chance to go for it.

But where’s Connor?

I feel the world collapsing, begin to disintegrate. I breathe deeply and tell myself I have to stay calm. I sit on the bed, the gun beside me. Anna’s phone shows my missed call, but there’s another message, a text that has been sent to the phone from a number I don’t recognize. ‘Julia,’ it says. ‘If you want to find Connor, return this call.’

I hesitate, but only for a moment. I have no choice. I swipe the screen and the phone connects.

It’s a video call. After a moment, it’s answered; the outline of a face appears. It’s Lukas, he’s sitting in darkness, in front of a window. His body is blocking what little light comes in from the street outside, throwing him into silhouette. For a second I’m reminded of those true-crime TV shows, the victim unrecognizable, her voice disguised, but then my mind goes to the times we’ve chatted on video before.

‘You found the phone.’

I take a deep breath, try to muster as much courage as I can. I put my hand on the gun beside me; it gives me some kind of strength. ‘What d’you want?’ My voice still cracks. I’m aware of how impotent the question sounds.

He leans forward. His face is illuminated by the glow from his screen. He’s smiling.

He’s unchanged, yet I don’t recognize him at all. The Lukas I knew has gone completely.

‘Where’s Connor?’

‘I have no idea.’

His words are loaded with threat.

‘Let me see him.’

He ignores me. ‘Like I said, I’ve decided I want Connor’s share of your sister’s money.’

I know he’s lying. His words are flat, and unconvincing. Even if I didn’t know the truth, I’d be able to tell.

‘This isn’t about money. I know who you are.’

‘Really?’

I close my eyes. Hatred pours into me; my mind will not be still. How long has this man been talking to my son? His father, pretending to be his girlfriend.

For a moment I feel huge, unstoppable, as if my hatred is limitless and I could transcend the hardware that links us, the fibre optics, the satellites, and destroy him simply by willing it.

Yet I know I can’t. I force myself to refocus on the screen. Lukas is still talking, but I can’t hear him.

‘Let him go,’ I say. ‘Let them both go. What have they ever done to you?’

He doesn’t answer. He ignores me. He holds up the memory stick. ‘I told you what would happen if you didn’t leave me and Anna alone…’

An image swims into view. Me and him, in a hotel room, fucking. I have one hand on the headboard; he’s behind me. I feel sick.

‘Don’t do this. Please. Let me see Connor.’

He laughs. ‘Too late. I told you I’d tell your family the truth.’

He stands up, holding his camera phone in front of him so that his face remains static. It looks as though it’s the background that’s wheeling violently, a ship upturned. A bare light bulb spins into view – dead, I guess, or not switched on – and then a glass-panelled doorway, beyond which must be another room, and next to it a cooker.

‘Julia…’ he says. The image spins again, then freezes; he’s standing still, as if deep in thought. Over his shoulder I can see a window, through it the street. ‘I want Connor’s share of your sister’s money. It seems only fair, as I won’t be getting Anna’s any more.’

I can’t understand why he’s doing this. ‘I know this isn’t about the fucking money!’ I’m shouting, my anger coursing through me, a boiling intensity. ‘I know who you are, you creep!’

He ignores me. ‘Don’t forget those pictures. Tell you what. Why don’t you stay there tonight? Make yourself at home, I’m sure Anna won’t mind. Then tomorrow, first thing, I’ll come round. You can give me the money, and then you can have this.’ He holds up the memory stick once again. ‘Or else I can give it to your family. It’s up to you.’

I’m silent. I have nothing to say, nowhere to turn.

‘Right. Until tomorrow, then.’ He laughs. I’m about to answer when he says, ‘And if you like we can have one last fuck, just for old time’s sake.’

And then he’s gone.

I stand up. My rage is volcanic, yet impotent. I want to lash out, to smash and destroy, but there’s nothing I can do. I look down at the gun and pick it up. It feels heavy in my hand.

I don’t have time to think. The police haven’t turned up yet, but they might be here soon. A wasted journey for them, but I’ve effectively broken in. I’m holding a gun, they’ll ask questions. I have to get out. I pick up the pistol and rummage through the chest of drawers over by the window. I pull out a lemon sweater and wrap the gun in it, then put it in my bag. I close the door behind me as I leave, then slam down the stairs.

Lukas has made a mistake. When he turned his phone round in the kitchen I’d caught a glimpse through the window to the right of his shoulder, on to the street outside. It hadn’t been for long, but it’d been enough. Through the window I’d seen a street, a row of shops, a neon sign reading ‘CLUB SANTÉ!’ with a jaunty exclamation mark and a logo of a runner formed out of a curve and a dot. Above it was one word. ‘Berger’.

When I’m out of sight of the apartment I search on my phone, typing the words into the browser, praying that there’ll only be one branch. My heart sinks as two appear – one in the nineteenth, the other the seventeenth – but both have maps attached and one looks to be on a busy road while the other is opposite a park.

It must be the nineteenth, which I guess is a couple of miles away.

I have to go there. I have to get Connor back, and maybe I can force Lukas to give me the memory stick, scare him into letting Anna go and leaving us all alone.

I hail a cab. I give the address, then get in. ‘How long?’ I say to the driver, in English. It takes a moment before I realize my mistake and say it again: ‘Combien de temps pour y arriver?’

He looks at me in the rear-view mirror. He’s indifferent, largely. He shrugs, says, ‘Nous ne sommes pas loin.’ A plastic tree hangs off the mirror, and on the dashboard there’s a photo: a woman, a child. His family, I guess, mirroring mine. I look away, out of the window, at the streets as they slide by. Rain has begun to fall; it’s heavy, people have put up their umbrellas or are dashing with newspapers held over their heads. I rest my head against the cool glass and close my eyes. I want to stay like this for ever. Silent, warm.

But I can’t. I take out my phone and call my husband.

‘Hugh, where are you?’

‘We’re just getting into Gare du Nord.’

‘Did you call the police?’

He’s silent.

‘Hugh?’

‘Yes. I called them. They’re on their way.’

‘You need to call them back. Please. I went to Anna’s. She isn’t there. The place is deserted. She and Connor… I think something terrible has happened.’

‘Terrible?’

‘Just meet me here,’ I say. I give him the address. ‘As soon as you can.’

‘Why? Julia? What’s there?’

I close my eyes. This is it. I have to tell him. ‘Hugh, listen. It’s where Connor’s gone. This Evie, she doesn’t exist.’

‘But I spoke to her.’

‘It’s just a name he’s used to lure him here.’

‘Who? You’re not making any sense, Julia.’

‘Hugh, listen to me. Connor’s found his father. His real father. He’s here to meet him, but he’s in danger.’

There’s a silence. I can’t begin to imagine what my husband must be feeling. In a moment he’ll ask me how I know, what’s happened, and it will all come spilling out. I take a deep breath. I’m ready.

‘Connor’s father… I know him. He didn’t tell me who he was, but—’

Hugh interrupts me.

‘But that’s not possible.’

‘What?’

I hear him sigh. ‘I’m sorry, Julia. Kate told me—’

‘What?’

‘Connor’s father is dead.’

I’m silent. ‘What? Who is he then? That’s ridiculous.’

‘I can’t tell you now. Not like this.’

I hear an announcement in the background. His train is pulling in.

I begin to shout. ‘Hugh? Tell me!’

‘We’re here. I’ve got to go.’

‘Hugh!’

‘I’m sorry, darling. I’ll be there soon. I’ll tell you everything.’

Chapter Thirty-Three

We slow to a crawl, then stop in traffic. There are lights ahead, a busy junction where a railway bridge spans the road. Hugh is wrong, he must be. Connor’s father isn’t dead, he’s here, and he’s lured his son here, too.

‘Nous sommes ici,’ says the driver, but he’s pointing forward. I peer through the rain; ahead I can see the place. Berger. It’s still open, its doorway looks warm, inviting. A woman comes out, almost collides with a guy going in. I watch as she stands, lights a cigarette. I can’t sit still any longer; I have to get moving. The driver grunts as I tell him I’ll get out here; I pay him and then I’m on the pavement. The rain hits, instantly I’m soaked through. The woman with the cigarette is walking towards me; she nods as we pass, then I’m outside the gym. Lukas’s apartment should be just on the other side of the road, yet now I’m here I don’t know what to do. I glance over the road, past a stack of prefab offices covered in spray-painted graffiti. The building opposite is grey, its windows monotonously regular. It looks institutional; it could be a prison. I wonder which flat is his, and how I’ll get in. Further up the street a train thunders along rails and I see a row of bollards strung like sentinels along the pavement. Just beyond them is a kiosk, bright blue, advertising Cosmétiques Antilles, and just this side of it an alleyway arcs off the road, unlit, towards who-knows-where.

I know, then. I’m sure. I’ve seen this place before, on my computer. I hadn’t recognized it at first, not in the dark, but this is the place. I run past Berger to the mouth of the alleyway. I’m right.

This is where my sister died.

I run into the alleyway. It’s rain-soaked, in almost total darkness. I can’t believe it. I’m here. This is it. This is where my sister’s body was discovered, where her life bled out on to the cobblestones. This is where the nightmare that has been the last few months began.

My mind races. I’ve been a fool. All along. Lukas wasn’t on holiday in Australia, or at least he wasn’t when Kate was killed. It wasn’t a drug dealer who killed her.

Kate wasn’t mugged for a cheap earring, or attacked while buying drugs, or killed in a random attack on her way home from a bar. She’d come here to see him, to meet the father of her son.

I try to picture it. Was he hoping for a reconciliation? I see Kate rejecting him, telling him she wanted nothing to do with him, that he’d never see Connor again. They argue, insults are hurled, a fist is raised.

Or maybe it was his plan all along. To bring her here. To punish her for sending Connor away and then failing to get him back.

I take out my phone. I want Hugh. I need his help, I want to find out how far away he is, but it’s more than that. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that whatever Kate said, she lied. Connor’s father is alive, and he killed her. I want to make him understand, and tell him how I found out, and that it’s my fault and I’m sorry. I want to tell him I love him.

But his phone goes straight to voicemail. Once again, I’m alone.

I feel curiously calm, like stone, yet underneath it my stomach begins to knot and I’m aware it’s the first sign of an incoming tidal wave. I have to stay focussed, remain still. My hand goes to the gun in my bag, yet this time it doesn’t give me confidence. Instead it reminds me of the impossibility of what I have to do. For a moment I want to run, not to the police, but away. Away from everything, to a time when all this had never happened, and Kate is still alive and Connor is happy.

But that’s not possible. Time grinds forward, inexorable. And so I’m stuck; there’s no escape. I want to sink to the wet ground and let the cold rain wash over me.

All of a sudden there’s a noise, a shriek. I startle. A train is passing, overhead. It’s come from nowhere. I look up; it’s yellow and white, travelling so quickly it’s almost a blur. Still I can make out the passengers, all looking downwards, unsmiling. Reading newspapers, no doubt, working on laptops, using their phones. Had none of them seen what happened? Did no one happen to glance down to see my sister, fighting with Lukas?

Or maybe they did, and thought nothing of it. Just a row, an argument. They happen all the time.

The wheels squeal, the train passes, as quickly as it’d come. I look back to the end of the alleyway, where it joins the street.

And he’s there. Even though he can’t possibly know that I’m here, that I’ve worked out where he lives, he’s there. Standing at the end of the alleyway wearing the same blue parka he’d had on the other day. Lukas.

Something is released inside me. The wave builds and I take a step back. ‘What—?’ I begin, but I already know how he found me.

‘You think it was an accident? Letting you see over my shoulder? You’re a clever girl, Julia. I knew you’d work it out. Plus, I knew you wouldn’t want to leave it until tomorrow—’

‘Where’s Connor? Where’s my son?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Damn him. I begin to move. My hand goes to my bag, then inside it. I feel the weight of the gun, its hardness. I wonder if the rain will affect it, then remember it doesn’t matter. I have no intention of using it. I have to scare him. I have to make him think I’m capable of killing, something I now know he himself has done.

No. I stop the thought dead. Connor’s face comes into view. I can’t afford to think of Kate. Not now. I have to focus. I have to make him give me my son back, and then admit what he did, somehow get him to turn himself in.

I raise my face to him. Defiant. The rain hits.

‘I know what you did.’

‘What I did? To Anna? And what’s that, then?’

‘Here. I know what happened here. You were chatting to Kate, online. You… you enticed her here. You killed her…’

He shakes his head.

‘I know you’re Connor’s father. No matter what she told Anna, or me, or Hugh. You’re Connor’s father.’

His eyes narrow. ‘You’re even crazier than I thought. I didn’t even know Kate.’

‘Liar.’ I try to steady my voice and say it again. ‘You’re a liar.’

‘Don’t be absurd. I didn’t—’

I lift my hand up out of my bag. The sweater drops away. He sees the gun, his eyes go wide.

‘Fuck!’

I feel it coming. The boiling anger, the rage. The wave is breaking, but I can’t give in to it, not yet. I have to keep my head clear.

‘You killed Kate!’ My fury is molten lava; it burns and will not be contained. I wipe the rain out of my eyes with the back of the hand holding the gun. ‘You killed my sister!’

He takes a step forward. ‘Julia,’ he says, ‘listen to me…’

A look of fear flashes on his face and his swaggering bravado drops away. He’s Lukas again, the man I once knew. My mind goes to the time I’d been angry with him, told him I wasn’t sure what was happening between us or whether I wanted it to continue. He’d looked frightened, then. I thought that was because he loved me, when really it was because I was close to escape.

I raise the gun. I point it at his chest. I think of pulling the trigger, seeing the red bloom on his shirt. For an instant I wish I could do it.

‘Stay away from me!’

He freezes. I see him try to work out what to do. He probably thinks he could rush at me, grab the gun. He probably thinks I wouldn’t pull the trigger.

‘I said stay away!’

He takes a step back. He looks less certain now, he doesn’t know what to do. He glances back to where he came from, then up to his apartment, as if the answer will be there.

‘This is what’s going to happen.’ I hesitate; I’m trying to calm down. ‘We’re going to go up to your apartment. We’ll let Anna go, and then—’

‘Listen.’ He looks at me, imploring, and for a moment I want to believe he’s innocent, that none of this is real. ‘You’ve got this all wrong. I didn’t kill your sister. I never even met her. Anna said she knew you’d inherited some money and she thought we could get it…’

I stab the gun towards him. ‘You’re lying.’

‘No, listen. Anna’s just a casual thing, you know? I met her online. Just like you. A few months ago—’

‘Shut up!’

‘—we’re not getting married. She said we should blackmail you.’

I take a step towards him. My finger rests on the trigger. ‘Stop pretending this is about money!’

I close my eyes, open them again. I want to believe him. I want to believe that this has nothing to do with Connor.

But it does. My son is missing. Of course it does.

‘Where’s Connor?’

‘It was just part of the game. I don’t know anything about your son. You have to believe—’

I shout. ‘Where is he?’ My voice echoes off the cold walls of the alleyway. He shakes his head. ‘My son is missing. My sister was killed right here, right where we’re standing, and you expect me—’

‘What?’

He looks genuinely confused.

‘She died here.’

He shakes his head. ‘No. No.’

Again, doubt creeps in. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe this is a mistake.

I level the gun. I won’t let him convince me again. Over his shoulder I can see down the alleyway; there’s a figure, crossing the road, coming slowly towards us. A passer-by? There haven’t been any of those, not since we got here.

It looks like Anna. I don’t want him to turn and see her.

‘Stop lying to me.’

‘Julia. Believe me. How can I have killed your sister? I was in Australia. You know that…’

I ignore him. The approaching figure is under the street lamp now. I’m right, it is Anna, and even in the dim light I can see that she looks awful. Her face is bruised, there’s a dark patch on her white shirt that might be blood. I gasp, I can’t help it. ‘Anna!’

Lukas looks round but doesn’t move. She runs past him and joins me.

‘Julia, whatever he’s saying, he’s lying.’ She’s out of breath, but speaks quickly, furiously. ‘Listen to me… he killed Kate… I found out… it was over Connor… but he made me lie… he made me…’

My last shred of hope falls away. I look into his eyes and remember that I loved him – or thought I did at least – and he had killed my sister.

‘It was you.’

‘Don’t be absurd. Don’t believe her! Julia! I didn’t kill your sister. I swear—’

‘You killed her.’ I’m almost whispering; my words are swallowed by the rain. ‘And then you made me fall in love with you.’ I hesitate. The words won’t come. ‘I loved you and you killed my sister. You used me to get close to Connor.’

‘No!’ He steps forward. The rain has plastered his hair to his forehead; it drips from him, soaking him. ‘I didn’t kill anyone, I swear.’ He looks from me to Anna. ‘What are you doing?’ He reaches for her but I wave the gun and he backs off. ‘How can you say you lied for me? I lied for you!’

I lift the gun up.

‘Tell her!’ he says, then. He’s speaking to Anna. ‘Tell her I was abroad that night!’

She shakes her head. ‘I’m not lying for you again.’ She sobs. ‘I lied to the police, but I’m not doing it again. You told me you were abroad, but you weren’t. You killed her, Lukas. You did it.’

‘No!’ he says. ‘No!’ But I can barely hear him. All I can hear is Anna. You did it.

‘Listen,’ he says. ‘I can explain—’

My hand begins to shake. The gun is heavy, slick with rain. ‘Where’s Connor?’

No one speaks.

‘Where is he?’

Anna looks at me. ‘Julia,’ she says, and I can see that she’s crying. ‘Julia. Connor… is upstairs. I tried to protect him…’

I look at the blood on her shirt.

‘I couldn’t. We need an ambulance. We have to get him to a hospital—’

Everything collapses. It’s automatic, impulsive. A reflex. I don’t even think. I look at the gun in my hand and, beyond it, Lukas.

I pull the trigger.

What happens next isn’t supposed to. There’s an instant – an almost imperceptible moment – of something that resembles stillness. Stasis. I don’t feel as if I’ve made an irreversible decision; for a moment it’s as if I can still take it all back. Turn away. Become something else, or follow a path that leads to a different future.

But then the gun fires. My hand leaps up with the kick; there’s a flash and the noise hits. It’s intense; my whole body reacts as the gun’s blast echoes off the walls of the alleyway. A second later it’s gone, replaced by a deadening numbness. In the silence I look in horror at the gun in my hand, as if I can’t believe what I’ve done, and then I look at Lukas.

He’s spinning, away from me, his hands at his chest. Even as he turns I can see that he’s wide-eyed, terrified; within a second or two he’s lying on the ground against the opposite wall of the alley. Stasis returns. There’s a whistling in my ears, but all else is quiet. I look at the gun. There’s a faint smell, dry and acrid, like nothing I’ve known before. Nobody moves. Nothing happens. I can feel my heart beat.

And then a red smudge blooms on his shirt, the world of sound crashes back in, and everything happens at once.

I step back, feel the cold wall against me. Lukas speaks; it sounds unnaturally loud now that my hearing has returned, yet still it’s little more than a thin, reedy noise in his throat. ‘You stupid bitch! You fucking shot me!’

My courage has gone, my bravado has disappeared. My hand goes to my mouth.

He’s panting, looking down at the blood that’s beginning to seep through his fingers. He cries out. I can’t make out what he’s saying, it’s little more than a rasping moan, but he looks from his bleeding chest to Anna and there seems to be a name in there. It sounds like ‘Bella’.

The word seems familiar, vaguely, but I can’t place it. I look over at Anna. Help me, I want to say. What have I done? But she’s looking at me. Her face is cold. Her eyes wide, as if in shock, yet at the same time she’s wearing half a smile.

‘Bella,’ he says again.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ she says. She takes a step forward. She moves slowly. She is utterly calm.

I look at her. I’m incredulous. I don’t know what to say. My mouth opens, closes. She looks at me.

My world is imploding. I can’t work out what is happening. Everything seems too bright, as if I’ve been staring into the sun. I can only make out outlines, shadows. Nothing is solid, nothing seems real.

‘Where’s Connor? Where is he?’

She smiles, but says nothing.

‘Anna? What’s this about? We’re friends…? Aren’t we?’

She laughs. The name begins to float to the surface. I’ve heard it before. I know I have. Bella.

I just can’t yet place it. I look to the body at my feet, desperate for help. ‘Lukas?’ He looks up at me. He’s gasping, pale. His eyes close, open again. ‘Lukas?’

He tries to take another deep breath, to speak, but the words fracture and fail.

Anna speaks. It’s difficult to tell, but it looks as though she’s begun to cry. ‘The police will be here soon, Julia.’

I look at the gun in my hand, at the man I’ve just shot. The truth begins to emerge, yet still it’s distorted, not yet in focus.

‘I didn’t mean to kill him.’

‘You never do—’

‘What—?’

‘Yet people still keep dying…’

I don’t know what she means. ‘What? Anna—!’

‘Oh, Julia. You still haven’t worked it out, have you?’

I begin to sob. ‘It’s your gun. Yours. You’re the one who told me about it.’

‘But I’m not the one who pulled the trigger.’

‘He killed my sister!’

She smiles, then, and steps forward into the light. ‘No, he didn’t.’

Her voice is utterly cold, her words sharp enough to sever flesh.

‘What?’

‘It was me she was meeting that night. I said we needed to talk. But not here.’ She looks at Lukas, lying silently on the floor. ‘At his place. He said we could use it.’

‘What?’

‘But she was late. She stayed for one more drink. So I bumped into her here. Right where we’re standing.’

‘Kate?’

She nods. ‘I told her it was time. We’d tried everything, but you still wouldn’t give Connor back. So I said we ought to tell you the truth.’

A wave of dread wraps itself around me, around my throat. I fight for breath.

‘It was you? Persuading her…’

‘Yes. I said we should tell you about Connor’s father. Tell you that he had family, family that would look after him. Not just Kate—’

Again I look at Lukas. ‘Him?’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous. He was just some bloke I was fucking.’ She shakes her head. ‘I mean me.’

I take a step back. The gun drops to my side. I don’t believe what I’m hearing.

‘But—’

‘She wouldn’t listen. She said she wasn’t telling you. It would hurt you too much.’ She shakes her head. ‘As if you getting hurt matters in the slightest, after what you did. We fought.’

‘What…? Who are you?’

‘I didn’t mean to push her over.’

‘You killed her!’

She looks at me. She raises her chin, defiant. Her hate is almost physical; sticky and cloying. It penetrates deep within me. She looks at me and I can see that I disgust her.

‘I pushed her over. She hit her head. I was angry, I wanted to stop, but…’ She shrugs. ‘I didn’t know she was dead when I left her. But yes. I left her here and I went round to his place’ – she looks again at Lukas – ‘and then the next day I found out she was dead. And I was glad. You know that? Glad I left her here, alone.’

My sobs turn into scalding tears. They run down my face. I raise the gun.

‘I’m glad because that’s exactly what you did to my brother.’

‘What…?’ I say, but an image comes. The last time I’d stood over a body, a dying man. And then finally it snaps into focus. I remember the name Marcus had had for his sister.

‘Bella… You’re Bella.’

I see it now, the thing I’ve failed to see all this time. In certain lights, from certain angles. She looks a little like her brother.

Suddenly I’m back there. I see him that night, his face ashen, bloodless, yet filmed with sweat. He looked unreal somehow, made of rubber. Spittle fringed his mouth; there was vomit on the floor. ‘Go!’ said Frosty.

‘No. I can’t.’

She looked up at me. She was crying. ‘You have to. If they find any of us here—’

‘No.’

‘—it’ll be over for all of us.’ She stood up, she held me. ‘There’s nothing we can do for Marky now, honey. He’s gone. He’s gone—’

‘No!’

‘—now you have to go, too.’

And then I’d seen it. The truth. The people’s lives I’d ruin by staying behind with a man it was too late to help.

‘But—’

‘I promise I’ll let them know he’s here.’ She kissed me, the top of my head. ‘Go, go now. And look after yourself.’

And then she went back to Marcus and, with one final glance at his body, I turned away and left him behind.

I look up at the woman I’d thought was my friend Anna. At the woman who’s been pretending to be my son’s girlfriend. ‘You’re Marcus’s sister.’

No response. My hands shake.

‘Look. I don’t know what you think—’

‘Marcus was coming home. You know? We were going to look after him. We loved him. His family. Not you. You weren’t even there. You left him.’

‘He overdosed, Anna! You might not like that, but it’s true. He’d been clean for weeks, he took more than he could cope with. It was nobody’s fault.’

‘Is that right?’ She shakes her head slowly, her eyes narrowed with bitterness. ‘You were selling your photographs, buying him drugs. I know that—’

‘No. No.’

‘And then when he couldn’t take it any more, when he overdosed, you left him to die.’

‘No! I loved him. I loved Marcus…’ I’m sobbing now, my body convulsing, my tears mingling with the rain that runs down my face. ‘I’ve never loved anyone like I loved him.’

Her cold gaze locks with mine.

‘You don’t even know what happened. He was dead already. I had to leave. Marcus had… we were… I just had to go.’

‘You left him there, dying on the floor. You ran away. Back home to start your new life, with your lovely little house and your oh so fucking successful husband. And your son. Darling Connor.’

‘Connor. Where is he?’

‘You took everything from me. My mother hanged herself—’

I point the gun at her. ‘Where is he?’

‘Then my father went, too. You should have gone to prison for what you did.’ She pauses, her head tilted. Over the driving rain I can hear sirens. ‘And now you will. They’re coming for you.’

I scream. ‘What have you done to my son?’

‘Connor? Nothing. I’d never hurt Connor. He’s the only thing I’ve got left.’

It hits me then, finally. ‘Marcus? Marcus was Connor’s father?’

She says nothing, yet as much as I don’t want to believe it, I know it’s true. I see it all. It must’ve been when Kate came to visit. Just before Marcus died.

She nods. ‘I didn’t know he’d had a child. But then last year Kate told me all about Connor. How she’d got pregnant when she visited her sister in Berlin, and her sister still didn’t know. I had no idea she was talking about Marcus, but then she showed me that picture of the two of you. I nearly told her that Marcus was my brother, but I decided not to. You know why? Because, finally, it all made sense. After all these years I now knew who the bitch was who’d left him to die.’ She looks me in the eye. ‘It was you, Julia. And here I was, living with your sister.’ She shakes her head. ‘That photo. I started to see him everywhere…’

‘If you’ve hurt my son—’

‘He’s my nephew, and I want him, Julia. He can’t stay with you. Look at you. Look at what you’ve done. You’re not fit to be his mother. I proved it. I sent the videos to Hugh, to everyone. They’ll all know what a cheap slut you are now.’

So that’s it. It had been about getting Connor back, all along. Not the money.

I look at Lukas. Lukas, who thought he was blackmailing me for money. He’s lying, motionless, his unseeing eyes wide open.

I hear a car pull up, a door open. I daren’t turn round. I look at the gun in my hand. It’s as if it has nothing to do with me.

He’s dead. The man who is the proof of what’s been going on, is dead. And I killed him.

‘A slut,’ says Anna. She takes a step towards me. She’s almost close enough to touch. I can hear footsteps, close by. I risk a quick glance over my shoulder. Two police cars have pulled up and Hugh is getting out of the first, along with three or four officers. They’re all shouting, a mix of French and English. Hugh’s voice is the only one I can make out. ‘Julia!’ he’s saying. ‘Julia! Put the gun down!’

I look at him. In the car behind him I can see another figure and with a jolt of relief I realize it’s Connor. He’s looking at me. He looks lost, bewildered. But he’s alive. Anna was lying. He’s safe. Hugh must’ve found him, wandering Gare du Nord, just as Anna had pretended to. Or perhaps he finally relented and turned his phone on, to call his dad.

‘Julia!’ says Hugh again. He skids to a halt. The police are ahead of him, they’ve crouched on the ground. There are guns pointing at me. I look at Anna.

‘She killed Kate!’ I say.

Anna speaks, too quietly for anyone but me to hear. ‘You’re a junkie and a slut and a murderer.’

I’m still looking at my husband. I remember what he’d said, on the phone on the way here. Connor’s father is dead.

He’d known. Kate must have told him. And he’d kept it to himself.

I look back at Anna. I know she’s telling the truth. She’s sent the pictures to Hugh.

She smiles.

‘I took it all. I’ve ruined your life, Julia, and now you’ll lose your son.’

‘No—’ I begin, but she silences me.

‘It’s over, Julia.’

I raise the gun. The police shout, Hugh says something, but I can’t make it out. I know she’s right. Whatever happens, it’s over now. There’s no way back. I’ve loved someone, someone who isn’t my husband. I’ve loved someone and I’ve shot him. I can’t go back from this. My life – my second life, the one I escaped into when I ran from Berlin – is over.

‘I should kill you,’ I say.

‘Then do it.’

I close my eyes. It’s what she wants. I know it is. And if I do she’s won. But I don’t care, now. I’ve lost Hugh, I’ll lose Connor. It’s irrelevant.

My hand is shaking, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I want to fire the gun, and at the same time I don’t. Maybe it’s not too late, maybe I can still prove it was Bella who killed my sister, that she tricked me into shooting Lukas. But I can’t work out what difference it will make; Lukas may have been many things, but he was no murderer. I’ve killed an innocent man; whether deliberately or not hardly seems to matter. I can’t live with myself either way.

I open my eyes. Whatever happens next, whether I shoot or not, it’s over.