by S. J. Watson
‘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 wron
g. ‘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 prep
ared 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.
