Second Life

by S. J. Watson

  ‘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 h
ere. 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.’