My mind will not be still, will not be rational. This is what he’s done to me. This is how low he’s brought me. I’m rejecting all sense.
My heart hammers. I remember logging on to Facebook, navigating to his page. I’d scrolled back to the photos of him in Australia, in Sydney, in front of Uluru. The dates tallied. I clicked on his friends, the ones he was with, and saw they’d posted more pictures from that holiday. One of him on a beach, another in which he’s surfing, a third of him snorkelling off a boat. The evidence had been there.
If he had anything at all to do with Kate’s death, then half of his friends must’ve been in on it.
I feel my breathing go back to normal. He’s not a killer, just a nasty piece of work. Scaring me because he knew my sister had been killed. Maybe it’s his revenge, for ending it, for running out on him. How he must hate me.
There must be a way to warn my friend. I pick my phone up from the bedside table and scroll quickly through to Anna’s name. Without hesitating, I press call; I don’t think as it rings out, but then it goes to voicemail. It’s as if she’s silenced it, and I wonder what they’re doing. Maybe they’ve skipped Ronnie Scott’s, or wherever they’ve gone instead, and are on their way back to the hotel.
I picture them. She’ll be under him, kissing him as he enters her, running her fingers down the muscles of his back.
Or maybe she’ll be cowering, in terror, a bruise already forming.
A wave of nausea hits me and I swallow it down. I have to believe he loves her. I have to. Their relationship is genuine; he’s just someone who saw a photo of me – perhaps the one that Anna took when I was over in Paris – and decided he wanted me.
I imagine the conversation. Anna telling him she met me, showing him the snap. ‘She’s really nice,’ she says, and he agrees. And then he comes for me, and I was only too willing to let him have me.
That must be it. He won’t attack her.
But then my own memory surfaces again. The carpet beneath me in the hotel room, the burns on my wrists. I know what he’s capable of. I have to warn her. She has to know before they’re even married that he’s prepared to do something like that.
I pick up my phone once more. This time I leave a message. ‘Call me.’ I try to control my voice, make it sound like I’m not nervous, not scared. ‘It’s urgent,’ I add. ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about.’ I lower my voice, even though Hugh is still downstairs and can’t possibly hear me. ‘It’s about that guy I was seeing. It’s about Lukas.’ I wince when I say his name. ‘Please call me.’
I put the phone back down. I get my computer out of my bag and with shaking hands navigate to the trashcan. The file I deleted the other day is still there, the messages I’d saved. I open a few, as if to check I’m right. He said he lived in Cambridge. No mention of a girlfriend, much less a fiancée.
I decide I should print one out, just in case I need it to persuade Anna, but the printer’s upstairs, in Hugh’s office. I pick up my machine and go up, flicking on the light as I do, barely even registering the paperwork that’s begun to litter the floor since Hugh has had the complaint hanging over him. I select a message and print it out. On paper, it’s solid, irrefutable. ‘There’s no one else I want but you,’ it says. ‘We were made for each other.’
Even so, all it proves is that I’ve been messaging someone called Lukas, and she knows that in any case. I wish I had a photo, one of the two of us, but I don’t. I’ve deleted any I took, too scared that Hugh might find them.
I fold the page anyway and put it in my bag, then check my phone. She hasn’t called, and I know what I have to do. I go back downstairs. Hugh’s in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher.
‘I’m just going out.’
‘Where on earth to?’
I try to sound calm, breezy, even though I feel the opposite. ‘I thought I’d go and meet Anna and Ryan, after all. In the jazz bar.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes. I feel awful, about over-reacting. I want to apologize. Anyway, it might be fun. And Anna’s right. I don’t see her very often.’
He looks puzzled, bemused. For an awful moment I worry he’ll suggest coming with me, but then I remember Connor. ‘I won’t be late. Would you make sure Connor goes to bed?’
‘Of course.’ He picks up another plate.
‘He has school tomorrow.’
‘I know. You go. Enjoy yourself. Will you take the car?’
I know why he’s asking. He wants to make sure I won’t slip up and have a drink. He needn’t worry; I won’t go to Ronnie Scott’s. I can’t risk a confrontation in a noisy club, full of strangers. Instead I’m going to wait outside Anna’s hotel.
‘I will,’ I say. ‘And leave this, will you? I’ll tidy the rest of the dinner things in the morning.’
He nods. ‘Okay.’
I head straight to the hotel. When I arrive I park the car and call Anna again: still no answer; once again it goes straight to voicemail. I slam the steering wheel. I’m going to have to go in.
The lobby is large, impressive, but I barely notice it. I go into the bar and find a deep leather sofa, near the door. Through the glass partition I can see the main entrance. I won’t miss them.
A waiter comes over to ask if I’d like a drink. ‘Mineral water,’ I say, and he nods, as if that’s what he’d been expecting all along. He goes back to the bar and delivers my order with a whisper, a glance over his shoulder towards where I sit.
My drink arrives with a bowl of pretzels. The waiter hesitates for a moment, blocking my view of the entrance, then bends towards me. ‘Waiting for someone?’ he says as he wipes the table before setting my drink down and tidying the snacks and napkins. He’s trying to sound casual, but his question has an edge of disapproval. ‘Yes,’ I say. My voice cracks with nerves. ‘Yes, I am,’ I say more forcefully.
‘Very good.’ I don’t think he believes me. ‘A guest?’
‘Yes. She’s staying here.’ He doesn’t move on. ‘She’s just got engaged. In fact, could I get a bottle of champagne? A surprise, for when she arrives? Two glasses?’
He nods, then stands up. ‘Very good.’ He turns to leave. When I look back into the lobby I see Anna. She must have arrived while I was talking to the waiter. She looks different somehow, sadder and more serious than when she’d left my house an hour or so ago, and it takes me a moment to recognize her. I begin to stand, but she’s already heading into the lift. I could shout out, but the door between us is closed and she’d never hear me. Nevertheless, my heart lifts – for a moment I’m in luck: she’s alone – but then it plummets. I see Lukas just a few steps behind her. I freeze, then watch as he waits to let a couple go ahead of him. By the time I’ve started moving again I can see that I’m going to be too late.
‘Shit.’ The lift doors are about to close, but then Anna sees me, over her fiancé’s shoulder. She stares for a moment, she looks shocked, but before I can even smile the lift doors have closed and she’s out of sight.
I head out of the bar and into the lobby. I run over to the lift, but it’s already ascending. I watch, cursing silently, as it stops on the third, fifth and sixth floors; I have no way of knowing which is theirs, much less what room they’re in. When it begins to come back down again I turn and head back to my seat, scrabbling for my phone, imagining their conversation.
‘I’m sure I saw Julia in the lobby,’ she’ll have said. ‘I wonder what she’s doing here?’
‘No,’ he’ll say. ‘It wasn’t her.’
They’ll get to the room. ‘Come here…’ he’ll say, and he’ll kiss her, undress her, the way he had with me. She’ll feel herself give in to him. Their hands, their mouths, will find each other. His prick will already be stiffening when she begins to undo his trousers.