‘Oh, and this.’ This one is different, taken in the hotel after we’d had sex. In it I’m standing up, smiling at the camera; he’s caught me as I was dressing. I remember the day he took it. I’d been flattered at the time; he wanted a memento, some reminder of the day.
I’d been glad, yet I remember I’d asked him to delete it. ‘I just feel uncomfortable,’ I’d said. He told me I was beautiful, that he wanted a picture. ‘Please, Lukas,’ I said. ‘Delete it?’
Clearly, he hadn’t. Now, as I look at it, I’m horrified. It’s like one version of me looking at another. Julia, looking at Jayne. I’d thought I could keep them separate, in boxes, locked away, but I was wrong. Things have a habit of escaping.
Another wave of despair hits. None of it was real. From the beginning it was based on a lie, an illusion of love.
‘Anyway, you get the general idea.’
‘You bastard…’ I whisper. Even this word feels wholly inadequate, after what he’s taken from me.
‘Oh, come on now. These pictures are great! You should know. It’d be very selfish of me not to share…’ His hand goes to his pocket again. When he takes it out he’s holding a memory stick. He holds it up. ‘Here’s your copy, for example.’ I stare at it but refuse to take it from him. ‘No? You might as well have it. There are plenty more…’ He smiles, then puts it between us on the dashboard.
‘But you’re in half of these photographs. Why would you share them?’
‘I’m in some of them, yes. But not all. And, in any case, I don’t have a child. I’m not married to a surgeon. I think I’d just about get away with it.’ He smiles. ‘Just think…’ He shakes his head, tutting. ‘Imagine what the press would say. The Mail? TOP SURGEON’S WIFE IN SEX SCANDAL? It might even go viral. Don’t you think?’
I don’t reply. He’s right. The future collapses in slow motion. On top of the complaint against Hugh, it would be too much. I see the scandal, our friends turning away from us. Maria, Carla – all of his colleagues. I imagine myself walking down the street, feeling people’s eyes burning into me, not knowing what they’d seen, what gossip they’d believed.
He’s won, I think, and there’s nothing I can do. He has Anna, he will get his hands on my sister’s money, and then he’ll abuse and mistreat Anna the way he has me.
He hasn’t finished, though. ‘There’s Hugh’s boss at the hospital, too. All his colleagues. Can’t be good for business. For his reputation. There’s Connor’s school, all those parents. I can’t imagine it’d be too difficult to get hold of their email addresses. Oh,’ he says, as if something’s just occurred to him, ‘I just remembered. There’s all those porn websites I can upload these to. “Hot amateur.”’ He looks at me, watching for my reaction. ‘“Older woman fucks young stud.”’
It happens suddenly, comes from nowhere. I slap him, as hard as I can. It’s as if all the energy I’ve been clamping down has erupted. I want to kick and scream and fight.
Yet his only response is to laugh quietly, almost under his breath, and I realize he’s pleased.
He looks at me. His eyes are expressionless. I wonder if he’s capable of experiencing pain.
‘So, as I was saying, you’re going to stay away from me and Anna.’
I feel myself begin to cry. I tell myself I won’t let the tears come, I won’t give him the satisfaction, but they burn behind my eyes.
Yet at the same time I’m almost relieved. When everything’s gone, there’s no more pain, nothing else to lose.
Staying away from him and Anna – it might be difficult, but it can be done.
‘Plus,’ he says, ‘why not have a think about how much these pictures might be worth to you. I mean, I know your sister left a bit of money to Anna, but I understand there’s a lot more that’s gone to your son…’
‘You bastard,’ I say again.
He turns to open the door. The temperature in the car seems to drop as he moves away from me and the rest of the world rushes in. ‘I ought to be going,’ he says. ‘Anna will be wondering where we are. Plus, I guess you’ve got a lot to think about. I’ll tell her you were still upset, you had to get home to Connor. Something.’
I want to give up, to let him go, but then I think again of Kate and I know what I have to do. I’m strong enough; this year has taught me that, if nothing else. I’m stronger than I think.
‘Wait.’
He pulls the catch, but doesn’t step out. He turns to me, instead. ‘What?’
‘Anna trusts me.’ Now I’ve made my decision, my voice is strong, defiant. ‘She’ll never believe you. Not if I tell her what you’re doing.’
He closes the car door.
‘Tell her whatever you like. The truth is, Anna is beginning to think you’re a bit crazy. Sick. She thinks your sister’s death might have sent you off the rails. That perfect life you had… and now…’ His hand goes to his pocket. ‘She thinks you’re a little bit unpredictable. A tiny bit jealous, perhaps. Which of course you are, though she doesn’t know why.’
I think back to the time I spent with Anna in Paris, to all the conversations we’ve had over the months. He’s wrong.
‘You’re lying. Whatever—?’
‘Makes her think that? I guess this doesn’t help…’ He holds his hand up, between us. He’s holding something; it must’ve been in his pocket. It takes me a moment to realize it’s a knife.
I’m overcome with panic. I try to back away but the car is cramped and there’s nowhere for me to go. It happens in an instant. He grabs my hand with both of his, so that he’s holding me tight. The knife is exposed, sticking out towards me, in his hand though it looks as if it’s in mine. I struggle to free myself, thinking he’s trying to stab me, and he begins swinging my hand, left, right, back again. It’s as if we’re struggling, as if he’s trying to get the knife off me, even though he’s the one holding it. I hear a voice, shouting, and at first I think it’s coming from outside the car, but then I realize it’s me and I see it all. It’s as if I’m watching from the street, peering into the car. It looks as though I’m trying to stab him as he tries to hold me off with both hands. He relaxes for a moment, and just as I think he’s about to drop the knife he does it. With sudden ferocity he pulls both hands towards his face and the knife he’s holding catches against the skin of his cheek. ‘Fuck!’ he says, and then a moment later there’s a dull gush of blood.
‘You silly bitch.’ He smiles. He shoves my hands away as if I repulse him and drops the knife. It falls into my lap and I see it’s just a kitchen knife, one I’d use for preparing vegetables, and was never going to do much damage. Yet still it’s sharp, it’s cut him, the blood is beginning to run down his cheek.
‘You tried to stab me!’ He scrabbles, as if he’s trying to get away from me, then he’s stumbling, out of the car. I’m speechless, dumb. There are a couple outside the car, a man and a woman. They peer in, trying to see what’s going on. My mouth opens and closes, pathetic. I can see the wound on his cheek is a scratch more than anything, but still the blood pours. It’s over his mouth now, running off his chin, dripping on his white shirt.
I think of Anna’s reaction when he gets upstairs. There’ll be blood everywhere by then, it’ll look like a frenzied attack. It’ll look like he’s had a lucky escape and she’ll believe whatever he tells her. That I’m jealous, crazy. That I’m trying to split them up out of spite, because I have no one of my own.
‘Still think she’s going to trust you?’ he says, then a moment later he’s gone and I’m alone – even though there are cars and people, I’m alone – and all I can hear is the beating of my heart and a dog, way in the distance, howling into the dark.