I have a message, from Lukas. I’m relieved; our last few conversations have been frosty, and since I last saw him I’ve thrown an accusation at him and told him I didn’t want to see him today. I thought maybe he’d taken the decision to end things before I did, and to do it with silence. ‘How’s the shopping?’
I type my reply quickly.
‘Boring. But thanks for caring …’
I press send. Part of me is hoping he won’t respond, yet still I keep my phone in my hand in case he does. Sure enough, a moment later, there’s a reply.
‘I wish I was there with you.’
I smile to myself. He’s no longer angry with me, if he ever was. I was being ridiculous.
‘So do I.’ Once again I press send then I switch off my phone.
The film begins. It’s not my kind of thing at all, but I remind myself I’m here for Connor and when I look across at him I can see that he’s enjoying it. I try to settle. I try to stop thinking about Lukas, try to ignore the temptation to fish my phone out of my bag and check whether he’s replied. I concentrate on the movie.
A minute or so later Connor shifts his legs. Someone is pushing past him, murmuring, ‘Sorry,’ as he does so. It’s odd, I think. This new arrival is alone, there are plenty of seats. Why does he choose our row? I move out of the way, too, and he says sorry to me, though he’s looking at the screen while he does it. I’m even more surprised when he sits in the seat right next to me. I consider pointing out that there are plenty further along, but then think, really, what’s the harm? I go back to the film.
A few moments later I begin to feel a pressure on my leg. I’m not certain at first, but then it becomes definite. The newcomer is pressing his leg against mine; it feels deliberate, though I can’t be sure. I look down – his leg is bare; he’s wearing board shorts – then move my leg away, just an inch or so. It might’ve been accidental; I don’t want to make any kind of fuss. I pretend to be engrossed in the screen, but then the man’s leg moves to connect with mine again, more urgently this time, too deliberate for it to be coincidence.
I look over. The action on the screen is dark and I can’t see much. I make out thick-rimmed glasses and a baseball cap, one of the ones that’s rigid and sits tall on the front of the head. The man’s staring at the screen, rubbing the lower half of his face with his right hand, as if in deep contemplation.
I move my leg again and take a deep breath, readying myself to say something, to tell him to pack it in or get lost; I’m not sure which. At the same time the stranger drops his hand from his face and turns to me, and as he does the action on the screen moves overground, to a scene of lit brilliance, bathing the theatre with light. It’s then I see that the man sitting next to me is no stranger. It’s Lukas. He’s smiling.
I gasp, yet at the same time my stomach tips with desire. An abyss of fear opens in front of me and I begin to spiral towards it. What’s he doing here, in this cinema? What the fuck is going on? It can’t be a coincidence; it would be ridiculous. Yet how can it be anything else? He doesn’t know where I live: I’ve never told him, I know that. I’ve been careful all the way through.
Yet here he is. He’s looking back at the screen now. He’s moved his leg away, as if he’s now trying to avoid contact with me. I turn back to the movie, then a moment later glance at Connor, sitting on my other side. He’s noticed nothing.
My heart is beating too fast; I don’t know what to do. This is too far, I want to say. You’ve gone too far. Yet …
Yet he’s pressing his leg against mine once again, and this time I haven’t shifted away. His skin on mine is charged, I can feel every tiny hair, the warmth of his muscles. Even though my son is just inches away, I find I like it.
I close my eyes. My mind whirls in confusion. Just a few minutes ago he’d sent me a message, about the shopping I’d told him I was doing. He must have already known that was a lie, but how can he have known I was here?
I look over at Connor again. He’s engrossed in the film, his hand dipping occasionally into the bucket of popcorn on his lap. After a moment I turn to look at Lukas, who appears to be fixated, too. He must sense my gaze. Slowly he turns to me, so that he’s looking directly at me, as if he wants to make sure I know it’s him. I look into his eyes and ask the question wordlessly, and he begins to smile. There’s no warmth, and I feel a sick disappointment. I look back at the screen, then after a few moments at him again. This time he winks, still without warmth, then looks ahead once more, and after a few moments stands to leave. As he does he says, ‘Excuse me,’ and he pushes past my son with a ‘Hey, dude …’
And then, as if he’d never been here, he’s gone.
I sit. My mind won’t be still, I can’t concentrate on the film. I’m thinking of Lukas, I can’t work out what he’d wanted, why he’d turned up.
Or how he’d known where I’d be.
My hand goes to the seat in which he’d been sitting, as if I might feel him there. It’s still warm, I haven’t imagined it. I begin to tremble. My mouth is dry and I take a sip of water from the bottle I’d bought with Connor’s popcorn. Nausea rises within me. I must calm down. I take a deep breath, but the air is syrupy with the smell of half-eaten hot dogs and belched ketchup. I feel sick. I close my eyes. I see Lukas.
I have to get out. I have to get some air.
‘Come on.’
‘What?’
‘We’re leaving.’
‘But Mum!’
‘This is rubbish,’ I say.
‘Well, I’m enjoying it.’ I’m aware we’re making a lot of noise; from somewhere behind, someone tuts.
I stand up. I need to keep moving. ‘Okay, stay here, then. I’ll be back in a minute.’
I go to the toilet. I’m nervous as I push the door open; he might be in here, I think, and straight away my mind goes to the time we had sex in the toilet cubicle near his hotel. But he isn’t. Just some girls, Connor’s age or a little older, fixing make-up, gossiping. Someone was fucking unbelievable; someone else was apparently gonna make him pay. I ignore them and go into one of the cubicles. I lock the door and take out my phone. Nothing, just a message from Hugh. We’ve run out of milk. Can I pick some up?
I sit for a while, willing my phone to ring, or for there to be a message. A smiley face, a wink. Anything to reassure me that Lukas was just having a bit of fun. But there’s nothing. I don’t know what to think.
I call him. His phone goes straight to voicemail. I try again, and again, and again. And then, because there’s nothing else I can do, I give up. I put my phone in my bag and rejoin my son.
Chapter Twenty-One
We get home. I’m numb, I can’t think. I’d hoped Connor hadn’t noticed Lukas, but as we walked home he said, ‘Didn’t you think that guy was weird?’
I was looking left and right, waiting to cross the road, but also looking out for Lukas. He was nowhere to be seen.
‘Sorry?’
‘That guy. The one who came in and sat right by us in a half-empty room?’
‘Oh, him?’ I tried to sound natural, but had no idea whether I was succeeding. ‘People are odd.’
‘And then he leaves, before the film’s even over. What a freak!’
I wondered if that was it, part of the game. I wondered whether I was supposed to make an excuse to my son, follow Lukas, have him fuck me in the toilets. I wondered if, deep down, I’d really wanted to do just that.
Now, my mind spins. I don’t understand how he’s done this, much less why. Every time a possibility comes, a solution, I’m forced to reject it. If it was a coincidence, then why didn’t he say hello? If it was a game, then why didn’t he at least smile, let me know we were playing?