‘Lukas—’
‘Tell me you’ve been thinking of me.’
‘Of course I have. But—’
‘So, what’s the problem?’
‘I don’t know. I just … it freaked me out. It was … risky.’
‘I thought you liked risk? I thought you liked danger?’
‘Not like that—’
‘It’s what you’ve been telling me.’
I raise my voice. ‘Not like that. Not when it involves Connor.’
Shit, I think. I’ve told him my son’s name. It’s too late now.
He says nothing. We’re both silent for a moment. Neither of us has started to eat the food in front of us. A sandwich for him, a salad for me. It occurs to me we’ve never had a meal together, not properly. We never will.
‘How did you know what film we were going to see? Or were you looking over my shoulder as I bought the tickets?’
He still doesn’t answer.
‘I want to trust you, Lukas.’
‘Then trust me. I’ve never lied to you. I made a mistake, that’s all. I’m not stalking you. I didn’t attack your friend. I mean, after what you’ve been through?’
He looks angry, but also deeply hurt. It’s this that comes closest to convincing me. Yet still I’m not certain. Not quite.
I came here wanting to end it between us, to get out, but now I’m not sure I can. Not yet.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You have to trust me, Julia,’ he says.
I look down at my plate. ‘I find it difficult to do that with anyone, I suppose.’
He reaches out to take my hand. ‘Connor,’ he says, as if he’s trying the name out for size, seeing how it feels, how it sounds. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you had a son?’
I look at the wedding ring he’s wearing. You didn’t tell me you had a wife, I want to say. Things start to add up. The ring, first, plus the fact he’s never – not once – suggested we go to Cambridge, even though it isn’t far away.
‘You’re married, aren’t you?’ I speak softly, quietly, as if I don’t really want him to hear.
‘I was. You know that.’
‘I mean, you still are. Admit it.’
‘No!’ He looks angry. Shocked. How could I suggest such a thing?
‘I told you the truth. I wouldn’t lie about that. Ever.’
I watch as his anger turns to pain. It’s visceral, unmistakable. The pain of loss, something I know only too well, and for a moment I feel guilty, and desperately sorry for him. I can’t help it. I wish I’d let him in. I wish I’d told him about my son, right from the beginning.
‘Promise me.’
He takes my hand between his. ‘I promise.’
I realize I believe him.
‘Look, my son – Connor – has been through a lot. I wanted to protect him—’
‘You think I’d hurt him?’
‘No. But it’s not so much people I’m trying to protect him from, but situations. He needs stability.’ I take a deep breath. ‘It’s complicated. Connor’s adopted. He … his mother was my sister.’
I wait while he absorbs what I’ve told him.
‘The sister who was killed?’
‘Yes.’
A long moment.
‘When did you adopt him?’
‘When he was very little. My sister couldn’t cope, so we took care of him.’
‘He knows?’
I nod. He’s silent for a moment, then says, ‘I’m sorry.’
He looks at me. I have nothing else to say. I’m spent, empty. I begin to pick at my salad. After a minute or two he says, ‘So, is this it, then?’
‘Is what it?’
‘That use of the past tense back there. This conversation. The fact you didn’t want to go to a hotel. You want me to leave you alone.’
The answer should be yes, but I hesitate. I don’t know why. I’ll miss feeling desire; I’ll miss having it reciprocated. I’ll miss being able to talk to him about things I can tell no one else.
I want to keep hold of all that, even for just a few more minutes.
‘I don’t know.’
‘It’s all right. I had a feeling this was going to be one of those “I’m sorry, but …” conversations. You know. “I can’t do this any more.” That kind of thing.’
Have you had many of those? I think fleetingly. And, if so, how recently, and from which side? Dumping, or being dumped?
I look away. I think back, to everything that’s happened. I realize the dark place my grief has taken me. I’ve become fragile. Paranoid. I see danger everywhere. There’s a man standing outside my window, my lover has attacked someone when he doesn’t even know their full name, much less where he lives. If I’m not careful I will push away everything that is good in my life.
I make my decision.
‘I don’t want this to be over. But what you did the other day … Don’t do it again. Okay? I won’t have Connor brought into this.’
‘Okay.’
‘I mean it. I’ll just walk away.’
‘Okay.’ He looks anxious, and as I see this I start to relax. The balance of power has shifted, yet it’s more than that.
I realize this is what I wanted, all along. I wanted to see him bothered, I wanted to know that he understood what was at stake, I wanted to see him frightened that he might lose me. I wanted to see my own insecurities reflected in him.
I soften my voice. ‘No more games. Okay? All that stuff we’ve been talking about’ – I lower my voice – ‘the playacting, the rough sex. It has to stop.’
‘Okay.’
‘I can’t have you turning up unannounced. I can’t go back home covered in bruises …’
‘Whatever you say, as long as it isn’t over.’
I reach across and take his hand. ‘How can it be over?’
‘What happens now?’
‘Now? I go home.’
‘Will I see you on Tuesday?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
He looks relieved.
‘I’m sorry. About the games, and stuff. I guess I’m not so good at romance.’ He pauses. ‘We’ll do something. Next time. Something lovely. Leave it with me.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
A week passes. Connor goes back to school, a year nearer to his exams, to adulthood and whatever comes with it, a year nearer to moving away from me. I’ve had his blazer dry-cleaned and taken him shopping for shirts and a new pair of shoes. He’s not enthusiastic about going back, but I know that will only last a day or so. He’ll be reunited with his friends, with his routine. He’ll remember how he enjoys his studies. Hugh’s right when he says he’s a good kid.
On his first day back I go to the window and watch him walk down the street; by the time he’s gone a few feet, barely past the end of the drive, he’s loosened his tie, and just at the corner he waits for a moment. One of his friends arrives, they clap each other on the shoulder, then set off together. He’s becoming a man.
I turn away from the window. I have another job tomorrow – the woman whose family I photographed a few weeks ago has recommended me to a friend – and another next week. The hole in my soul is closing, yet part of me still feels empty. Kate’s death still haunts everything I do. When Connor goes, I don’t know how I’ll cope.
I try not to think about it. Today’s Tuesday. I’m meeting Lukas. I have the morning to myself, hours to get ready. It’s like the first time we met, all those weeks and months ago, back when I thought it would be a one-off, nothing more than an opportunity to find out what happened to my sister.
How that has changed.
Yet I know it has to end. Sometimes I think about that moment, when we separate, finally and for ever, and wonder if it’ll be something I’ll be able to survive. Yet separate we must; my relationship with Lukas has no happy ending. I’m married. I’m a mother. I love my husband, and my son, and I can’t have everything.
When I leave the house Adrienne is pulling up in a car. It’s a surprise, not like her at all. I wave and she opens the car door. Her face is grave, set in a hard line, and I’m nervous.
‘New car?’
‘Whatever. Darling, can I come in?’
‘What is it? You’re scaring me.’
‘I thought I’d ask you the same question.’ She points back the way I’d just come. ‘Shall we?’