‘You’re not.’ His voice is low and heavy; it sounds like it belongs to someone else. All his pretence has gone, leaving in its place nothing but a heavy malevolence.
My eyes flick to the door. If he wants to stop me there’s no way I can overcome him.
I draw breath, summon as much strength as I can.
‘Get out of my way.’
‘I thought we were having fun?’
‘We were. But we aren’t now. Not any more.’
His mouth hangs, half open, then he speaks.
‘But I love you.’
It’s the last thing I expect him to say. I freeze. I’m disarmed, utterly shocked. My mouth opens, but I have no words.
‘I love you,’ he says again. I want him to stop, yet at the same time I don’t. I want to believe him, yet don’t think I can.
‘What?’
‘You heard me. I thought I was making you happy. All this’ – he gestures around the room – ‘was for you. I thought it’s what you wanted.’
I shake my head. It’s another game. I know it is. ‘No,’ I say. ‘Lukas, no—’
‘Tell me you love me, too?’
I look at him. His eyes are wide, imploring. I want to believe him. Just this once, I want to know he’s telling me the truth.
‘Lukas—’
He reaches out to me. ‘Julia. Tell me, please.’
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Yes. Yes—’
I freeze. His hands have dropped. He smiles, then starts to laugh.
‘It’s just another one of your fantasies, isn’t it? Me loving you?’
Suddenly I’m empty. Defeated. It’s as if everything has flooded out of me and, right now, I hate him.
‘Fuck you.’
‘Oh, Julia, come on. What’s the big deal? Today? David? You want to be rescued, I want to rescue you. I wanted you to think you really were in danger.’ He looks at me. He’s trying to see if I’m softening, if the anger is burning off. It’s not. Not really. ‘Look,’ he says. ‘All I said was he should try and pick you up. That you might be keen, you might not. Either way, he shouldn’t take no for an answer. Like you wanted.’
I take a step back. ‘You’re crazy.’ I whisper it. To myself as much as to him, but he ignores me.
‘Shall I tell you what I think? I think you’re getting cold feet just as it’s starting to get interesting.’ He pretends to reconsider. ‘Or maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe you’re enjoying yourself a little too much.’ I begin to speak, but he continues. ‘You’re worried that you don’t deserve it.’ He finishes his drink, pours another. ‘Look. It’s a game. You know that. And yet you can’t quite think of it like that. You still think of games as something that children play. Something you’ve outgrown.’
‘No,’ I say. My voice sounds cracked. I draw breath and say it again. ‘No. You’re wrong. It’s not a game.’
He laughs. ‘What is it, then?’ I want to get out. I can think only of escape. ‘Your problem,’ he says, ‘is that you’re still too attached to the old you. You can slip away to hotels, you can dress up in all the gear, but you’re still the little housewife, married to Hugh. You’re still the person that does his shopping and cooks his food and laughs at his jokes, even though you’ve heard them a million times before. You used to despise people whose only ambition in life was a nice rich husband and an adoring son and a house in Islington with a patio and a garden. Yet that’s exactly what you’ve turned into. You’re still someone who thinks there’s only one way to be married, only one way to have an affair.’
I’m enraged, now. Ripped open. I want to scream at him. I want to hurt him. It’s as if he’s seen inside me, then emptied me out.
‘How does it feel to hate yourself?’
‘Get out of my way!’
He moves. He’s between me and the door.
‘You know, I was watching the whole time,’ he says. ‘Today. In the bar.’ He hesitates, then lowers his voice. ‘And you loved it. Didn’t you? The attention.’
He’s right. I know it, deep down. He’s right, and I’m ashamed. I despise him.
‘Please, just let me leave.’
‘Or else …?’
‘Lukas …’ I say. I try to push past him, but he blocks me.
I step back again. I look at him, this almost-stranger. He lowers his voice still further. He’s threatening now. He has the power; he wants me to know it.
‘You enjoyed it. Didn’t you? You liked knowing he wanted you. A stranger.’ He takes another step; this time I stay where I am. ‘No strings … nothing to worry about …’
I try a different tack.
‘So what if I did? What about if I’d decided I liked him? I was going to have him? This David? What then?’
‘Then things might have turned out differently,’ he says. ‘Were you tempted?’
I don’t hesitate. I want to see him hurt. More than anything, I want to see him feel some of the pain that he’s inflicting on me.
‘Maybe.’
He doesn’t move. I don’t know what he’s going to do.
‘Before he started to threaten you? Or after?’
‘Hard to say.’ I don’t move.
‘The fear added something. Admit it. That’s what turned you on.’ He’s whispering now, murmuring. When I’m silent he moves forward, towards me. His mouth is inches from my ear. His hand goes to my waist, I feel it on me. I pull away, but he’s strong. His flesh touches mine. ‘Would you have gone upstairs with him?’ He pulls me to him, I feel the warmth of his body, his hands on me, searching for my skin, moving firmly, grasping, kneading. It triggers something, a muscle memory, and without me wanting it to my body begins to respond. ‘Alone? Or with me?’
I don’t reply. Somewhere, deep within me, I know I should be crying out. I should be fighting, kicking. I should be screaming for help.
But I’m not. I don’t do any of those things. It’s as if my body has mutinied. It will no longer react to anything but his touch.
‘Please,’ I say. ‘Lukas …’
He tries to kiss me. I begin to respond, my body’s final betrayal. I gather my energy and force myself to speak.
‘Stop! Lukas. This has to stop.’
He does nothing. He continues to push himself against me. Harder now. ‘Stop me, if you want. If you really want.’
I feel his hands. They’re everywhere. At the back of my neck, in my hair, at my crotch. He’s pushing and grabbing, with more and more urgency. He tries to push me backwards, or turn me round. I flash on the time we’d had sex, in the cubicle, his hands around my neck; it’d been a game then, but it isn’t now. I have to get away from him.
I lash out, aiming at his face, his eyes. It’s only a glancing blow, but my nails draw blood. He wipes his hand across his face, wide-eyed and furious. He looks like he’s about to hit me and I try to step away.
We square up against each other. I open my mouth to speak but just then I hear the sound of the lock sliding open. Relief floods me. It’ll be a maid, perhaps, someone with room service. They’ll see what’s going on, Lukas will have to stop. I can dust myself down, make an excuse, leave. He won’t follow me. I won’t let him.
We both look to the door. Too late I see that Lukas is smiling. ‘Ah,’ he says. ‘I thought you’d got lost.’
Fear hits me, full in the gut. It’s David.
I grab my bag. I run. I slam past David, out into the corridor. Tears are coming, I close my eyes, crash into the walls as I run towards the stairs, but I carry on running. I see myself as if from a great height. It looks like me, but it isn’t me. She’s not wearing the clothes I wear. She’s not doing the things I do.
I run and run and run, and all at once I’m back in Berlin. I’m shivering, at an airport, not knowing how I’m going to get home. I’m phoning Hugh from a phone box in the departure lounge, then I’m waiting. Waiting to be rescued by the man I’ll soon marry while the one I’d thought was my whole life lies dead in a squat on the other side of the city.
PART FOUR
Chapter Twenty-Three
I made it out of the hotel. My legs shook, I was sweating, my heart was hammering so hard I thought my chest might burst, yet still I managed to pretend to be calm as I walked through the lobby, on to the street. Once outside I walked and walked, and it wasn’t until I was sure I was out of sight of the hotel that I stopped to check what direction I’d gone in. I hailed a cab, got in. ‘Where to?’ the driver said, and I said, ‘Anywhere,’ and then, ‘The river,’ and then, ‘The South Bank.’ We began to drive, and he asked me if I was all right. ‘Yes,’ I said, even though I wasn’t, and when we reached the South Bank I found a bench overlooking the Thames and, because I knew Adrienne would say ‘I told you so,’ and I didn’t know who else to call, who there was that I hadn’t pushed away, I phoned Anna.