Lukas has made a mistake. When he turned his phone round in the kitchen I’d caught a glimpse through the window to the right of his shoulder, on to the street outside. It hadn’t been for long, but it’d been enough. Through the window I’d seen a street, a row of shops, a neon sign reading ‘CLUB SANTÉ!’ with a jaunty exclamation mark and a logo of a runner formed out of a curve and a dot. Above it was one word. ‘Berger’.
When I’m out of sight of the apartment I search on my phone, typing the words into the browser, praying that there’ll only be one branch. My heart sinks as two appear – one in the nineteenth, the other the seventeenth – but both have maps attached and one looks to be on a busy road while the other is opposite a park.
It must be the nineteenth, which I guess is a couple of miles away.
I have to go there. I have to get Connor back, and maybe I can force Lukas to give me the memory stick, scare him into letting Anna go and leaving us all alone.
I hail a cab. I give the address, then get in. ‘How long?’ I say to the driver, in English. It takes a moment before I realize my mistake and say it again: ‘Combien de temps pour y arriver?’
He looks at me in the rear-view mirror. He’s indifferent, largely. He shrugs, says, ‘Nous ne sommes pas loin.’ A plastic tree hangs off the mirror, and on the dashboard there’s a photo: a woman, a child. His family, I guess, mirroring mine. I look away, out of the window, at the streets as they slide by. Rain has begun to fall; it’s heavy, people have put up their umbrellas or are dashing with newspapers held over their heads. I rest my head against the cool glass and close my eyes. I want to stay like this for ever. Silent, warm.
But I can’t. I take out my phone and call my husband.
‘Hugh, where are you?’
‘We’re just getting into Gare du Nord.’
‘Did you call the police?’
He’s silent.
‘Hugh?’
‘Yes. I called them. They’re on their way.’
‘You need to call them back. Please. I went to Anna’s. She isn’t there. The place is deserted. She and Connor … I think something terrible has happened.’
‘Terrible?’
‘Just meet me here,’ I say. I give him the address. ‘As soon as you can.’
‘Why? Julia? What’s there?’
I close my eyes. This is it. I have to tell him. ‘Hugh, listen. It’s where Connor’s gone. This Evie, she doesn’t exist.’
‘But I spoke to her.’
‘It’s just a name he’s used to lure him here.’
‘Who? You’re not making any sense, Julia.’
‘Hugh, listen to me. Connor’s found his father. His real father. He’s here to meet him, but he’s in danger.’
There’s a silence. I can’t begin to imagine what my husband must be feeling. In a moment he’ll ask me how I know, what’s happened, and it will all come spilling out. I take a deep breath. I’m ready.
‘Connor’s father … I know him. He didn’t tell me who he was, but—’
Hugh interrupts me.
‘But that’s not possible.’
‘What?’
I hear him sigh. ‘I’m sorry, Julia. Kate told me—’
‘What?’
‘Connor’s father is dead.’
I’m silent. ‘What? Who is he then? That’s ridiculous.’
‘I can’t tell you now. Not like this.’
I hear an announcement in the background. His train is pulling in.
I begin to shout. ‘Hugh? Tell me!’
‘We’re here. I’ve got to go.’
‘Hugh!’
‘I’m sorry, darling. I’ll be there soon. I’ll tell you everything.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
We slow to a crawl, then stop in traffic. There are lights ahead, a busy junction where a railway bridge spans the road. Hugh is wrong, he must be. Connor’s father isn’t dead, he’s here, and he’s lured his son here, too.
‘Nous sommes ici,’ says the driver, but he’s pointing forward. I peer through the rain; ahead I can see the place. Berger. It’s still open, its doorway looks warm, inviting. A woman comes out, almost collides with a guy going in. I watch as she stands, lights a cigarette. I can’t sit still any longer; I have to get moving. The driver grunts as I tell him I’ll get out here; I pay him and then I’m on the pavement. The rain hits, instantly I’m soaked through. The woman with the cigarette is walking towards me; she nods as we pass, then I’m outside the gym. Lukas’s apartment should be just on the other side of the road, yet now I’m here I don’t know what to do. I glance over the road, past a stack of prefab offices covered in spray-painted graffiti. The building opposite is grey, its windows monotonously regular. It looks institutional; it could be a prison. I wonder which flat is his, and how I’ll get in. Further up the street a train thunders along rails and I see a row of bollards strung like sentinels along the pavement. Just beyond them is a kiosk, bright blue, advertising Cosmétiques Antilles, and just this side of it an alleyway arcs off the road, unlit, towards who-knows-where.
I know, then. I’m sure. I’ve seen this place before, on my computer. I hadn’t recognized it at first, not in the dark, but this is the place. I run past Berger to the mouth of the alleyway. I’m right.
This is where my sister died.
I run into the alleyway. It’s rain-soaked, in almost total darkness. I can’t believe it. I’m here. This is it. This is where my sister’s body was discovered, where her life bled out on to the cobblestones. This is where the nightmare that has been the last few months began.
My mind races. I’ve been a fool. All along. Lukas wasn’t on holiday in Australia, or at least he wasn’t when Kate was killed. It wasn’t a drug dealer who killed her.
Kate wasn’t mugged for a cheap earring, or attacked while buying drugs, or killed in a random attack on her way home from a bar. She’d come here to see him, to meet the father of her son.
I try to picture it. Was he hoping for a reconciliation? I see Kate rejecting him, telling him she wanted nothing to do with him, that he’d never see Connor again. They argue, insults are hurled, a fist is raised.
Or maybe it was his plan all along. To bring her here. To punish her for sending Connor away and then failing to get him back.
I take out my phone. I want Hugh. I need his help, I want to find out how far away he is, but it’s more than that. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that whatever Kate said, she lied. Connor’s father is alive, and he killed her. I want to make him understand, and tell him how I found out, and that it’s my fault and I’m sorry. I want to tell him I love him.
But his phone goes straight to voicemail. Once again, I’m alone.
I feel curiously calm, like stone, yet underneath it my stomach begins to knot and I’m aware it’s the first sign of an incoming tidal wave. I have to stay focussed, remain still. My hand goes to the gun in my bag, yet this time it doesn’t give me confidence. Instead it reminds me of the impossibility of what I have to do. For a moment I want to run, not to the police, but away. Away from everything, to a time when all this had never happened, and Kate is still alive and Connor is happy.
But that’s not possible. Time grinds forward, inexorable. And so I’m stuck; there’s no escape. I want to sink to the wet ground and let the cold rain wash over me.
All of a sudden there’s a noise, a shriek. I startle. A train is passing, overhead. It’s come from nowhere. I look up; it’s yellow and white, travelling so quickly it’s almost a blur. Still I can make out the passengers, all looking downwards, unsmiling. Reading newspapers, no doubt, working on laptops, using their phones. Had none of them seen what happened? Did no one happen to glance down to see my sister, fighting with Lukas?
Or maybe they did, and thought nothing of it. Just a row, an argument. They happen all the time.