He’s sitting by the pool, where he said he’d be. He’s ordered a juice for both of us – it’s green, and looks organic – and is sipping his. He’s wearing his shorts, the pair I bought for him just before our last holiday, to Turkey. Dimly, beneath the layers of worry, I’m aware that he looks good. He’s lost weight.
I sit down next to him. I’ve wrapped my towel around my chest.
‘Fancy a swim?’
I lie back on the lounger. ‘In a while.’ He puts his paper down.
‘Come on.’ He stands up. ‘There’s a jacuzzi. I’m going in now.’
He holds out his hand and I have no option but to take it. I feel a sense of dread, of inexorable momentum. And also guilt; only a couple of hours ago it’d been another man holding his hand out to me.
We go over and sit in the pool. The water is warm and clear. Hugh activates the jacuzzi and it begins to bubble. I lie back, staring at the light dancing on the ceiling, reflected from the thrashing water. The bruises on my back sting, as if I’ve been branded.
For a moment I want to tell him everything. About Lukas, and what I’ve been doing. It wasn’t my fault, I want to say. Kate died and I went off the rails, and . . .
And what? And it doesn’t mean anything? I genuinely thought I was trying to find out who killed her, for me, for her son? I thought I was doing the right thing?
But who am I trying to kid?
‘Hugh—’ I say, but he cuts me dead.
‘I want to talk to you.’
I look at him. This is it, I think.
It hits me. Connor saw it all, in the summer house at Carla’s party. He’s finally told his father.
Or someone has seen me, on the street, in a hotel lobby, kissing someone who is not my husband.
‘What is it?’
He reaches out, under the water, and takes my hand.
‘It’s about your drinking.’
Relief mixes with confusion. ‘What? What drinking?’
‘Julia, I’m worried.’ He looks uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as he should. I find myself wishing this were difficult for him, a tricky subject, but it’s not. Not really. He’s in his professional mode.
‘Hugh, you’ve nothing to worry about. I haven’t touched a drop.’
‘Julia, please don’t insult my intelligence. You told me. When you came back from Paris.’
‘I know, but I was letting off steam. It wasn’t an easy trip.’
‘I know. But I think you should start going to your meetings again. It’s been a few months . . .’
I think about the visits to the clinic when I got back from Berlin, the seats in a circle, being back on the twelve-step programme. I think about the days and weeks of cramps and sickness and feeling like I had the worst hangover, the worst morning sickness, and nothing, nothing would ever make me feel better. I think about the months of begging Hugh to help me, when in fact he already was.
‘Look, if either of us is an expert on addiction, I’d have thought it would be me.’
He’s silent.
‘My sister died. In case you’ve forgotten?’
‘Of course I haven’t forgotten,’ he snaps. This isn’t going as well as he’d thought. ‘You ask me all the time how the investigation is going. How can I have forgotten?’
‘Bringing that up now is low, Hugh. I care, that’s all.’
He hesitates. Why don’t you go to some meetings of your own, I want to say. To Al-Anon. Sort your own stuff out before you start on mine.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says eventually. ‘It’s just, I’m not sure it’s healthy for you. I wish you’d just trust me to handle it.’
‘I do,’ I say. ‘I will.’ I consider telling him it’s not just me who can’t find peace, who won’t rest until the person who killed Kate is caught. It’s Connor, too.
‘I just worry, that’s all.’
‘I haven’t had anything since then. Not a drop.’
He squeezes my hand. I’d forgotten he was holding it.
‘At Carla’s party . . .’
‘That was Paddy! He brought me a drink but I didn’t touch it. And then we were chatting, he spilled his drink on me.’
I look at him. Does he believe me?
His voice softens. ‘I just don’t want to see you go back there. I can’t. I won’t.’
‘I’m not going back anywhere—’
‘Then please tell me the truth.’
‘What?’
‘Did you fall?’
‘Sorry? Fall where?’
‘Did you have a fall? Did you have a drink with Adrienne?’
‘Hugh, what on earth are you—?’
‘Those bruises. I noticed them the other day. I saw how you were trying to cover them up today, too. So, what happened?’
The relief is almost overwhelming. He thinks a few too many glasses of wine is all he has to worry about.
‘Drunk, were you?’
‘Hugh,’ I say. ‘I fell. I wasn’t drunk.’ I see a way out. He’s seen the bruises, I can’t deny their existence. But I can explain why I’ve been hiding them.
I sigh. ‘I’d had a glass of wine. That’s all. I guess it doesn’t take much.’ I hesitate, then say, ‘I slipped on the escalator in the tube station.’
‘You didn’t tell me.’
I try to smile. ‘No. It was bloody mortifying, if you must know.’ Another pause. ‘Ask Adrienne, if you don’t believe me . . .’
Even as I say it I know it’s a mistake. There’s a chance he will. I’m trying too hard, adding extra details.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m embarrassed. I made a mistake.’
‘Another mistake.’
Fury rises within me. ‘Yes. Another mistake. Look, I feel bad enough as it is. I’ve said sorry. Can we just forget it?’
‘It’s not me you need to apologize to.’
‘Then who?’
‘Like I said, I think you should start going to your meetings.’
No, I think. No. I won’t. I’m not ready.
I shake my head.
‘Promise me you’ll at least think about it.’
No. I can’t stand the thought. I’d have to confess everything, all over again. I’d have to admit I’m back where I started.
‘I can’t.’
‘Why?’
‘I just . . .’
‘Just tell me you’ll think about it?’
I sigh. ‘Okay. I’ll think about it.’
‘Or at least talk to your therapist about it?’
‘I will . . .’
The anger melts from his face. He lets go of my hand and pats my thigh. ‘Darling, I just don’t want to see you go through it again . . .’
‘I won’t. And, anyway, that was a long time ago. I know better, now. And besides,’ I say lightly, ‘I’ve got you. Keeping me safe.’
I look him straight in the eye. I hold his gaze; it’s easier than I think, yet still I hate myself for doing it. It reminds me of the years I spent convincing people I didn’t have a problem, but the difference is, this time I don’t. I’m just pretending to.
‘I know,’ he says. His hand is still on my thigh. ‘I know.’ He’s quiet for a moment and I begin to relax. I realize I’m going to have to do something. Next time I might not be so lucky, and whatever is happening between me and Lukas, I can’t let it destroy what I have with Hugh.
I tip my head back, close my eyes. Am I being naive in thinking I can keep Lukas separate from my family? Do secrets always come out in the end?
We’re both silent for a while, and then, without warning, Hugh speaks.
‘Oh, God,’ he says. ‘I haven’t told you about Paddy.’
My eyes flick open. The name is unexpected and it jolts me. I hope it doesn’t show.
‘Maria rang me yesterday. I completely forgot to tell you. He’s been mugged.’
I hear myself echo him. It sounds like my own voice, but coming from a long way away.
‘Mugged?’
It’s too hot in here, suddenly. I’m sweating. The water is oily and viscous.
‘Yes. Over the weekend. I think Maria said it was Friday.’
‘Where? By who? Is he all right?’
An awful thought is forming. Last week I told Lukas what Paddy had done. I’d let him think it was worse than it was. Much worse.
He’d said he wanted to protect me.
‘He’s bruised and battered, and his nose is broken, but he’ll be fine. It happened right near where they live, apparently. He was coming home late. He can’t remember much . . .’
I think of Lukas. He said I’d be getting my present later. Is this what he meant?
My mind goes to Kate. I see her, lying there in her own blood, her nose broken, her eyes swollen shut.
I look over at my husband. It’s as if I know what he’s going to say next.
‘Funny thing is, they didn’t take anything.’
Something within me begins to collapse. I find myself standing up, though I don’t know why, or where I’m going. The water slides off me and for a moment I think it’s blood. ‘Like Kate,’ I’m saying. ‘Just like Kate.’
Hugh stands, too. ‘Julia? Julia, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. I wasn’t thinking. Julia, sit down. Please?’
It can’t be, I tell myself. It can’t be him.
Tell me you want me to teach him a lesson, he’d said, when we were right in the middle. And I think I said yes. Had I said yes?
But he hadn’t meant anything. Surely? He hadn’t taken me seriously? It’s just a coincidence, it must be. It must be, it has to be.
I think of his hands on me, the bruises, the things he’d done. The things he’s told me he’d like to do.
‘I’m an idiot,’ says Hugh. ‘Julia, I’m sorry.’
I turn round. I shiver, I’m freezing, yet the sweat is pouring off me. I run out, into the changing rooms. I make it as far as the bathroom, just.
Chapter Nineteen
Connor arrives home late the next morning. Dylan’s with him and the two of them crash in, talking non-stop. I’m waiting for the kettle to boil when they land in the kitchen.
My son. I’ve missed him; he’s all I’d wanted when I got in last night, the only thing in my life I still think I have a chance of getting right.
‘Hi, Mum!’ he says. He seems surprised that I’m there, and for a moment I think he’s going to ask me if I’m okay. I’m not sure what I’ll say if he does. Dylan stands behind him, and when I smile at him says, ‘Hi, Mrs Wilding.’
‘We might go upstairs?’ says Connor.
I force a smile. ‘Okay. Did you have fun?’
‘Yeah.’ He doesn’t elaborate.
‘Want anything to eat?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Dylan?’
The other boy shakes his head and mumbles something. He’s even skinnier than I remember.
‘We had something earlier,’ says Connor. ‘Can we watch a DVD?’
‘Sure. Let me know if you want anything,’ I say as they disappear upstairs. I turn back to the kettle and make my drink.
I know what I have to do. I’ve been putting it off all morning. I sit down at the table and phone Lukas.
‘Morning, beautiful. I was just thinking about you, too.’
Normally that comment would thrill me, but today I barely notice it. I’m too wound up, too anxious. I’ve run out of energy. I’ve spent all night thinking about him and Paddy, about what he might’ve done. What I might have done. I’m exhausted.
‘Lukas. We need to talk.’
I sense him shift a gear. I imagine him lying in bed, then abruptly sitting upright. I try to picture it, but fail. I’ve never seen his bedroom, never seen his house. It’s nice, he’s told me, semi-detached, with three bedrooms. ‘Modern, but with some character.’ He’s always sounded proud of it, so why haven’t I been there?
I wonder if he keeps it tidy. A man, living alone; I wonder if he even makes his bed. Connor wouldn’t, if I didn’t insist.
‘What is it? Is everything okay?’
I feel a sudden rush. I want to shout, scream. I want to tell him, No, no, it isn’t!
I take a deep breath and try to calm myself.
‘Paddy was attacked.’
Even saying the words hurts. It reminds me too much of Kate.
‘Who?’
‘Paddy.’ I’m annoyed, and at the same time frightened. Has he forgotten? Or is this all part of some game? ‘The person I told you about. The friend I told you had kissed me.’ I hesitate. My voice wavers. ‘He’s been beaten up.’
‘Jesus . . .’ He sounds concerned. It’s genuine, I think, but how do I know? I don’t know anything. ‘Are you all right, Julia?’
I don’t want to ask the question, but it’s a weight, pressing down on me, and I have no choice. It’s the reason I called him, after all.
‘Did you have anything to do with it?’
There’s silence. Saying it out loud has made it seem real. The suspicion has become a certainty.
I picture him, shaking his head in disbelief. Every muscle in my body is tensed, then he speaks.
‘Me? What on earth—?’
I interrupt. I don’t want to, but I can’t help it. I say it again, louder this time. ‘Did you have anything to do with it?’
His reply comes more quickly this time. He’s rushing to his own defence.
‘No, of course I didn’t.’ I can’t decide whether he sounds angry or just emphatic. ‘Is he going to be all right?’
The words rush out, tumbling over each other. ‘It just seems a coincidence, that’s all. I mean, I tell you last week, and then this week—’
‘Listen. Calm down—’
‘—this week,’ I continue, ‘this week, this happens.’
I stop speaking. My body i
s suddenly alive. I can feel his hands on me, my skin sings with the rough urgency of the sex in the toilet cubicle, my wrists carry a dull ache where he’d gripped them. I think back to what he’d said.
‘You asked me if I wanted you to teach him a lesson.’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘And, if you remember, you said yes.’
I collapse inwards. I’m almost breathless, with panic, and rage.
‘I didn’t mean it, though! We were just messing around. It was play-acting!’
‘Was it?’ His voice has taken on an edge; he sounds different. Not like him at all. ‘You know,’ he says, ‘you have to be careful what you wish for, Julia. Very careful . . .’
Fear hits me. Terror. It’s real, physical. I’m on fire, my phone is alive, dangerous. I want to hurl it across the room. I wish I’d never met him. I don’t know who he is, this man, this person I’ve let into my life. I want everything to go back to how it was before.
‘Lukas!’ My voice is pleading, I’m almost shouting, only vaguely aware that Connor is upstairs. Right now I’d sacrifice anything to be certain that what happened to Paddy had nothing to do with Lukas. Almost anything. ‘Please . . .’
I stop. He’s making a noise; at first I can’t tell what it is, but then I realize. He’s laughing, almost to himself. I’m flooded with light, with air.
‘Lukas?’
‘Relax. I’m joking . . .’
‘Joking? What’s so funny?’
‘Julia, I think you need to calm down. Think about it. Aren’t you being a little paranoid here? I mean, you only told me about this guy last week. Do you think I marched straight round there and beat him up? How could I? You didn’t tell me where he lives. You didn’t even tell me his full name. For God’s sake, I only found out your real name yesterday.’
He’s right. It can’t have been him. But can it really be coincidence?