I’m only pretending.
Lukas is sitting at the bar, his back to me. I’d worried I wouldn’t recognize him, but he’s unmistakable. He’s wearing a tailored suit, though as I get closer I see he hasn’t bothered with the tie. Some effort, but not too much. Like me, I guess. I’m surprised to see a glass of champagne in front of him, another in front of the empty seat at his side. I remind myself I’m here for Kate.
Her face floats in front of me. She’s a little girl, seven or eight. Our father has told us he’s sending us to boarding school, just for a couple of years, though we both know it’ll be until Kate leaves home. She looks terrified, and once again I’m telling her it’ll work out. ‘You’ll have me,’ I say, ‘and you’ll make loads of other friends. I promise!’
I didn’t know whether she would, back then. She had a temper, was developing a wild streak. She could take things to heart and get herself in trouble. But she did make friends, eventually. One of them must have been Anna, but there were others. Life was difficult for her, but she wasn’t unhappy, not always. And I looked after her. I did my best. Until…
No, I think. I can’t think of that now. I can’t bring Marcus into the room. And so I push the image away and walk over.
Lukas hasn’t seen me yet, and I’m glad. I want to arrive suddenly, to be there before he’s had the chance to appraise me from a distance. He’s ten years younger than me, and looks it. I’m nervous enough, I don’t want to risk seeing a flash of disappointment as he sees me approach.
‘Hi!’ I say, when I reach him.
He looks up. His eyes are deep blue, even more striking in real life. For the briefest of moments his face is expressionless, his gaze invading, as if he’s unpicking me, learning me from within. He looks as if he has no idea who I am, or why I’m there, but then he breaks into a broad smile and stands up.
‘Jayne!’ I don’t correct him. There’s a momentary flicker of surprise and I realize he thought I wouldn’t come.
‘You made it!’ He’s grinning with relief, which makes me feel relieved, too. I sense we’re both nervous, which means neither of us has all the power.
‘Of course I did!’ I say. There’s an awkward moment. Should we kiss? Shake hands? He pushes my drink towards me.
‘Well, I’m glad.’ There’s another pause. ‘I got you some champagne. I wasn’t sure what you’d want.’
‘Thanks. I might just get some sparkling water.’
I slide into my seat and he orders my drink. I look at him, at this unshaven, blue-eyed man, and again ask myself why I’m here. I’ve been telling myself it’s to find out whether he knew my sister, but there’s more, of course there is.
I wonder whether I’m being naive. Whether it might be him she was going to meet that night. The thought assaults me. It’s brutal. The man in front of me looks incapable of violence, but that means nothing. It’s not only those who have shaved their heads or inked their bodies that are capable of wielding weapons.
I remind myself of what I’ve seen. Of where he was in February. I begin to calm down as my water arrives.
‘There you go. You’re not drinking?’
‘No. I don’t.’
I see the familiar readjustment that people make when I tell them. I know they’re trying to figure out whether I’m a puritan, possibly religious, or an addict.
As usual, I say nothing. I don’t need to make excuses. Instead I look around the bar. It used to be the ticket office; people would queue here before boarding their train, and many of the old features – the wood panelling, the huge clock on the wall above us – have been retained. It’s busy; people sit with their suitcases, or newspapers. They’re eating lunch, or afternoon tea. They’re in transit, or else staying in the hotel above. For a moment I wish I were one of them. I wish the reason I find myself here could be that uncomplicated.
As if for the first time, I realize Lukas has a room, just a few floors above. The reason he thinks I’m here swims into focus.
‘Are you okay?’ he says. There’s a tension in the air; we’re hesitant. I remind myself that he thinks we’re both single and that even if his path has crossed with Kate’s there’s still no reason I should be finding this difficult.
‘Fine. Thanks.’ I pick up the glass as if to prove it. ‘Cheers!’
We chink our glasses. I try to imagine him with my sister. I can’t.
I wonder what would usually happen now. I imagine Kate, or Anna – I know she’s done this kind of thing, too. I see kissing, tearing at each other’s clothes. I see people being pushed on to a bed in fevered lust. I see naked bodies, flesh.
I sip my water. When I put my glass down there’s lipstick on the rim and I’m shocked, momentarily, by its colour. It seems bright, as if it’s in Technicolor, plus it’s not what I wear, not in the middle of the day. It’s not me. Which was the point of wearing it, of course.
I feel lost. I’d thought this would be easy. I’d thought I’d meet him and the answers would spill out, the path to the truth about what happened to Kate instantly become clear. But it’s never felt more muddied, and I don’t know what to do.
‘You look beautiful,’ he says. I grin and thank him. I look at him. He looks solid, more solid than anything has looked for a long time. I can hardly believe he’s here, that with almost no effort at all I could reach out and touch his flesh.
He smiles. I hold his gaze, but still, somehow, it’s me that feels naked. I look away. I think of Hugh, at work, a body under the sheets in front of him, flesh parted, wet and glistening. I think of Connor in the classroom, his head bent over his desk at the end of another school year, the long holidays in front of him. And then Lukas smiles and I put these feelings back, lock them away. He puts down his glass and my eyes catch on something glinting on his left hand.
I’m almost relieved. It’s a shock, but the awkwardness that has built between us is broken.
‘You’re married.’
‘I’m not.’
‘But your ring…’
He looks at his own hand, as if to check what I’ve seen, then at me. ‘I never told you?’
I shake my head. I remind myself that I can’t accuse him of deception, with the lies I’ve told.
‘I was married…’ He takes a deep breath, then sighs heavily. ‘Cancer. Four years ago.’
‘Oh.’ I’m shocked. It’s brutal. I search his eyes and see only pain. Pain, and innocence. I reach out my hand as if to take his. I do it automatically, without thinking. A moment later he reaches and takes hold of mine. There’s no crackle of electricity, no spark of energy jumping from one to the other. Even so, I’m dimly aware that this is the first time we’ve touched, and the moment therefore has significance no matter what happens next.
‘I’m so sorry.’ It feels inadequate, as it always does.
‘Thank you. I loved her very much. But life goes on. It’s a cliché, but it’s true.’ He smiles. He’s still holding my hand. Our eyes lock. I blink, slowly, but I don’t look away. I feel something, something I’ve not felt for a long time, so long I can’t quite work out what it is.
Desire? Power? A mixture of both? I can’t tell.
Once again I try to visualize him with Kate. I’d know, surely? All through our childhood I’d known what she was thinking, when she was in trouble. If this man had anything to do with her death then wouldn’t I just know?
‘I can’t bear this any more. Shall we go upstairs?’
This isn’t right. This isn’t why I came.