‘I’ll tell you in a little while. Let’s get a drink?’
We sit, then order coffees. I put the flowers on top of the bag at my feet. It’s as if I’m trying to hide them, and I hope he doesn’t notice.
I ask him again why we’re here. He sighs, then runs his fingers through his hair. I don’t think it’s nerves. He looks lost. And scared.
‘Don’t be mad, but I lied to you.’
‘Okay.’ It’s the wife, I think. She’s alive, and believes he’s still out here because he missed his flight. ‘Go on…’
‘I know we started this only as an internet fling, but the thing is, I really want to see you again.’
I smile. I don’t know what to think. I’m flattered, relieved, but I don’t understand why there’s been a build-up. Something I need to tell you. Don’t be mad. There must be a but…
‘Do you want to see me again?’ He sounds hopeful, unsure.
I hesitate. I don’t know what I want. I still can’t quite shake the thought that he might help me find the answers I need.
Yet that’s not the whole story. There’s part of me that wants to see him again for reasons that have nothing to do with Kate at all.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Yes, I do. But it’s not that easy. You’re going home today, and I live here, and—’
‘I’m not going home today. Or not back to Italy, at least.’
‘Okay…’ Now we’re getting to the point. My mind races ahead. Where then? I want to say. Where? But instead I just nod. Part of me already knows what he’s going to say.
‘I live here.’
The reaction is instant. My skin crawls; I’m hypersensitized. I can feel the sun on my shoulder, the roughness of the fabric of the seat, the weight of the wristwatch on my arm. It’s as if everything that has been out of focus has snapped sharp.
‘Here?’
He nods.
‘In London?’
‘No. But, not far away. I live just outside Cambridge.’
So that’s why we’re meeting here. At the station.
‘Okay…’ I’m still processing what he’s told me. It’s too intimate, too close. Perversely, the news makes me want to get away from him, so that I can sit with it for a moment and work out how I feel.
‘You seem very… quiet.’
‘It’s nothing. It’s just a surprise. You told me you lived in Milan.’
‘I know, I’m sorry. You’re not angry with me?’ Suddenly he sounds so young, so naive. Somehow he reminds me of myself, when I was eighteen, nineteen, back when I was falling in love with Marcus.
He goes on. ‘For lying, I mean. It was just one of those things you say when you think you’re just chatting online and it’s not going to lead anywhere. You know how it is—’
‘I’m married.’ It comes out abruptly, as if I weren’t expecting it myself, and as soon as I’ve spoken I look away, over his shoulder. I don’t know what his reaction will be, but whether it’s anger, or disappointment, or something else entirely, I don’t want to see it.
For a long moment he says nothing, but then he speaks.
‘Married?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry I never told you. I thought it didn’t matter. I thought this was just an internet thing. Just like you.’
He sighs. ‘I thought so.’
‘You did?’
He nods towards my hand. ‘Your ring. It leaves a mark.’
I look down at my hand. It’s true. Around my finger there’s an indentation, the inverse of the ring I normally wear, its negative.
He smiles but is clearly upset.
‘What’s he called?’
‘Harvey.’ The lie trips off my tongue easily, as if I’d known all along I’d have to tell it.
‘What does he do?’
‘He works in a hospital.’
‘A doctor?’
I hesitate. I don’t want to tell the truth. ‘Sort of.’
‘Do you love him?’
The question surprises me, but my answer comes instantly.
‘Yes. I can’t imagine life without him.’
‘Sometimes that’s just a lack of imagination, though…’
I smile. I could choose to be offended, but I don’t. As it turns out, we’ve each had our lies. ‘Maybe…’ Our coffees arrive: a cappuccino for me, an espresso for him. I wait while he adds sugar, then say, ‘But not for me and Harvey. I don’t think it’s a lack of imagination.’
I stir my coffee. Maybe he’s right, and it is. Perhaps I can’t imagine a life without Hugh because it’s been so long since I’ve had one. Maybe he’s become like a limb, something I take for granted, until it’s missing. Or maybe he’s like a scar. Part of me, no longer something I even notice, yet nevertheless indelible.
‘So is this it, then?’ His face is flushed; he looks childishly defiant. I look away, over to the desk. A couple are checking in; they’re older, excited. They’re American, asking lots of questions. Their first trip to Europe, I guess.
I realize that, while I might not know what Lukas and I have, I don’t want it to be over. I’ve felt better, these last few days and weeks, and now I know it wasn’t all to do with trying to find the person who murdered Kate.
‘I don’t want it to be. But my husband, he’s the—’ I stop myself. The father of my son, I was going to say, yet not only is that something I don’t want to tell him, it’s another lie. He looks at me expectantly. I need to say something.
‘He’s the person that saved me.’
‘Saved you? From what?’
I pick up my coffee then put it down. I really want a drink.
Ride it out. Ride it out.
‘Another time, perhaps.’
‘Shall we go upstairs?’ he says. There’s an urgency to his voice, as if he wants to finish his sentence before I can say no. ‘I still have a room.’
I shake my head, even though I want to. I want to so much, but I know I mustn’t. Not now. Now I know what might be possible. Ride it out, I tell myself again. Ride it out.
‘No,’ I say. ‘I can’t.’
He puts his hand on the table between us. I can’t help myself. I put mine on top of it. ‘I’m sorry.’
He looks up, into my eyes. He seems nervous, hesitant. ‘Jayne. I get that we hardly know each other, but meeting you feels like the best thing that’s happened since my wife died. I can’t just let you go.’
‘I’m afraid…’
‘Are you saying yesterday was a mistake?’
‘No. No, not at all. It’s just…’
It’s just more complicated than that, I want to say. It’s not just about me, and Hugh. There’s Connor, too, and what’s happening in our lives. Kate’s death. Hugh’s case. It’s not an easy time. Nothing is straightforward.
I find I want to tell him the truth about Kate. Maybe he can be there for me. Impartial. Supportive. He’s lost his wife, after all. He might understand in a way that Hugh, that Anna and Adrienne and the others can’t.
‘Just what?’
Something stops me.
‘I don’t want to jeopardize my marriage.’
‘I’m not asking you to leave your husband. I’m asking you to come upstairs. Just one more time.’
I close my eyes. How do I know it’ll be one more time? I remember telling myself that once before, as the needle bit into my flesh for the second time, and then again when it did for the third.
‘No.’ And yet, even as I say it, I’m thinking of afterwards, as we lie together, the two of us wrapped in the sheets. I can picture the room, the high ceiling, the gentle draught of the air conditioning. I can see Lukas, sleeping. There’s the tiniest sound as his chest rises and then falls. For some reason, despite the path that’s brought me to him, I realize I feel safe.
Soon I will go home – back to my real life, back to Hugh and to Connor, back to Adrienne and Anna, back to a life without my sister – but perhaps if I do this first it’ll be different. The pain of her death will not have faded, but it will be blunted. I won’t care quite so much that the person who took her life is still free. Instead I’ll be thinking about this moment, when everything feels so alive and uncomplicated, when all my pain and sorrow have shrunk down, condensed and transformed to this one thing, this one need, this one desire. Me and him, him and me. If I sleep with him again there’ll at least be one more brief moment when there’s no past and no future and nothing else exists in the world except for us, and it will be a tiny moment of peace.