My mouth is dry, but I’m desperate.
‘Anna, listen—’
‘Thank God,’ she says again. I can hear relief in her voice, but there’s something else. She sounds awful. Out of breath, almost stricken with panic. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Her voice drops, almost to a whisper, I can barely hear what she’s saying. It’s as if she doesn’t want to be overheard. ‘I tried to tell him. I tried. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’
She sounds terrible, and her fear infects me. ‘Anna, what’s wrong? Where’s Lukas? Is he there?’
It’s as if she hasn’t heard me. ‘I couldn’t wait. I tried to tell him. Today. I tried to tell him it was over, that he had to go—’
‘Where is he? Anna!’
‘He’s stormed out. But he’ll be back any second. I went into his computer, Julia, like we agreed. To look at those files. I found something else.’
There’s a tremor in her voice. An uncertainty I haven’t heard before.
‘What? What did you find?’
‘There were these files. There was the one called “Julia”, but there was another.’
I know what she’s going to say.
‘It was called “Connor”…’
My world shrinks to nothing.
‘There were all these pictures.’
I’m frozen, a tiny point. I feel like I haven’t breathed for days. I force myself to speak. My voice is a whisper.
‘What sort of pictures?’
‘Just… you know. Pictures of him—’
‘What sort?’
‘Ordinary pictures. He’s just smiling at the camera.’
‘Jesus—’
‘Do you think he was using me, just to get to Connor—’
‘No. No, no.’
I wonder if my certainty is only because I can’t face the thought of it being true.
‘Connor’s run away.’
‘Run away?’
‘He’s gone to see Evie. His girlfriend. But he’s gone to Paris. They’re meeting Connor’s father.’
‘His father, but how—?’
‘I don’t know. Online, I think.’
‘Wait. What did you say his girlfriend’s name was?’
I close my eyes. Fear builds, infecting me. My skin is crawling. I force myself to speak.
‘Evie. Why?’
She sighs. ‘Julia, I found this list. On Ryan’s computer. All these usernames and passwords.’ She speaks hesitantly, as if she’s unsure, or is figuring something out as she goes. ‘At least that’s what I think they are.’ There’s a long pause. ‘One of them’s Lukas, but there are loads more. Argo-something-or-other, Crab, Baskerville, Jip. And there are all these names. Loads of them, God knows what he’s been doing.’
I know what she’s going to say, even before she says it.
‘One of them’s Evie.’
Something gives within me. I’m sure, now. ‘Oh God,’ I say. I’ve had weeks to understand. Months. I just haven’t wanted to.
‘How do you think he knows her? How does he know Connor’s girlfriend?’
‘Anna. He doesn’t know her. I think he is her.’
‘But—’
‘Is his computer there now?’
‘Yes…’
‘Go online. Look on Facebook.’
I listen as she goes into another room. I hear as she picks up a machine, there’s a swell of music as she wakes it from sleep. A few moments later she says, ‘I’m in. He’s left it logged on. What…?’
And then she stops.
‘What is it? Anna, tell me!’
‘You’re right. The photo he’s using is a young woman,’ she says. ‘And the name… it isn’t Ryan. You’re right, Julia. It’s Evie.’
It all hits me at once. All the things I’ve ignored, not wanted to see. All the things I’ve left unexamined. I go over to Connor’s bed. I sit on it; the mattress gives, the duvet smells of him. Of my boy. My boy, who I’ve put in danger.
‘Anna,’ I say. ‘You have to help me. Go to the station. Gare du Nord. Find my son.’
Downstairs, I call a taxi first and then Hugh. There’s no time to go round to his office, to explain face to face. I have to be on the next train to France.
He answers on the third ring. ‘Julia. Any news?’
I still don’t know what I’m going to say to him.
‘He’s on his way to Paris.’
‘Paris?’
He’s shocked. I want to tell him. I have to tell him.
Yet at the same time I don’t know how.
‘I can explain—’
‘Why Paris?’
‘He’s… he thinks he’s on his way to meet Evie.’
‘How d’you know?’
‘I spoke to her.’
‘Well, I hope you told her how ridiculous this is. He’s fourteen, for goodness’ sake. He shouldn’t be skipping school, taking off for Paris.’ He draws breath. ‘What did she say?’
I try to explain. ‘It’s not that simple. We were talking online. I logged on to Connor’s machine. She thought I was him. It’s how I know where he’s headed.’
I stop speaking. My cab is here, I can hear it idling on the street outside the front door.
‘I have to go,’ I say. I haven’t had time to pack a bag, but I have my passport, and the forty euros I brought back last time and left in a pot on one of the shelves in the kitchen is in my purse.
‘Where?’
‘To Paris. I’m going over there. I’ll get him back.’
‘Julia—’
‘I have to, Hugh.’
There’s a moment of silence as he decides what to do.
‘I’ll come, too. I’ll get the first train I can. I’ll meet you there.’
I sit on the train. I’m numb, I can’t focus on anything. I can’t read, or eat. I’ve left safety behind and don’t know what’s ahead of me.
I concentrate on being as still as possible. I look at the people around me. An American couple sitting across the aisle are discussing the meeting they’re obviously heading back from; they sound clipped and professional, I decide they’re not lovers, just workmates. Another couple, opposite, are sitting in silence, she wearing earbuds and nodding along to music, he with a tourist guide to Paris. I realize with sudden clarity that we’re wearing masks, all of us, all the time. We’re presenting a face, a version of ourselves, to the world, to each other. We show a different face depending on who we’re with and what they expect of us. Even when we’re alone it’s just another mask, the version of ourselves we’d prefer to be.
I turn away and look out of the window as we tear through the city, the countryside. We seem to be building momentum; we hit the tunnel at speed. The noise we make is a dull thud, and for a moment everything goes black. I close my eyes, and then see Frosty, putting her drink down – red wine, and as usual she’s drinking it through a straw. She’s fully made-up, even though it’s the middle of the day and her wig is still upstairs.
‘Honeybunch,’ she’s saying. ‘Where’s Marky?’
I look up. She looks terrified, and I don’t know why. ‘Upstairs. Why?’
‘Come on,’ she says, then she’s running out of the kitchen, and even though I’m following as quickly as I can we still move in slow motion, and we’re going up the stairs, up those dark, carpetless stairs. When we get to the bedroom I shared with Marcus the door won’t open. He’s propped a chair against it, and Frosty has to shoulder it open.
I shake the vision away. I check my phone again. There’s supposed to be a signal down here now, but I have none. I lean over to the American couple, and ask if they’re picking anything up. ‘Not me,’ says the woman, shaking her head, and her colleague tells me he’s already asked a member of staff and no one is. ‘Some problem with the equipment, apparently.’ I force a smile and thank them, then turn away. I’m just going to have to wait.