Free Second Life by S. J. Watson

everyone can deal with Kate’s death in the same way that you have.’
    ‘Meaning?’
    ‘It’s going to take Connor a good deal longer to get over Kate’s death than it’s
taken you, that’s all.’
    I think of what Adrienne has told me. ‘Don’t ever think Hugh doesn’t care. It’s just
his prissiness. Grief is messy, and he doesn’t like mess. Plus, don’t forget he has
to deal with life and death at work. All the time. It must harden you, a little bit.’
    He looks shocked. ‘I’m not over her death. Kate and I were close once. I miss her,
too. What makes you say that? It’s hurtful.’
    ‘Are you still talking to the Foreign Office? Or are you leaving it all to me—?’
    ‘I talk to them all the time, Julia—’
    ‘You don’t think I should go online and look at the place she was killed—’
    ‘I just think you’re in a bad enough state as it is. You need to concentrate on Connor,
on your work. On the future, not the past.’
    ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
    He opens his mouth to speak, but then seems to think better of it. A moment later
he turns and throws down the tea towel that he’d hooked over his shoulder.
    ‘Julia, I’m really worried about you.’
    ‘About me ?’
    ‘Yes, believe it or not. I think you need to go and see somebody. You’re not coping.
I’m going to Geneva on Monday and you’ll be here on your own—’
    ‘Oh, I’ll be fine,’ I say, but he’s still talking, he doesn’t seem to have heard
me.
    ‘—and I just wish you’d at least consider going to see someone—’
    My fury surges, doubled in strength. Something breaks. I can’t take it any more.
‘Oh, just piss off, Hugh.’ The glass I hadn’t realized I was still holding smashes
on the floor. I don’t remember throwing it.
    He takes a step towards me, then seems to think better of it and turns as if to leave.
He’s finally angry, and so am I, and it almost feels better. It’s something other
than numbness, or pain.
    ‘Where are you going?’
    ‘Out. I’m going for a walk. I need to cool off.’
    He leaves. The whole house shudders, then falls silent, and I’m alone.

Chapter Eight
    I sit on the edge of the bed for a while. I stroke the duvet cover. Egyptian cotton,
duck-egg blue. Our bed, I think. What happened?
    We bought it when we moved in here four years ago and it’s nothing particularly special.
It’s a place we sleep, talk, read. Occasionally we make love, and when we do it’s
still tender, slow. Enjoyable, usually, if not exciting.
    Was it ever exciting? I think so, for a while, but the frenzy of a relationship’s
early days is unsustainable; it has to burn out, become something else. It’s not
his fault, or mine. It happens to everyone.
    Maybe it happened sooner, with us. Hugh is the son of my father’s best friend; he’s
known me since I was at school. Though he was older than me, we always got on, and
as his father tried to look after mine, Hugh looked after me, and helped me to look
after Kate. Our passion, when it eventually came, was muted. It was already accompanied
by a history. Sometimes I think it’s as if we missed out a stage, as if we went from
being friends straight to being companions.
    I hear Hugh come back home. He goes into the living room. I stand up. I have to go
downstairs, to talk to him, to sort things out. If I don’t he’ll sleep on the couch
in his office and I’ll spend another night lying in bed, alone, trying to sleep while
my brain fizzes with images, with thoughts that won’t subside. I’ll turn the events
of the evening over and over, and always at the centre will be Kate. Walking down
the alleyway, looking up to see a figure in the shadows in front of her, smiling
a greeting but then, as she steps forward, he raises his hand and her smile turns
to terror as she realizes that things have gone wrong, this time she’s made a mistake.
The man she’s come to meet isn’t who she thought he was.
    I know that if I were to close my eyes I’d