I think about my sister again. If she can get over Simon having had a one-night stand, then shouldn’t I be able to surmount Caleb having given his wife the brush-off—however clumsily?
Caleb sets down his coffee, then crosses the hut and gets to his knees in front of me. “My life with you, here, isten timeswhat it was with Helen.” He dips his head to kiss the knot of my hands, clasped together in my lap. “This is how love ismeantto feel, Lucy. What we have. You and me.”
I know he’s right, when he says that: that this is how love is meant to feel. I’ve known it the whole time we’ve been together—that being with Caleb feels like walking into a lit room after too long spent stumbling around in the dark.
But I still can’t help feeling a ripple of unease pass through me, like the lights might blow at any moment, and I’ll be left in the dark once again.
Go
Max and I don’t speak at all between leaving the karaoke bar and arriving back in Tooting. He just holds my hand in the cab, and I turn my head away from him, letting a few tears fall, smearing the window with my breath.
How can I still feel this terrified, so many years later?
Back at the house, we head upstairs, where I take off my shoes and Max’s coat and climb onto my bed, pulling my feet up beneath me. The heating’s on and the room is warm—which I’m grateful for, because I still feel cold from the shock of having encountered Nate’s doppelganger.
There are people downstairs in the living room. I can hear Reuben talking over everyone, and that honking seal-laugh Sal does when she’s stoned, or drunk. They’re playing music, and the bass snakes upthrough the ceiling and into the space between us, along with a ripe twist of weed. Their presence down there is comforting, reassuring.
Jools is out tonight, seeing Vince. She might break it off. After a promising start involving late-night conversations, flowers to the house, and all the hallmarks of him having good manners, it’s not been going well. He keeps telling her he wants to take things to the next level—whatever that means—then failing to reply to her messages, sometimes for days at a time.
Max sits in the chair next to the fireplace. “What happened back there?”
I realize I’m still leaking tears. I reach over to my nightstand for a tissue and wipe them away with a shaking hand. Max is watching me, his face distorted with concern.
Jools is the only person I’ve ever told. A part of me wishes she were here right now, holding my hand.
“It’s something... and it’s nothing. I mean it’s bad, but my mind plays tricks on me. Sometimes I wonder if I’m overreacting. I mean, I’m alive—”
“Alive?” Max looks alarmed. “You need to tell me what’s going on, Luce. Right now.”
So I swallow, then start to talk.
—
It was nearly ten years ago. Since Boxing Day, I’d been traveling through Europe, Morocco, Thailand, and Malaysia after leaving university in Norwich, with Australia my final stop. In March I landed in Sydney, with plans to stay in Australia for a while, then move on to New Zealand and after that, North America.
It was my first night in Australia. What an idiot.
There are some people in this world whose charm is undoubtedlypathological. Max has charm and charisma in abundance, but he also has a good heart. The best heart.
But Nate’s charm, when I look back now, was nothing more than a chilling, brilliant performance.
He must have followed me, I realized later. I couldn’t have made a more perfect target, walking alone from the backpackers’ hostel to the Opera Bar, where I planned to take some selfies. I was checking my phone for directions the whole way.
Tash had set dinner up for me with a friend and her husband for the following evening, but that first night was mine to enjoy.
It had been an overcast, humid day. The bar was crowded, thick with bodies. I ordered a drink and, after managing to bag one of the last available seats right next to the water, started flipping through a guidebook. Yes, I literally did that. I must have looked the picture of innocence. It could only have been more obvious if I’d hadMUGscrawled across my forehead in lipstick.
“Erin, is it?”
For a moment I didn’t react, but when the shadow by my seat failed to move, I looked up. He was handsome as a movie star—green eyes, dark hair, features so perfect he almost looked unreal, like he’d been CGI’d into the space next to me.
The worst thing was, I was instantly on my guard. I knew from the start. Iknew.
And yet, I let him in.
I smiled politely, shook my head. “Nope.”
“Oh! I’m sorry. You looked like...” He shook his head, raised a hand in apology. “Never mind.”
