Second Life by S. J. Watson Read Free Book Online Page A

lapse doesn’t have to
be a relapse, or tell me that I can start going to meetings again, or make me feel
that we’re in it together.
    ‘I won’t drink again,’ I say.
    He smiles, and tells me he hopes not, for my sake, and for Connor’s. He tells me
he’s here for me, always, but it’s too late. He layered the guilt on first, and now
I’m hardly listening. Instead, I’m thinking of my sponsor, Rachel. I wish I could
ring her, but she’s moved away, it’s been too long. And I’m thinking of Kate.
    Finally he’s silent. I wait for a moment then thank him. We sit for a few more minutes,
then I tell him I need to go to bed. He kisses me, and says he’ll be up in a minute.
    I’m on my own, but I won’t let this happen again, I tell myself. I’ll be vigilant.
Whatever happens, whatever it takes, I won’t drink again.

Chapter Six
    I wake early. My eyes flick open. Another bad night. It’s June, two months since
I went to Paris, four since Kate died. It’s still dark. It’s the middle of the night.
    The room is hot and airless, the sheets soaked. Hugh has kicked the duvet off and
lies next to me, snoring gently. The clock on my side of the bed ticks, too loud.
Four forty. The same time I woke up last night, and the night before that.
    I’ve been dreaming of Kate. This time she was about four, it was summer, we were
in the garden. She was wearing a yellow dress, angel wings made out of yellow paper,
black tights. She wanted me to chase her; she was making a buzzing sound, pretending
to be a bee. ‘Come on!’ she was saying, over and over, but I was bored, I wanted
to stop. I wanted to get back to my book. ‘Come on, Julia!’ she was saying, ‘Come
on!’ then she turned and ran, towards a wood. I wanted to tell her not to go in there,
but I didn’t. I was too hot, too lazy. I just let her run away from me, and then
turned to go back to the house. As I did the dream morphed, we were adults now, something
terrible was happening, and suddenly it was me who was running, running after her,
calling her name, and she who was disappearing into an alleyway. It was dark, I was
desperate to catch up with her, to save her. I ran round a corner and she was there,
slumped on the floor. I was too late.
    I sit on the edge of the bed. Every night it’s the same, a dream of Kate, bleeding
to death, and then in a dream behind a dream there’s Marcus, always Marcus, his mouth
open and accusing. I know I won’t sleep again, I never do.
    Tonight I’m weak. I can’t help it. And so I let myself think of him. Of Marcus. For
the first time in years I think of the day we met. I close my eyes and I can see
it. I’m back there. Marcus is sitting opposite me, the other side of the circle.
It’s his first meeting. We’re in a church hall, it’s draughty, a tea urn fizzes in
one of the corners. The chair – a guy called Keith – has already outlined the programme
and introduced the first speaker, a woman whose name I’ve forgotten. I barely listen
as she speaks; I’ve been coming for a while, ever since I caved in and admitted I’ve
been drinking too much for too long. Plus, I’m watching Marcus. He’s the same age
as me, and we’re both much younger than the others in the group. He sits forward
in his chair. He looks eager, attentive, yet at the same time he doesn’t seem wholly
interested. Something about him is wrong. I wonder if he’s here for himself, or for
someone else. I picture a girlfriend, someone who he’d hoped to persuade here tonight
but who refused to come. Perhaps he wants to go home, back to her, and tell her what
he’s learned. It’s not so bad, he might say. These people want to help. Next week
come with me.
    I wanted to find out. I don’t know why; maybe he looked like someone I thought I
could get on with. I went up to him, during the break. I introduced myself, and he
said his name was Marcus. ‘Hi,’ I said, and he smiled, and in that moment I realized
just how attracted I was to him. It