Facebook, a notification popped up and the banner dropped down and it said “Nate Hudson is alive”. And … God help me, I opened it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, but I did.’
‘Oh my God. But why didn’t you tell me?’
‘It was a message from a woman who claimed to be living with a man she thought was Nate. I … we were having such a great time together. I was so happy and you seemed to be too. I thought it was a troll and a malicious hoax and … I didn’t want it to upset you so I deleted it.’
‘You read my messages and you deleted one?’
‘I admit, it was a terrible thing to do, but I genuinely wanted to protect you … and also –’ he closed his eyes ‘– honestly, I didn’t want it to be Nate. I convinced myself it was malicious and I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t, could I? No matter how much I didn’t want him to come back, I had to follow it up, and then you told me about the visit to your solicitor. I knew then that I had to make certain, for everyone’s sake – for yours most of all. If this woman’s claims came to nothing, I thought I could dismiss it and you’d never know and she’d leave you alone.’
She let out a howl of anguish. She felt like she was being ripped in two. ‘How could you do this?’ she cried, so horrified that he’d lied to her, and unwilling to even process the even more awful possibility that Nate really was alive and had put her through years of hell.
‘I couldn’t help myself. I care for you. More than that, I love you. It was wrong of me – beyond wrong – to look at that alert, but it was impulse, a bad impulse, and now I can’t undo the past or its consequences. It’s not a hoax. This woman lives in Stellenbosch and when I got home, I checked her profile and her friends. There was a man. He looked like Nate in some ways though he had a different name. I’ve spent a lot of time since digging around and I started to form the opinion that Nate really might be alive …’
Form the opinion. It sounded so cold, as if he was talking about a case involving strangers, not ripping her life to shreds with his truth.
‘This woman who contacted you,’ she said, each word feeling like a hot coal in her mouth, ‘is she his girlfriend?’
‘Yes. She lives with him at a vineyard, which she owns with her parents. For one reason and another, she came to believe – or perhaps accept – that he wasn’t who he said he was. I think he might have been borrowing money from the business—’
‘Oh, Jesus.’ That sounded so much like Nate that Marina felt sick. ‘A vineyard?’
‘Yes. It’s a small-scale operation apparently but they must make a living from it.’
‘But Nate didn’t – doesn’t – know anything about wine making. He never even drank it. He said it was all like gnat’s piss. He only ever drank beer.’ She was aware how bizarre her statement was: worrying about stupid stuff like that when she was going through the biggest betrayal imaginable. Was hers a normal reaction? Who knew? There was no normal any more. No one to ask who’d been through the same experience.
The world was full of grieving widows, but who on earth had had their husband come back to life?
In this new and terrible world, everything was possible and nothing was unimaginable.
‘So, why did she try and contact me now?’ she asked, shaking with shock.
‘She claims she couldn’t hold back her suspicions any longer. She said she found an old photo in his wallet, and a business card of a pub in Porthmellow. It led her to you, eventually.’
Marina was sickened. Everything Nate had done, or was doing, was a lie. His whole life was a fabrication. His love for her. Everything.
‘Have you actually spoken to … to her?’
‘Not by phone, but my contact in South Africa has. Once I knew for certain that Nate was alive and had it confirmed by the police over there, I knew I couldn’t rob you of the opportunity to know everything that I do. The only decision I could make was to tell you before you see your solicitor.’
‘Oh God. I – I – I can’t – I don’t know what