Julian had made fish.
Daniel smelled it before he reached the top of the stairs: butter, lemon, the warm sharpness of capers. His stomach tightened with hunger and he was furious with it.
“I thought you might come back,” Julian said.
“You thought right.”
“How did you get in?”
Julian put a small key beside the pan. “Ada’s.”
Daniel held out his hand. Julian gave it to him. The metal was warm from his pocket.
He stood in the kitchen doorway. Julian had changed his shirt. The bruise made him look ill in the softer light.
“Did you see her?”
“Yes.”
“Is she safe?”
“She spoke to the police.”
Julian put the pan down.
“What did she tell them?”
“What happened on Sunday.”
“A version of it.”
“And about the camera.”
For a moment nothing in the kitchen moved.
Then Julian reached for a cloth and folded it over the pan handle.
“I shouldn't have done that.”
“No.”
“I wanted to know what was happening.”
“You put a camera in my bedroom.”
“Yes.”
He said it simply. Daniel had wanted an argument, something he could knock against until anger became enough. The admission made him feel weaker.
Julian lifted two plates from the warm oven.
“Sit down.”
“Don't tell me what to do.”
“Then stand. But eat something.”
The fish was just crisp at the edges. Julian spooned sauce over it and kept the capers towards one side. Ada knew Daniel liked the taste but not a whole mouthful of them. Julian knew too.
Daniel sat.
The first bite was good. He wished it weren't. He took another.
Across the table Julian cut his own fish and let the silence last. The kitchen window was open a little. A gull called from the roof, and a neighbour's washing banged against a line. These things belonged to Daniel's life. Julian was sitting among them as if he had won his way in by making supper.
“Did she tell you about the little films?” Julian asked.
“Yes.”
“Then you know she isn't only frightened of me.”
Daniel put his fork down.
“Did you watch them while I was with her?”
Julian looked at his plate.
“Sometimes.”
“What did you think you were seeing?”
“I thought she was happy.”
“And you liked it.”
“Yes.”
“Because I didn't know.”
“No. Because you looked at her in a way I'd forgotten how to.”
Daniel stood so abruptly his chair struck the cupboard. Julian didn't move.
He went to the sink and ran water over an already clean spoon. The water was too hot. He left his hand under it until he had to pull away.
Behind him Julian said, “You can ask me to leave.”
“I know.”
“I'll go.”
Daniel watched steam rise from the spoon. “Will you give her things back?”
“Of course.”
“The bag. Phone. Card.”
“Yes.”
“They're here.”
“In my bag.”
The ease of the answer turned the sofa in the next room into something dirty. Daniel opened Cole’s number on his phone. A statement would mean letting somebody else ask the questions. He put the phone face down.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“You'd have asked how I had them.”
“That's an answer.”
“I know.”
Daniel dried the spoon. He was hungry. The fish was cooling. He sat down again and ate three more mouthfuls as though carrying out an unpleasant task.
Julian watched him.
“Don't.”
“What?”
“Look pleased.”
“I didn't mean to.”
“You never mean to when I notice.”
Julian lowered his eyes. Daniel could still feel the attention. He remembered the kiss on the stairs and knew he had wanted it. Nothing Ada told him could make that a thing Julian had done alone.
He said, “What were you going to do? Move in? Bring a sofa?”
Julian gave a brief, involuntary laugh.
“Your sofa is awful.”
“That's your defence?”
“No.”
“Explain it, then.”
“I thought we might make a life. The three of us.”
“You'd have been very helpful arranging it.”
“I would have liked to be.”
The shamelessness almost made Daniel laugh too. It was worse because he could picture it: the room altered, a better lamp, Julian at the stove and Ada in one of her furious print moods. Three people moving around the place without anyone needing to ask where they stood.
He hated the picture for coming so easily.
“She wanted you without me,” Julian said. “And when she got that, she didn't know how to tell you who she was.”
“You were going to help her.”
“I could have told you.”
“You came here and lied.”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked at him. The man's eyes were wet, which could be a fact without becoming an excuse.
“What if she isn't in it?” Julian asked.
“In what?”
“Us.”
The word brought warmth to Daniel's face. He looked at the paper flower in the window. It had leaned sideways in the breeze.
Julian said, “Last night wasn't planned.”
“By me.”
“By either of us.”
“You already wanted it.”
“Yes. And you didn't have to.”
Daniel put his hand under the edge of a plate, then left it. Perhaps Julian would still say a thing he could believe without losing something else.
The man reached across the table and stopped short of his hand.
“If you want to know what she gave me, I'll show you.”
“Your camera.”
“That too. But I mean before. The things she chose.”
“And then I'll know whether she loved me.”
Julian hesitated. “You'll know more than you do now.”
Daniel looked at the offered hand. There was a small burn above Julian's thumb from cooking. His fingers moved towards it before he stopped them. Wanting had become humiliatingly cheap; it kept surviving evidence against it.
He picked up his phone instead.
“Ada should be here.”
Julian drew his hand back.
“Tomorrow. She gets her things. You show us what you have.”
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Are you sure you want that?”
He heard the question as a challenge to his courage. A quieter part of him heard a way out and let it pass.
He called Ruth's number. When Ada answered, he said Julian would bring everything tomorrow, and she could take back her bag and phone.
“I don't want to sit with him,” she said.
“Then stand.”
He recognized Julian's words a moment after he used them.
There was silence at the other end.
“I need to hear you both,” Daniel said. “Not one and then the other. I can't keep doing that.”
“He won't show you everything.”
“Then say so when he's here.”
She asked what time. He told her one.
Afterwards Julian cleared the plates. Daniel let him.
When Julian passed close behind his chair, Daniel caught his sleeve. He hadn't meant to, but once he had hold of it he didn't let go at once.
Julian stood still.
Daniel felt the warmth of an arm through the cloth, the same warmth he'd wanted the night before. Then he released it and said, “Don't come into the bedroom.”
“All right.”
In the bedroom, alone, Daniel switched on the light and looked into the mirror.
He could not find the lens. He knew where Ada had said it was. He moved his head, leaned closer, touched one of the black openings with a fingertip.
His reflection copied him faithfully. He couldn't bear that either.