The Lion Tamer Who Lost

by Louise Beech

  ‘It’s not mine.’ Ben realised how inane the explanation sounded. ‘Can I have a bottle of water?’

  ‘Is the coffee real or instant?’ Jodie asked the waitress.

  She ordered egg sandwiches (which Ben couldn’t be bothered to argue about not liking) and carrot cake. They sat near the counter with their backs to the restaurant area.

  ‘What are you counting?’ asked Jodie.

  Ben hadn’t realised he was. ‘Crumbs,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why not?’

  While Ben dabbed his T-shirt with water she chatted about a party her friend was having tomorrow. He had to get out of this, go home. He rubbed his T-shirt so hard he knocked the water bottle over. He knelt down to mop the liquid with napkins. The water rose up his jeaned thigh, like wet flames.

  Ben looked up then and saw Andrew.

  Andrew.

  One hand on the door, the other around the strap of a brown satchel, he must have seen Ben too and paused.

  He came over. His feet were quiet. No jarring clickety-clackety heels announced him; he crept back into Ben’s life with soft footfalls like a ruffle-haired ghost. Ben sat back on his heels, wondering if shock had made him hallucinate. He heard Jodie say she would complain that the carrot cake had very few orange pieces in it. Andrew said nothing; everything about him was silent. Ben thought if he blinked he would disappear again.

  Andrew said, ‘I was…’ but the sentence trailed into breath.

  ‘He thought I was his brother.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The boy in the car.’

  ‘You were with him?’ Andrew looked outside. ‘I saw the aftermath. Is he okay?’

  Behind them Jodie spat her words out like fruit pips, demanding an introduction.

  ‘I think so.’ Ben realised he was still kneeling and stood. ‘You were in the station.’

  ‘What station?’

  ‘Doncaster,’ said Ben. ‘On a bench, the day after we met.’

  Andrew paused, thought. ‘I was going to see my publisher. I didn’t see you though.’

  ‘You’d gone when I got to you.’

  ‘Give me your T-shirt.’

  Ben stared at him.

  ‘You need to get it in cold water before it dries.’ He held out a hand. Three tiny freckles gathered like dust at his thumb.

  Behind them Jodie asked whether Ben was listening to her because otherwise she was going. Andrew smiled the half-up, half-down smile that Ben remembered, and said, ‘Give me the top.’

  Ben peeled off his T-shirt and handed it to him. Andrew disappeared into the toilet.

  ‘Who’s he?’ Jodie stared at Ben’s naked chest. ‘He’s a bit weird.’

  ‘A mate from uni. I didn’t expect to see him here. Look, Jodie, you’re sweet, but my dad … well, he had no right to interfere and tell you I was interested.’ Seeing Andrew made him brave again.

  Jodie grumbled that he could have told her before she wasted the petrol. Ben apologised again and said it was nothing she’d done. She shook her head, told him he was just plain weird, and left in a flurry of heels.

  Ben didn’t watch her for long.

  Andrew returned from the toilet with the T-shirt squeezed and damp in his hands. They left the café together and bought a cheap top at a charity shop nearby and walked for a while through the park.

  ‘You always follow an accident,’ said Ben.

  ‘What?’

  ‘In the station; the train had derailed. And now, the car…’

  ‘Odd,’ said Andrew. He paused. ‘I did try calling you. I must have copied it across wrong.’

  Ben shrugged, like he’d never given it another thought. ‘You’re here now.’

  ‘I am.’

  10

  ZIMBABWE

  The Seductive Spell of Darkness

  Friends are very much the best things in the world. Like socks that fit perfectly and keep your toes warm.

  Andrew Fitzgerald, The Lion Tamer Who Lost

  ‘You’re miles away.’

  The words jolt Ben from the past. He looks around. He is still sitting on the rotten log with Esther. How long has she been talking to him? The sun is much lower in the sky.

  ‘Sorry. I was miles away.’

  ‘You were. Where w––’

  The sound then of light footfall; Stig approaches.

  ‘I think you should come back to the enclosure,’ he says.

  Wordlessly, they follow him there. Lucy lies in the long grass near some of the lionesses. Though most of the females still ignore her, two appear curious. A slender creature with longer legs than the others shoves Lucy playfully; another glares at her up close. Lucy acts as though she doesn’t care whether they engage with her or not. She swats her tail nonchalantly.

  Ben smiles. She is clever. Did she learn it from him? That indifference provokes interest. Or is it purely instinct? Must be instinct.

  On the soily mound, Chuma sits alone, watching his sister.

  ‘Poor Chuma,’ whispers Esther.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Stig. ‘But I’m sure he’ll be okay. He was probably waiting to make sure Lucy was okay first.’

  ‘I know Chuma will be okay,’ Ben tells Esther, even though he isn’t.

  A total solar eclipse dominates the end of Ben’s third month in Zimbabwe.

  March brings an eclipse across northern Africa. Quickly arranged safaris cash in on tourists wishing to view the event in full. Safety posters are displayed on roadsides, and in villages blindness-preventing glasses sell out. Then street vendors offer aluminium foil to crowds so they can to watch day turn briefly into night through the safety of silvery paper. Many observers report an unusually beautiful eclipse. Further south, where the Liberty Lion project is, the darkness when the moon sits between the earth and sun is only partial. It lasts four minutes and seven seconds.

  During which, Esther kisses Ben.

  And he lets her.

  Knowing the lions might be confused by the sudden change in light and temperature, the volunteers stay away from them. When the semi-blackness falls, some of the animals pace the fence. Others curl up close to their pals, growling softly.

  Most of the volunteers gather in groups for the unique sight, sitting in the acacia trees’ shade, sunglasses perched on their heads like holidaymakers waiting by a pool for cocktails.

  ‘I know a better spot,’ says Esther, watching them herd together.

  She and Ben have been spending a lot of time together, united by their love of Lucy and Chuma. Each day for the last few weeks, once daily duties are done, they have watched their wards in the grassy enclosure. The two cubs are slowly settling in, separately, as was hoped. Chuma is finding it difficult still; his unwillingness to fight means he has trouble asserting his authority. A bloody brawl with a much larger lion, Gallant, has made him even more reluctant.

  Lucy, though, is a keen leader in her group. She does not look over at Ben while with her lionesses, but when he feeds her she is receptive, and he is sure she remembers their nights together. Very soon, she will hunt. When she does, he can follow, far behind in a truck, observing.

  ‘No one knows this place,’ says Esther, leading Ben through the long grass to a rock jutting out like a bad tooth. It gives way to sloping land and provides a view for miles around. ‘I found it the other day and sat writing my diary. It was so peaceful I felt like all my thoughts settled down.’

  It is just the kind of thing Andrew might say – or have said. But he is past tense now; Esther is present. She is a great friend. Ben has opened up a little more recently, admitting he fell out with his dad before coming here. He tells her just enough – so that she feels he has confided in her, but remains his friend.

  ‘Here we go,’ says Esther looking at the sky.

  They put on safety glasses, and watch the moon inching closer to sun.

  ‘Stig said the locals think the eclipse is a harbinger of tragedy,’ says Esther.

  ‘Such a bloody Stig thing to say
.’

  Esther laughs. ‘I hope they can see this in England. My little brother would love it. He’s obsessed with the sky and space and faraway stuff.’

  It’s early morning, but the insects think it’s early dusk and come out, buzzing in confusion. Light fades. Now an inky shadow, the moon turns the sun into a glowing iris, and it seems to Ben that an eye looks down on them. The world darkens.

  Perhaps encouraged by this shroud of privacy, Esther moves closer to Ben and puts a tremulous hand on his knee. Should he stop her? Hurt her with another rejection? Hurt her the way he has been?

  Now is the time to stop her before it starts.

  But he lets Esther kiss him. She tastes of sweetness and youth – and something else. Something he cannot name. What is it? Femaleness. Though not unpleasant, it is strange. Their safety glasses clash. He tries to kiss her back.

  Maybe life could be simple with her. No passion, maybe. But safety.

  He shifts position so he can stroke her cheek. The moon has blocked the fire of day, but only for moments. Then the light returns, the moon moves on, and the sun rules again.

  Ben pulls away from Esther and says, ‘I can’t.’

  She frowns. ‘But you were.’

  ‘I just…’ Ben holds his head. He thinks of getting up and leaving, but that would be unkind, and cowardly.

  ‘You love someone else.’ It is a statement Esther utters without looking at him. ‘I’m not fucking stupid. You clearly had your heart broken back home. You’ve said your dad is the reason you’re here, but there’s obviously way more to it.’

  Ben shakes his head.

  ‘Look, I like you.’ Esther pulls at the long grass near her sandaled feet. ‘I know I denied it when you turned down my wine that night. But I felt stupid. Rejected, I guess.’ She pauses. ‘Who was she then? She must’ve really fucking hurt you.’

  ‘They didn’t hurt me,’ he says carefully. ‘It was something else. I’d never want anyone to think … to think … they did me wrong.’

  ‘Sometimes it’s as though – well, as though you’re blocked or something.’ Esther shakes her head. ‘Sounds weird, but it’s true. I’ve been hurt, too, you know.’

  ‘I know. Greg was a bastard for treating you the way he did.’

  Yesterday Esther stayed in her room all day with a tummy bug, and Ben sat with her. In that vulnerable, weak moment she admitted Greg had knocked her about. That when he’d had a few beers, he got jealous over every little thing she did. If she so much as spoke to another man, he snapped. She hid the bruises with long sleeves, and no one ever knew.

  ‘Can’t you get past it?’ asks Esther now.

  ‘Past what?’

  ‘This thing beyond the two of you that ended it.’

  ‘No,’ says Ben quietly.

  Esther throws a long blade of grass. After a while she says, ‘Wish my little brother could see all this.’

  Ben smiles. ‘Bet he’d love it here.’

  The split-lipped hare appears from behind a velvet bushwillow and lollops past the couple, perhaps feeling safe now the light is back.

  ‘Maybe everyone should come here,’ says Ben. ‘Like National Service or something.’

  ‘National Service?’ Esther frowns.

  ‘You know, in the old days when young men had to give a year’s mandatory service to the army.’

  ‘I’d like to see Greg have to do it.’

  ‘Bet that would whip the bastard into shape.’

  Esther looks at Ben. ‘Whatever happened, your ex was lucky to have you.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  She reaches for his hand. She does it nervously and Ben can tell she fears his rejection again. He can’t reject her. He can’t. He knows how that feels. He knows what it’s like to be ignored. Overlooked.

  So he takes her hand in his.

  They sit for a while. With the light back, Ben sees the golds and ambers of the landscape even more clearly. She kisses him again.

  He lets her. The sun disappears behind a cloud.

  Esther stands, keeping hold of his hand. She leads Ben wordlessly back to her hut. As she opens the door and ushers him inside, he remembers when he and Andrew first talked about wishes. When they were still counting their days. When they were thinking about the circus.

  Ben asks Esther to close the shutters so it is dark. He lets her think he is just a bit shy, but he is afraid he might cry.

  He closes his eyes and thinks of his small room back home.

  11

  ENGLAND

  How Wishing Works

  Ben slept as his world changed. Sleep lets change creep up and shake everything, like a plastic puzzle in a Christmas cracker.

  Andrew Fitzgerald, The Lion Tamer Who Lost

  On Ben’s tiny bed Andrew first described his Wish Box.

  Outside the morning rain died; the only sound in the room was the two clocks ticking out of sync. And then Andrew’s words. Sprawled on Ben’s duvet, he mentioned a Wish Box, stressing each word to make it clear that this was a proper noun. Ben watched his lips move over the capitals, listened to him describe how it was rusted silver with a wrong-sized lid that frequently fell off, and how Andrew wrote wishes on Post-it notes and placed them inside until they came true.

  ‘Don’t laugh,’ Andrew concluded.

  ‘Is this like that stupid Feng Shui stuff you once did to your flat?’

  ‘It wasn’t stupid,’ snapped Andrew. ‘It improved my sleep.’

  ‘A Wish Box.’ Ben said the pronoun with mockery. ‘Weird. Even for you.’

  ‘When I was little,’ Andrew explained, ‘I discovered wishing totally by accident. Scribbles I did in notepads somehow ended up coming true. Stop looking at me like that. Like, I wrote about these cool new Adidas trainers I loved and a month later someone at my mum’s work gave her an almost-new pair in my size.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean it was cos you wished for them.’

  ‘There was all sorts I wrote down that ended up happening. In the end I did it more actively. I wrote stuff down and kept it in a safe place until it came true. Now I put them in my Wish Box.’

  ‘Don’t the Post-it notes get stuck to the inside?’

  Andrew ignored the scorn. ‘I fold them in on themselves.’ He moved his hands as though doing so. ‘Don’t give me that look. You asked about it, and I’m telling you. You have to be realistic.’

  ‘Realistic?’

  ‘You have to wish for something likely to happen.’

  ‘That’s cheating.’

  The smell of damp grass floated up from the garden.

  ‘It isn’t.’

  ‘Is.’

  ‘Is this cos I told you about the peas?’ asked Ben.

  Last night he had admitted his obsession with counting all the peas on his plate before eating them. Now he counted their days together too; one day, two days, three, a week, a month, two. It made him feel they were less likely to lose one another again somehow.

  ‘Wishing for something likely to happen is just cheating,’ he repeated.

  ‘I wouldn’t cheat.’ Andrew looked serious.

  Ben couldn’t believe he was thirty-nine, that a face so free of deep wrinkles and eyes so bright could belong to a man defined by society as almost middle-aged. A box with wishes stuffed in it had no place in the life of someone that old. Softly spoken and blond-haired, Andrew was as beautiful as the angels in those Botticelli paintings, something divine in Ben’s shabby room. He had initially been embarrassed about his childhood bedroom, about the faded posters and the boyish collection of replica cars gathering dust on the wardrobe. Each time Andrew came over – when no one was home – Ben apologised.

  ‘Give me more examples,’ Ben demanded.

  Andrew stretched out his legs and yawned. ‘Say if I wished you were thirty-nine, it couldn’t happen.’

  ‘It will in seventeen years – at least I hope so.’

  ‘But it couldn’t happen now.’

  ‘Tell me a did happen,’ said Ben.
>
  ‘No. You’re laughing.’

  Ben paused. ‘So tell me how it works? I need the mechanics.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Andrew. ‘First off, you have to be patient. Most wishes aren’t likely to come true overnight. Then be realistic – make sure it’s a thing that might possibly happen. And generally, only ever make one at a time. If one hasn’t come true for a long time, it’s probably okay to make anoth––’

  ‘They don’t all work then?’ interrupted Ben.

  ‘About eighty percent.’

  ‘Not bad odds, I suppose.’

  ‘Writing it down and putting it somewhere safe, like in a box, shows that you mean business,’ continued Andrew. ‘Then you’re more likely to pursue it and make sure it comes true.’

  ‘Cheat, you mean.’

  Andrew ignored the jibe. ‘Always make them positive,’ he said. ‘It’s very important to be exact. If you’re vague, it might not be the thing you want.’

  Andrew was like no one Ben had ever met. Their differences filled the room; Ben’s clothes in a neat pile on the bed end and Andrew’s discarded T-shirt on the floor, his watch on top flashing gold lights at the ceiling. On their first date – two days after crossing paths for the third time in that café – they had been wearing exactly the same jeans. They had both spoken at the same time; they both said, ‘I wasn’t even going to wear these ones.’ Now it was as if he and Andrew couldn’t mirror one another if they tried.

  And Ben couldn’t get enough of him.

  ‘Why do you do it though?’ he asked now.

  ‘Wish?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I suppose it compels me to make sure the thing I want happens.’

  The breeze lifted a curtain away from the window sill. Only one of them was closed. Ben had pulled it, worried that Mr Cartwright next door might see them from his greenhouse. But Andrew had put his hand over Ben’s belt, said, ‘Who cares?’ Ben had insisted they stay away from the window.