The Lion Tamer Who Lost

by Louise Beech

  She didn’t share the intimate details with Andrew but there was a wistfulness in her eyes when she said he had blown smoke rings and had loved her hair. Despite taking her telephone number and promising to call, the man never did. Andrew was the surprise eight-and-a-half months later. He was an extra burden for a spinster; she was a single parent at forty-four.

  Anne passed away in her sleep, just weeks after sharing these details, without ever telling Andrew the name of his young, mysterious, cigarette-smoking father. He wondered if she even knew it. She had said she was worried that Andrew had paid the price for their wildness with his curse.

  His curse, she called his diabetes; but Andrew always called it just life.

  He finished his toast and put the plate on the cabinet.

  Thinking about his mother, and his nobody father, made him melancholy so Andrew thought about the Robinson boys next door: Harry and Sam and Tom. Sam was Andrew’s favourite. He knew how to fight. Andrew’s mother didn’t like him to fight. ‘You’ll have a hypo,’ she always said. ‘You’ll fall and hurt yourself. You should do nice quiet things.’ Ben moved. Spoke again. ‘You know I said earlier…’

  ‘What?’ asked Andrew gently, glad he was awake again.

  ‘I said it was silly … what I want to do…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well … I want to go to Zimbabwe.’

  Andrew waited for Ben to go on.

  ‘When I was a kid,’ he said, sighing sleepily, ‘I watched this documentary about a lion sanctuary. I can still see dead vividly the closing shot of these two lions walking off into the sunset at the end. I told my mum I wouldn’t go to the circus anymore. Told her I’d rather go to Africa and help set them free.’

  Ben paused, for so long that Andrew thought he had drifted off again.

  ‘The day before she died she pulled me close and whispered, “Go and free the lions, Ben, promise me!”’

  ‘So are you going to go?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Andrew’s heart contracted at the idea of Ben going anywhere. ‘When?’

  ‘Maybe soon.’

  ‘What about university?’ asked Andrew.

  ‘I only bloody went because my dad went on about it. I wanted to make him think I was good at something. But it doesn’t make me feel the way it does when I think about going and being with lions.’ Ben paused. ‘Would you come with me?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Well, I’ve not thought about it,’ admitted Andrew.

  The idea of going anywhere with Ben thrilled him though.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I probably won’t go. I’ll just tear up the application form I got. My dad would just take the piss anyway.’

  Moments later Ben was asleep again. Andrew turned off the lamp and closed his eyes. Ben snored sporadically. Soon the buzz of outside traffic died. Andrew slid further into the warmth of the bed and fell asleep.

  He dreamed of the circus. A lion with bloody gums and patchy fur ambled into the ring. The little boy, Ben, from the book he was currently writing, sat on one of the stools. Andrew wanted to warn him of the danger. But Book Ben whispered, He won’t hurt me. I’m ill, you see. I’m injured. He knows this. He knows I’ve already lost.

  Andrew woke with a start. In the darkness, he smiled. He had a name. A name for his current as-yet-untitled book.

  The Lion Tamer Who Lost.

  Happy, Andrew fell back asleep.

  15

  The House of Things that Don’t Belong Together

  When he wasn’t lion taming, Ben envied those who felt pain. He poked his useless legs with chess pieces and cried. But not because it hurt; because it didn’t.

  Andrew Fitzgerald, The Lion Tamer Who Lost

  A week after their first night at Andrew’s flat, Ben said brusquely, ‘Since you keep saying you’ve always wanted a bigger family I reckon I’ve got the best deterrental to such a stupid wish: come and meet my dad.’

  ‘What?’ Andrew was too stunned to mention his mis-word. ‘Come to your house when he’s there?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ben.

  ‘You’re absolutely sure?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘No, but what the hell.’ Ben paused. ‘Come for Sunday dinner. See what an arsehole he is. I’ll say you’re just a mate from uni so you don’t get fed much. My mate Brandon’s been. They got on like a house on fire.’

  ‘If you’re really sure?’

  ‘Shit, I’m not, but come anyway.’

  Andrew had no idea what had brought this on. Then he remembered his recent wish. Ben would probably mock it if he told him.

  On Sunday morning Andrew dressed smartly in a blue shirt. His head hurt, and he wasn’t sure if it was nerves or exhaustion. He had fallen asleep at his desk again last night and woken in pain, his neck twisted. His blood sugars had crashed, and it took two cans of Coke and a cereal bar just to stop his hands shaking. He wondered again if he should make sure everything was okay; that maybe something else was causing these lows. They certainly had been happening a lot.

  He bought a bottle of red wine on the way to Ben’s house. When he knocked on the front door a crude voice inside yelled, ‘Come around the bloody back.’

  He found Ben at the back door. He ushered him into a steamy kitchen that had seen better days. Will was taking a too-crisp beef joint out of the oven, cigarette behind his ear, and feet bare.

  Ben pushed his dad aside and shunted Andrew straight into the living room.

  ‘He’s doing my head in,’ said Ben.

  ‘I haven’t even said hello to him,’ said Andrew. ‘He’ll think I’m rude.’

  ‘He won’t give a crap.’

  ‘The table looks nice,’ said Andrew, trying for something calming.

  Set for the three of them, the table provided mismatched plates and glasses and mugs in a cosy triangle. One plate had a flock of nine birds soaring over a moor; another was red and cracked; another floral green. None of the chairs matched either. The house was full of things that didn’t seem to belong together. Andrew couldn’t help but like it; the warm lived-in feel, the shabbiness.

  ‘I secretly gave us the only identical forks,’ whispered Ben, touching Andrew’s hand and quickly moving away when the kitchen door opened.

  Will came through with the joint.

  ‘I’ll open this then,’ he said, taking Andrew’s bottle.

  ‘Great.’

  Andrew could see that Will must have been attractive in his younger days. There was still a virility about him, even with his faded clothes and greying hair.

  ‘Fuck knows why Ben set the table,’ he said. ‘We usually have it on our knees.’

  ‘I thought we could be civilised,’ sighed Ben.

  While his dad was in the kitchen, he shook his head and apologised.

  ‘No need,’ said Andrew. ‘This is fun.’

  ‘Trust me – it won’t be. I should never have bloody invited you.’

  Will returned with three glasses of wine, his own the fullest. ‘Sit,’ he said. ‘I’ll carve the meat. You’re not a vegetarian or owt, are you? I know what you bloody students are like.’

  ‘I’ll eat anything.’ Andrew sat and got out his diabetes pouch. ‘Just got to read my blood first, if that’s okay?’

  Will sat and swigged half his wine in one gulp. ‘I don’t care if you bloody shoot up.’ He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. ‘Ben said you’re doing creative writing. Isn’t that a bit gay for a man?’

  Andrew squeezed a drop of blood from his fingertip. ‘I am gay,’ he said. ‘So I guess I’m doing the right course.’

  Ben glared at him. Andrew glared back. He might not want to be honest about it, but Andrew would not hide it. Will swigged more wine and started on his meat without further comment. Andrew read his machine display – he was 3.5, so it was a good job he was about to eat.

  They ate in silence, until a creaking sound disturbed them. Ben looked towards the kitchen. The door opened, and a pretty, young
girl came in, pregnancy stretching a polyester T-shirt into a balloon. She had bloated fingers, cheeks, and ankles, and hair stripped of shine, as though the baby had sucked it away.

  ‘Kim,’ said Will, his face lighting up.

  ‘I didn’t know you had company,’ she said.

  ‘This is my brother’s fiancé, Kimberley,’ Ben said pointedly.

  She pulled out the chair next to Ben and lowered herself weightily into it. ‘I’m starving; it all smells so good.’

  ‘The smell’s deceptive,’ said Ben.

  Andrew knew Ben had counted the twenty-nine under-cooked peas swimming in gravy on his plate next to a half-lump of mashed potato and four slices of beef. He had watched him. Their eyes had met for a split second, Ben’s ablaze with a million things.

  ‘Don’t be rude, lad,’ said Will. ‘There’s still a bit of meat and some roasties, Kim, if you like. Grab a knife and fork.’ He waved his arm and said dramatically, ‘Kim, this is Ben’s gay friend from uni – Andrew.’

  Andrew found himself merely amused. Somehow he couldn’t be insulted by Will.

  ‘Hi,’ she smiled.

  ‘You must be excited about the baby,’ he said.

  Kimberley grumbled that her back was killing her, said she had been getting shit-awful cramps all night, and she was going to have every drug on the planet when she went into labour.

  ‘Ben, get the girl some food would you,’ said Will.

  ‘I’m eating.’ Ben lifted his fork and shoved three peas with force into his mouth.

  ‘Don’t mind him, Kim. He’s pissing off to bloody Africa anyway.’ Will poured more wine. ‘Reckons he might give up university and bugger off to Zimbabwe or some-bloody-where.’ He glanced at Andrew. ‘Christ, is he going with you?’

  Andrew was surprised Ben had mentioned it to his dad after what he’d said the other night.

  ‘Why would you go to a place like that?’ Kim patted her tummy.

  ‘It’s just something I was talking about maybe doing,’ Ben said.

  Andrew could tell he was upset. Under the table, he touched his knee to comfort him, but Ben didn’t look at him.

  ‘Do I know you from somewhere?’ Will said, opening another bottle of wine with a rude pop. ‘I don’t know many shirt-lifters, but I feel like I recognise you?’

  Andrew shrugged. ‘Doubt we hang out in the same places.’

  ‘You’re bloody right about that.’

  ‘You don’t know him from anywhere,’ said Ben.

  ‘Don’t let him take you to any of those gay bars, lad. He might turn you.’ Will laughed. ‘Let that Jodie Cartwright keep you straight!’

  ‘If he was gay,’ said Andrew, holding Will’s gaze, ‘nothing would keep him straight.’

  Ben glared across the table.

  ‘Anyway, Ben’s going to save all the world’s animals.’ Will went into the kitchen and came back with the last bit of gravy. ‘It doesn’t matter that he’s a third of a way through an education I’ve mostly paid for. I grafted as a brickie for years to have a good pension and savings, and he’s bleeding me dry.’

  ‘I love animals.’ Kimberley took a pea from Ben’s plate and ate it. ‘Used to want to be a vet as a kiddie but I’m allergic to cats.’

  Ben dropped his fork onto the plate. ‘You’re always telling me I’ve got no gumption,’ he said. ‘Always saying Mike’s the only one who’s ever known where he was going in life. I only told you about it to shut you up. I knew you’d take the piss.’

  Andrew felt his pain. He picked at his peas. It was hard when he had no appetite yet had to eat to get his blood sugars up again.

  Kimberley tucked heartily into a second portion of food, pausing only to grimace and say, ‘There goes another!’

  Andrew frowned at her.

  ‘Tummy twinge’ she said.

  ‘Who do you think’s gonna pay for Africa?’ Will asked, arms crossed.

  ‘I’m not definitely going,’ said Ben. ‘I only mentioned it cos of you saying I’m epathetic about my life.’

  ‘Apathetic, lad,’ said Will.

  ‘Anyway, I could get sponsored.’

  ‘He should do what he feels like doing,’ said Andrew.

  His nine-bird-bedecked plate was still half-full of food.

  ‘Who asked you?’ Will took a cigarette pack out of his pocket and lit one.

  ‘For God’s sake, Dad.’

  ‘Was it your idea that he goes? You writerly types are a bit artsy fartsy.’

  Andrew looked at the cigarette pointing at him.

  ‘How’s your mate Brandon, Ben? Liked him. A proper lad’s lad.’

  ‘It was my idea,’ snapped Ben.

  ‘You’re a writer?’ said Kimberley to Andrew.

  Andrew told Kimberley he wrote children’s books.

  ‘What are you writing now?’

  Andrew described The Lion Tamer Who Lost and Ben’s attempts to walk again after a car accident that had killed his parents. Though his legs were useless he found that from his wheelchair he could do things normal people couldn’t. Lions came to his room at night because he didn’t hurt them like other humans did.

  Will flicked ash into a saucer. ‘So you’re writing about animals, Ben wants to go to Africa, and yet you didn’t put the idea in his head?’

  ‘Dad, drop it.’ Ben pushed his plate into the middle of the table. ‘I can think for myself. I only sent for the application form out of curiosity. Haven’t even filled it in or anything. Mike’s in Afghanistan and you think that’s great.’

  ‘Mike’s doing something for his country, lad,’ Will barked. ‘You’re talking about going to some backwards country to prance about with lions instead of getting a degree. Probably get malaria or AIDS.’

  ‘Ooh!’ Kimberley clutched her tummy and bent over.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Andrew started to get up.

  Kimberley panted. ‘Just Braxton-Hicks contractions.’ She stood. ‘I’ll walk up the garden … makes it stop a bit…’

  ‘Come on, lass.’ Will stood too, hooking his arm through hers. ‘I’ll walk with you.’

  They waddled into the kitchen and the garden beyond, Kimberley resting her head on Will’s shoulder.

  ‘When’s her baby due?’ Andrew asked when they had disappeared up the path.

  ‘Soon.’ Ben closed the door.

  ‘Sure it’s only these Braxton-Hicks things?’

  Ben shrugged and said his father could deal with it.

  Andrew whispered, ‘Do you really think she’s sleeping with your dad? Seems to me he’s just being fatherly. Her fiancé is away, and it must be tough being pregnant alone.’ He thought of his own mother.

  ‘I’ve seen her leaving the house when I come back from the shop, kissing Will on the mouth. They often whisper in the kitchen. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about them.’ Ben exhaled hard. ‘Why the fuck did you tell him you’re gay?’

  ‘Did I say I wouldn’t?’

  ‘No, but … he’s gonna wonder about me.’

  ‘No, he won’t.’

  ‘He will.’

  ‘Would that be so bad? I genuinely don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of it?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘You don’t have a dad like him.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  Ben appeared to realise what he had said. ‘Look, I’m sorry about how he spoke to you.’

  ‘Don’t be. It was fun being here. Being part of a bickering family.’

  ‘But you see why I can’t tell him?’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Andrew. ‘Yeah, he’s a bigot, but his generation often are. He’ll love you, whatever. He was crude, but he didn’t tell me to leave. I like him. Can’t help it.’

  ‘He’d disown me,’ said Ben.

  ‘You don’t know that for sure. And why do you care?’

  ‘I do know for sure. One of his brothers – Jerry – came out, years ago. My dad never spoke to him again.’ Ben paused. ‘Then ten years ago he hung himself.’

  ‘
Jesus,’ whispered Andrew. ‘Poor guy.’

  ‘I know. Dad never mentions his name. Never. So I don’t. You think he’s gonna be fine with his own son? Seriously? And I do care. He’s a dick but still…’ Ben exhaled. ‘And besides…’

  ‘What?’ asked Andrew, trying to make his tone gentle.

  ‘I promised my mum I’d make him happy.’

  ‘At the expense of your own happiness?’

  Andrew leaned in to kiss Ben, but he pushed him away. ‘Not here.’

  Will came back into the living room alone.

  ‘Where’s Kimberley?’ asked Ben.

  ‘In the toilet – she feels sick.’

  Andrew looked towards the bathroom door. ‘Maybe you should check her?’

  Will resumed his seat. ‘You go check – you’re the feminine type. Door’s on the left.’

  Andrew went into the kitchen and knocked on the bathroom door. He could hear Kimberley groaning and panting, so much that she didn’t answer when he asked how she was. Suddenly, as he turned to go back to the living room, he felt dizzy. When his sugar levels plummeted, he would feel disorientated. He held onto the nearby work surface. Surely his numbers couldn’t have crashed again? What the hell was going on?

  Ben appeared. He was fuzzy at the edges.

  ‘Drink some Coke,’ he said urgently.

  Andrew could hardly respond. He saw Ben rummaging in his satchel, finding the bottle and bringing it to his lips; like magic, his vision returned. He unwrapped a cereal bar and ate while talking. ‘Kimberley sounds like she’s in pain.’

  As though to prove it, a hearty grunt came from the bathroom.

  ‘I can’t go in there.’ Will called from the living room. ‘It’s women’s stuff. We should get the girl to a hospital.’

  ‘He’s had too much alcohol to drive her,’ said Ben.

  Andrew never drove; he had been told at his last appointment with the diabetes nurse that while he was having so many hypos he might pass out at the wheel. He knew Ben hadn’t even had lessons yet.