by Louise Beech
‘You want me to go?’ Tears filled Ben’s eyes. ‘This is cos I haven’t told my dad about us, isn’t it? That’s what this really is!’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Andrew, cruelly. ‘You gonna tell your dad now?’
Ben looked stunned. ‘Why do I have to go though?’
‘I write children’s stories,’ Andrew said, knowing fully how nasty he was being but unable to stop. ‘And nowhere in those do brothers fuck each other and then live happily ever after.’
Ben kicked over the coffee table. Books went everywhere.
‘Now I’m just a fuck?’
Ben moved closer to Andrew, put his hand over his mouth. Andrew covered it with his. Their two same hands.
‘No,’ said Andrew.
Ben kissed him.
‘No,’ Andrew said again.
Ben carried on kissing him.
‘I won’t stop you.’ Andrew didn’t move. ‘But I’ll never fight you again. That game is over. It has to be, Ben.’
‘But that’s not fair,’ sobbed Ben. ‘This is a fight I don’t know how to fucking win!’ After a moment he demanded why. ‘After everything we’ve been through, you just want me to go?’
Andrew went to his Wish Box and picked it up.
‘Yes,’ cried Ben, ‘I know about your wish for us to be a match! That bloody came true, didn’t it? You were right! Be careful what you fucking wish for!’
‘No, that isn’t it.’ Andrew removed the lid. For the first time ever, it hadn’t fallen off when he picked it up. ‘There’s a wish I wrote when I was a kid. The one I said never came true.’ He took out the faded sheet of paper with childish scrawl barely visible now. He could remember writing it. He had been proud to have a proper ink pen.
Now he couldn’t bear to look.
‘What is it?’ asked Ben.
‘You read it.’ Andrew held out the paper.
Ben took it. He looked at Andrew.
‘Go on. Out loud.’
‘I wish,’ said Ben slowly, squinting at the washed-out script, ‘I had a brother and I wish him to have messy yellowy hair like Darcy’s brother and to know how I like to fight and we can play Scrabble when Mum’s not here.’
Ben looked up. ‘Jesus,’ he said.
‘Tear it up,’ said Andrew.
‘No. It’s your … wish…’
‘Well, I will.’ Andrew snatched it and ripped it into tiny pieces. He dropped them at Ben’s feet. Then he said quietly, ‘This is not what I wished for.’
‘No, but you did wish for us to be a match. And I had that horrible test, so at least let me give you my blood? And then we can talk about this. Work it out. You’re in shock. I am too. I get it now. I had no idea about the other wish.’
Andrew headed towards the bedroom. ‘We can do the donation if you really want to but then I don’t think we should see each other again. Lock the door when you leave.’ He closed the bedroom door after him.
When he heard the front door slam, Andrew sagged to the floor. He cried until he vomited all over himself. He hated what he had done. The wish. Turning Ben away. He got up and grabbed the phone to call him. To say sorry. To beg him to come back and hold him. But then he would only have to turn him away again because they couldn’t be together. They couldn’t. And his heart couldn’t take that.
He finally knew who his nobody father was. Not just some elusive, cigarette-smoking stranger. Not Mr Bucket from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. He was Will Roberts. But there was no joy. There would be no emotional reunion. No making up for lost time. Getting to know one another.
Andrew’s father was also the father of the first – the only – man he had ever loved.
PART FIVE
BEN
30
ZIMBABWE
A Missed Sunrise
When Ben couldn’t figure out the lyrics to songs on the radio, he just made up his own words.
Andrew Fitzgerald, The Lion Tamer Who Lost
Music drags Ben from a dream. It is a vaguely familiar song. The words fill the stuffy hut, pulling him from images of the Wish Box and Doctor Amdahl and a large mirror with him and Andrew side by side, so alike. What are the lyrics? Why does he know them and yet they make no sense? They are Italian. What was the singer’s name in that taxi, that terrible day?
Ben opens his eyes. Sharp sunlight blinds him. The other hammock is empty, the door open.
‘You overslept,’ calls Simon from outside. ‘But I finally managed to get a station on this bloody transistor radio we found. It’s not exactly Radio One, but still. Think this is what they call classical, isn’t it?’
It’s the second time Ben has overslept. Missed his solitary sunrise. He sits up, his head aching from another restless night. His stomach knots just as it did when the realisation of what those long-ago test results meant had sunk in.
‘You gonna get up then, lazy arse?’ calls Simon. ‘Thank God, I’m going today – you had me up more than ever last night, ranting and yelling.’
Ben’s dream was so intense. He was back there. In that blue-walled office. Wishing he had never offered to take the blood test. Wishing he had sensed what he and Andrew were to one another. He should have known that such an intense bond was due to far more than random chance. He should have seen the physical similarities so obvious afterwards – their eyes, their hands, their feet. If he had, he would never have given his blood, and they would still be together.
But that togetherness isn’t right.
This he has battled with the whole time in Zimbabwe: a desire to have what he simply can’t, mixed with repulsion at himself for wanting it, mixed with a love that feels too absolute to be wrong.
It is that love that makes Ben glad he was able to donate his stem cells so Andrew might have a chance to recover.
But has he recovered?
Ben doesn’t even know.
He must try calling again. He’ll try today.
‘I’m off for breakfast,’ calls Simon. ‘You coming? Might have a beer since it’s my last one.’
‘You go without me.’ Ben sits up.
Simon comes back into the hut, the music increasing in volume as he brings the radio with him. ‘I’m actually gonna miss you, Roberts.’
‘What?’
‘Oh. Sorry.’ Simon turns it down. ‘I said I’m actually gonna miss you, you restless freak.’
Ben laughs. ‘Yeah, me too.’
‘Still wish you’d told me where you buried all the bodies though.’
‘What bodies?’
‘Doesn’t matter. Right, I’m off for brekkie.’ Simon slaps Ben on the back and heads off.
Ben turns off the radio and goes onto the deck, but he has missed his sunrise. It bothers him more than it should. The day is now set to be bad, in his mind. He throws on some fresh clothes and heads for the communal lodge.
Esther is already there, eating her fruit and looking around for him. She can’t stomach the mud coffee now; nausea plagues her on and off all day. Yet despite this, happiness has radiated from every gesture and word since Ben promised he would be there for her and the baby. It seems that with his acceptance she is free to be the mother she was destined to be. Her cheeks and eyes glow, even away from the evening campfire.
Sometimes she has almost said in front of the others how excited she is; Ben had to gently remind her that until they get official confirmation from a doctor, they’re not telling people.
‘But we know,’ she gushes each time he says it. ‘I know. I can feel it.’ And she puts Ben’s hand to her still firm stomach. ‘We don’t need a doctor’s yes.’
Only Stig knows about the pregnancy. They had to explain the reason for suddenly requesting that they leave in the next month or two. Esther didn’t want him to think it was anything that had happened here. Stig didn’t seem surprised, and warmly congratulated them.
‘I think it’s the first Liberty Lion pregnancy,’ he smiled. ‘At least between humans anyway. Will you send us pictures when it’s born?’
‘We like to keep up with the volunteers who’ve left as much as the lions who have,’ said Stig.
Ben suddenly didn’t mind Stig so much. He could be preachy and annoying, but his heart was in the right place.
‘Our own little cub.’ Esther stroked her tummy.
‘How soon do you want to leave?’ asked Stig.
‘A month or two will be fine,’ said Ben, at the same time as Esther cried, ‘As soon as there are flights.’ She looked at him, asked, ‘You okay with that, Ben?’
‘I thought we said…’
‘I’m ready to go,’ she admitted.
He nodded. It was different now. He was connected by blood to Esther. It didn’t matter what he wanted. It was about them. This child. He was going to be a father. It would be his priority. They would go home together. He had made his choice to be with her weeks ago, and now this new life had further cemented it.
But if he could be a father, couldn’t he be a brother to Andrew too?
‘Yes, I’m ready’ he said to Esther. ‘Let us know about the next flights that come available, would you, Stig?’
Now Ben approaches Esther, still upset about his missed sunset, still with those Italian lyrics and the dream of that blue-walled room haunting him.
‘Morning,’ she says, her face bright.
‘Morning.’
‘You look knackered again, Ben.’
‘Yeah. Bad night.’
‘Good practice,’ she laughs, and when he looks confused she says, ‘For the sleepless nights ahead.’
‘Won’t faze me.’
‘Have you told your family you’ll be coming home yet?’
‘No,’ says Ben.
‘No?’ Esther pauses. ‘Not read your dad’s letter yet?’
Ben shakes his head. She could never understand the kind of pain Will has caused him. And she can never know about him and Andrew, what they were, and what they are now.
What the fuck would she think? What would anyone think?
‘I’ll read it on the flight home,’ he says. At her frown, he adds more gently, ‘I will. Esther, you’ve got to let me do it in my own time. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ she concedes.
Stig arrives then, sits opposite them with his muesli. ‘I have news,’ he says, his voice not the booming one meant for all ears. ‘There are two cancellations on a flight to England.’
‘Already?’ Esther holds her face. ‘We only told you three days ago! When?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Ben panics. It is too soon. He isn’t ready for it all.
‘You should take them,’ says Stig. ‘They’re all full for another three weeks.’
‘We will,’ gushes Esther.
‘Great. I’ll go and reserve them for you now.’ Stig stands and assumes his usual commanding tone. ‘Everybody, listen up.’ The room quietens. ‘I’m sad to say that we will be losing two of our favourite volunteers tomorrow – Esther and Ben. But tonight, we’ll have a bit of a party to wish them luck, so make sure you come!’
Ben can’t eat any more muesli. Everything is happening way too fast. Like he has no control over it. Like he’s sitting on the sides watching his own life passing by. Like a car just before it crashes.
Later in the afternoon Esther and Ben go and sit on their favourite log. The day is hazy, so the view is limited to nearby mounds and dry grass.
‘You sure you’re okay?’ she asks. ‘You’ve been … distracted.’
‘It’s just … well, it’s all so big. These changes.’
‘I know. But we’ll be going through it together.’
‘Yeah. You’re right.’
Ben feels a sudden surge of protectiveness. He should make sure Esther is okay. That she has all she needs. Is safe. He holds her hand.
‘You look tired too,’ he says. ‘Should you have a nap?’
Esther smiles. ‘Only if you join me.’
‘Sex could hurt you. Could hurt the baby.’
Ben realised as soon as she told him about the baby that it was a way to be free of his obligation to join her at night. He won’t have to hope she will dim the lights.
‘Don’t be silly.’ She pushes him playfully.
‘I’m serious. You know I can’t sleep with you until you’ve been checked over at home and it’s all okay. I mean it.’
‘We can at least hold each other,’ she says.
That he doesn’t mind.
They go back to Esther’s hut. It has always been easier to be together there, away from Simon with his crude comments. Esther undresses and climbs into bed first. It reminds Ben of when he entered the brick nursery to lie next to Lucy. Esther, however, is not reluctant. She kisses Ben, clearly hoping to seduce him. But he says a kind no. She relents and quickly falls asleep in his arms.
When he is sure she is totally out for the count, and the light is beginning to die, he sneaks out and heads for the communal lodge. A group of volunteers play cards in the corner but don’t even look up. Ben picks up the phone and dials Andrew’s number. What will he say if he answers this time?
He doesn’t. It is a recording again. But the message is slightly different. He has changed it. Ben frowns. So he is there. He must be okay. Should he leave a message? Say he is finally coming home. Say he gets it. Why Andrew did what he did. Say he thinks he can be a brother to him now. He really does.
But Ben says nothing and hangs up.
Is he ready to go tomorrow?
He doesn’t know.
Lucy, he suddenly thinks. Lucy.
He must go and see her now. There won’t be time in the morning to say goodbye properly. He and Esther will probably have to wake early to be picked up and taken to the airport, and lionesses are not naturally early risers, enjoying more than eighteen hours sleep a day.
He goes to find Lucy. She is not in the enclosure. She is leaving for a hunt. Darkness is beginning to swallow the landscape, but the lights from the truck illuminate the insect dance and the glossy, graceful movement of three hungry lionesses as they head out for the kill. Ben remembers all the times he has watched her. How it has soothed him during these challenging months: her languorous movements; the way her rippled fur changes colour with the weather; the way she completely ignored him most of the time.
‘Want to come one last time?’ calls Stig from the back of the truck.
Ben shakes his head. He does not want his final memory of Lucy to be a bloody one. Though he knows it is part of nature, he doesn’t want to see it.
‘I’ll be back in an hour – for your farewell party,’ calls Stig.
Ben waves them off; Stig and the two volunteers wave back. Lucy leads the group into the reserve. She doesn’t even turn around.
Ben wills her to.
Just this time.
‘Goodbye, Lucy,’ he says aloud.
He remembers when he thought of her as his child and was sad to let her go from the nursery to the enclosure. Now he is going to have his own baby. Stig has promised to keep him updated on Lucy’s eventual release into the wild, assured him that he’ll send plenty of pictures. Ben is sad not to be able to stay long enough to see it for himself, but their baby will be born before that. There is no way of being there for both of them. He has to choose his own child.
‘Goodbye Lucy,’ he says again.
The small party slowly disappears into the wilderness, fading in the fake light. Lucy leads the other lionesses, her golden head and tail low, pace steady but confident, fur like damp sand in the headlamps.
‘Turn,’ hisses Ben. ‘Just once.’
Why doesn’t she? And why does he so need her to? Why does he need recognition for what he has been to her? He gave Andrew his blood happily, wanting to help him live. Knowing he had done so was enough. Surely knowing he has been part of helping Lucy overcome a difficult start should be enough.
Don’t I mean anything to you? Ben wants to cry.
Didn’t he ask th
e same of Andrew? Yet now – with time – he knows he meant everything to him. That Andrew had done the right thing in not looking back.
Lucy has gone now. Devoured by the night. Doing what she was designed for. Without looking back.
‘You do mean something to her, you know.’ It is Esther. He’s not seen her walk up beside him. She puts a head on Ben’s shoulder. How did she know what he was thinking?
‘The fact that Lucy didn’t need to look back is down to you.’
‘You’re just trying to make me feel better.’
‘Stop being sulky.’ Esther laughs, and shoves him. ‘If she had turned, it would mean you’d failed – that she is dependent on you. And that kind of weakness would mean death in the wild. You know that. Remember what Stig said way back?’
‘No.’
‘We have to tame them without changing what they are.’
‘He was talking his usual crap,’ snaps Ben.
‘You freed her.’
‘I didn’t. She did that.’
‘With your encouragement,’ insists Esther.
‘But it’s because of us, isn’t it, that she needed me. We’ve been killing lions for years. So how can I congratulate myself for helping free her when my species caused the deaths of hers?’
‘Because you’re helping undo the bad we’ve done. And hopefully soon the lions won’t even need us to do that.’ Esther pauses. ‘At least you know she’s okay. Chuma still isn’t fully part of his pride. And I don’t know if he ever will be. I have to go home without knowing he’s okay.’
Ben puts an arm around her.
‘Anyway,’ she says. ‘I reckon I tamed you.’
‘What?’
‘I was in bed the other night and I realised you hardly ever get your words mixed up anymore.’
‘What do you mean?’ asks Ben, already knowing.
‘I used to love when you said some words just slightly wrong. Oh, don’t look so put out, you big chump!’ She laughs and kisses him. ‘You never do it now. I reckon I taught you all the words. Come on. Let’s go. We’ve got that goodbye party and then an early start.’