The Lion Tamer Who Lost

by Louise Beech

  Now Ben goes for a shower. He hears his dad surface. He knows he was drinking last night, hiding it by putting vodka into a coffee mug. But Ben doesn’t mind as much as he used to. It occurs to him that it wasn’t so much the drinking as his behaviour that infuriated him. Now the truth about Andrew is out, and his dad – their dad – is accepting, Ben feels things might begin to heal.

  He is still concerned about how Mike will take the news. Perhaps he should tell him, sooner rather than later. Is it fair that they all know, and Mike doesn’t?

  In the kitchen, Will smokes. ‘Morning,’ he says as Ben enters.

  ‘Dad, I was thinking. I should go and see Kim and find out when Mike’s next home. Doesn’t he come every three months?’

  ‘Six,’ says Will. ‘He might be home now. He left around the same time as you, remember.’

  ‘It was a few weeks before me.’ Ben switches the kettle on. ‘He may have already been home. I’ll ring her now.’

  ‘Can’t hurt,’ says Will.

  Ben finds her number on the notepad by the phone and dials. Mike answers.

  Surprised, Ben says, ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  ‘What kind of greeting is that?’ laughs his brother.

  ‘You’re home,’ says Ben.

  ‘Only for three more days. When did you get back? I’d have come and seen you if I’d known, stranger.’

  ‘Got back two days ago. How are you?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And Lola?’

  Ben feels bad that he hasn’t thought much about her recently. He is going to be a dad at the end of the year. Is it a bad sign that he hasn’t made more effort with his niece?

  ‘She’s great!’ Mike speaks with obvious love. ‘You wouldn’t recognise her. She’s sitting up, crawling. She gets everywhere. Come and see her today.’ As though to prove her existence, Lola squeals in the background, and Mike laughs. ‘There she goes!’

  Ben pauses. ‘Why don’t you come here?’

  Mike doesn’t speak.

  ‘Did you get Dad’s letter?’

  ‘I did.’ He sighs. ‘And I did think about coming over. I did. But … I dunno. I’m still angry at times. Despite…’

  ‘Despite what?’ When Mike doesn’t respond, Ben says, ‘The thing is…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’ Ben realises this is the understatement of the year.

  ‘Okay. Is it good?’

  ‘I don’t know how to describe it,’ admits Ben. ‘Could you come now?’

  In the background, Lola giggles. ‘I suppose. For you. Is he there?’

  ‘Yes.’ Ben glances back to the kitchen, where their dad has opened the door and is standing in the sunlight. ‘Surely you can’t just ignore him forever?’

  ‘I’ll come,’ says Mike, and hangs up.

  Ben returns to the kitchen and tells his dad.

  Will nods and walks up the garden path, where he remains until Mike turns up half an hour later. Affection floods Ben at the sight of his older brother. His hair is cut short for duty, but the stubble of beard is clue that he’s been home a week or two. They hug. Will joins them from the garden and Mike eyes him, warily.

  ‘How you been, lad?’ asks Will.

  ‘Yeah, good.’ He looks at Ben. ‘How was Zimbabwe?’

  ‘Incredible. It was hard to leave.’ They’re making small talk, but greater things hang in the air between them. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

  ‘Go on then.’ Mike sits at the table. ‘Before you tell me your stuff, I’ve got something to say.’

  ‘Okay.’ Ben gets out three mugs.

  Mike looks at their dad. ‘I did a DNA test. Lola is mine. You’re fucking lucky, Dad. If she hadn’t been, I can’t say what I’d have done. But I had to know. In the end, it drove me crazy. Not knowing is worse than knowing, even if it’s bad.’

  ‘I knew it would be so,’ says Will.

  ‘No, you didn’t.’ Mike hitches his voice up. ‘You couldn’t know.’

  ‘I’m happy for you,’ says Ben. ‘Can’t we all move on?’

  Mike ignores the question. ‘So, what’s your news?’

  ‘It’s kind of … well, profound, in light of yours. It’s about a test, too. But where do I start?’ Ben pours water onto the coffee granules, stirs and hands one to Mike. Will opens the door and lights a cigarette. ‘It’s going to be quite a shock. So, the thing is … The news is…’ Ben can’t say it.

  He suddenly sees Mike and him as kids. Sees them climbing trees and sharing sherbet dips and riding bikes in the cul-de-sac. Might another brother come between them?

  Will takes over. ‘I’m not Lola’s dad,’ he says. ‘But I am a father again. I have another son.’

  ‘What?’ cries Mike. ‘A baby? At your bloody age? Fuck. Don’t you ever learn? It’s so ridiculous it could be funny.’

  ‘No, not a baby. He’s older than you. It was a long time ago.’

  ‘But how?’ Mike shakes his head.

  Will looks at Ben for help now.

  ‘You never met my friend Andrew, did you?’ says Ben. ‘I stayed with him a while before I went to Zimbabwe. He got ill. Cancer. Anyway, he had no family for a stem-cell donation, so I offered. I felt so bad for him. And we were a perfect match.’ Ben pauses. ‘Because we’re brothers.’

  ‘I feel like I’m on one of those daytime shows where they do DNA tests live!’ Mike shakes his head. ‘Give us one of your cigs, Dad.’

  ‘It blew my mind, too,’ says Ben, ‘the coincidence of it. But then in some ways it made sense.’ He picks his words carefully. ‘Andrew and I had a strong connection when we became mates. Now I know why. And is it so strange? His mother lived in the area. He does too. Weren’t we going to cross paths at some point?’

  ‘So, you were with his mother?’ Mike looks at Will. ‘When? Who is she?’

  Will tells him the story of Anne, of their short time together.

  ‘It was before Mum?’

  ‘God, yes. Long before.’

  Mike stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray on the table. He slowly shakes his head, exhales. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘You don’t have to say anything.’ Ben joins him at the table. ‘You don’t have to do anything. But I wanted you to know before you went back to Afghanistan.’ He pauses. ‘You could meet him?’

  Will nods. ‘I think Ben wants to see him today. Go with him.’

  Ben panics. He needs to see Andrew first, talk, prepare him. ‘He’s not well, Dad. He might need more warning. Tomorrow? How about then? If he’s up to it.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Mike. ‘I think I need time to get my head around it. Fucking hell, Dad. Any more kids knocking about? I don’t know whether to laugh or yell. You dirty old sod.’

  Outside, an ice-cream van tune drifts closer.

  ‘He looks like us,’ says Ben.

  ‘He does,’ echoes Will.

  ‘I’ll meet him next time I’m home,’ says Mike.

  ‘Okay.’ Ben clears their mugs away.

  The phone rings in the other room. In the street, the ice-cream van song tinkles away too. Will goes into the lounge. Both sounds die at the same time. Ben runs the hot water and washes the mugs. Mike’s phone buzzes and he responds to a text message. Ben realises that sharing his news about Esther and their baby might be too much right now. He can tell them both tomorrow. Let this news sink in first. Let things settle.

  Now Ben’s phone buzzes, too. He opens the message. Smiles. It’s from Stig, saying Lucy is still doing well. It is a good sign.

  Will comes back into the kitchen. His face is white.

  ‘What is it?’ asks Ben, drying his hands.

  ‘That was the hospital.’

  ‘The hospital?’

  ‘It’s Andrew,’ says Will.

  ‘Why are they ringing you about him?’ Ben is indignant. ‘Is it a hypo? They should ring me. I’ve always taken care of him.’

  ‘They said he gave this number to them in the event of…
’

  ‘Of what?’

  Will comes to Ben, puts his hand on his shoulder. ‘Son, Andrew died this morning.’

  46

  Happiness

  In the beginning a lioness entered the world and before she had a place in the family or a look at her surroundings or even a name – when she was still just first breath and blood – she knew she would never again be so absolutely free as she was then.

  Andrew Fitzgerald, The Lion Tamer Who Lost

  When Ben’s mum died, he didn’t have a mobile phone with her number in it. Back in 1994 only business people had them. He didn’t have any way to contact her once she had gone. The only numbers were those in his head; the number of pills left in the vial on her bedside – twenty-nine; the number of cornflakes she hadn’t eaten – one hundred and fifty-eight the hour before she died.

  Ben can still call Andrew though. He can dial his mobile number, listen to it ring six times before hearing his voice.

  Leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.

  Ben listens over and over and over, not even counting the times.

  Leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.

  ‘Get back to me now,’ he whispers.

  It is dark. The phone’s light is weak, like a clouded-over moon reflected in a dirty puddle. It must be almost morning. Ben has been sitting on his bed since maybe midnight. He isn’t sure. Yesterday is a blur. He remembers little after the moment his dad came into the kitchen and said … what were the words? Andrew is dead? Andrew has died? We’ve lost Andrew?

  Ben only knows that he fell onto the kitchen tiles. Just as Andrew did that Sunday lunch. The next he knew was Mike’s face looming over him, rough hands cradling him, and Will offering vodka. Ben’s neck aches. Perhaps they helped him to the sofa. He recalls being there, head in his hands, vomit threatening to erupt. He recalls hasty calls being made around him: Mike to Kimberley, Will to someone.

  Then Ben’s mobile phone ringing and Will taking it, despite his insistence that it could be Andrew.

  Was it Esther? Ben tries hard to put the call into its right place. Wasn’t that the call from two days ago? No. Will’s hazy face comes out of the blackness. He told Esther there had been a death. Ben can hear those words. Did Esther explain who she was? She must have done. She would have been confused, wondered who on earth Andrew was. What else did his dad say to her?

  Didn’t Esther text him yesterday?

  Ben reluctantly clicks out of Andrew’s number and finds her message. She sent two. One at 12.30 p.m.

  So sad to hear about your brother Andrew. Wish I could be there with you. I’ll come down tomorrow. Love you loads. xxx

  No question about why Ben had never mentioned an Andrew. She probably knew that wasn’t the moment to ask, but she must be wild with curiosity. It’s too much for him to think of now. She sent another message at 3.44 p.m.

  Thinking about you. Got a train booked for tomorrow. I’ll be there at 3. xxx

  Tomorrow. Isn’t it tomorrow already?

  Ben dials Andrew’s number again and listens to it ringing.

  Leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.

  Why didn’t Ben call him when he first got back to England? Why didn’t he just go there straightaway? Why the fuck did he wait?

  Ben hasn’t cried. He is dry; his heart feels tight, dehydrated. His legs ache. He recalls Andrew as though through a reverse telescope; he’s distant, blurred. He sees him in the taxi yesterday – was it yesterday or the day before? – driving away. The time they shared so long ago isn’t real. But the feelings are; this sadness that they’ll never fulfil their role as brothers now.

  Ben gets out of bed and goes to the window. Lazy light low in the sky heralds an early June dawn. It must be about four. He doesn’t want a new day. He wants to go back. But to when? To when he met Andrew so he can change it and not go to the library that day? No. To when they did the test so they can change it and not do it? No. To yesterday so he could have gone first thing to Andrew’s flat and been there when he…

  How did Andrew die?

  Did he ask Will that earlier?

  Why won’t his head clear?

  He goes onto the landing, phone still in hand. He opens his dad’s door and watches him snoring, flat on his back. In the other bedroom, Mike sleeps on the unmade bed, curled like a toddler, hands between his knees. He’ll be used to sleeping rough. On his tours, he must have slept in far less comfortable places. Ben wants to curl beside him, like they did when camping as kids; he longs for that safety, that simplicity of childhood exhaustion after a day on their bikes.

  But he goes downstairs, opens the back door and watches the sun climb over the trees in next-door’s garden. The sight is not as vivid as the dawn viewed from his Zimbabwe hut, but the pain in his heart is. It is sharp, intense, as if one beat goes off kilter he’ll choke. Ben realises he’ll never take Andrew to the Liberty Lion project. He will never share the morning with him.

  Ben takes out his phone again. He will never delete Andrew’s number. Even when it rings out in the nowhere, when the account has been cancelled, Ben knows he won’t have the heart to remove the digits from his list. He wonders how soon a phone contract gets cancelled when someone dies. If no one calls to do so, will it just end? When?

  Because then there will be no more voice.

  Leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.

  Ben doesn’t know how long he stands watching the sunrise. When Mike puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, he starts.

  ‘How are you doing?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t know.’ This is the truth.

  ‘Did you sleep?’

  ‘No. I couldn’t,’ says Ben.

  ‘I’ll make coffee.’ Mike switches the kettle on. ‘This must be tough for you. You knew him. You were mates.’ He pauses. ‘For me, it’s surreal. A brother I never met, and he’s gone. It’s terrible, sad, but … well, for me it doesn’t mean as much as it does for you.’

  ‘You’d have liked him,’ says Ben.

  ‘If you did, yeah, I would’ve.’

  ‘What happened?’ ask Ben.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My head – it’s cloudy. What did the hospital say? How did he…?’

  ‘Oh. Dad said they told him that Andrew collapsed at home. Luckily his neighbour heard a crash and went in. She called an ambulance … He died shortly after. It wasn’t a hypo like you thought. It was the cancer. He must have already been pretty ill with it.’

  Ben nods. So, there was nothing he could have done. Coke and biscuits would have made no difference. But it doesn’t help. Now he feels wretched. But still there are no tears.

  ‘I wonder what’ll happen,’ says Mike. ‘From what Dad said, we’re his only family. I think he told the hospital we would take care of whatever needs doing.’

  ‘Good,’ says Ben quietly.

  ‘I’m supposed to be back in Afghanistan tomorrow but I’ll see if I can delay.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Mike hands Ben a coffee, says, ‘Can I do anything before I get a shower?’

  ‘No. I’ll just…’ Ben doesn’t know what the end of the sentence is.

  ‘Who’s this Esther?’ asks his brother. ‘Never mentioned her, you dark horse.’

  He sips his drink. ‘We met in Zimbabwe. She’s … we’re…’

  ‘Tell me another time. Dad said she’s coming today.’

  ‘Yeah, she said she’d get here at…’ Ben feels sure it’s this afternoon.

  Moments after Mike goes for a shower, Will comes into the kitchen. As though this is any normal day, he lights a cigarette and stands at the sink. But Ben finds comfort in it. Then he feels sad that these are the familial moments that Andrew should have known, and never will.

  ‘I dunno what to say.’ Will inhales deeply.

  ‘Should we be doing something?’

  ‘The hospital will let us know. I said I’d take care of it all. It’s the least I
can do. He was my son and I met him twice.’ Will looks at Ben. ‘But at least you got to know him. At least he found us before…’

  Ben nods. There is that.

  Andrew got his wish before he died.

  ‘This Esther sounds nice, lad.’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘You met over in Africa then?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll make things a little easier for you when she gets here.’

  Ben just feels guilty.

  ‘I should go get some food in if we’re going to have her overnight,’ says Will.

  ‘I’ll go,’ says Ben. ‘I need some air.’

  He showers when Mike is done. By the time he’s dressed and ready to leave, it’s ten-thirty. As he goes downstairs, someone knocks on the front door. The postman hands Ben a small parcel. He recognises the handwriting. Andrew’s. How? He must have sent it before.

  Ben feels a little sick.

  ‘Be back soon,’ he calls to his dad, and heads down the street.

  He finds himself at the broken bench on the corner just before the main road. Sitting to avoid the missing slat, he holds the parcel but can’t open it yet. The sun scorches his neck, impatient. Andrew’s loopy script blurs.

  Eventually he carefully opens the flap – the way his mum did when she wanted to keep the wrapping for another gift – and peers inside. A flash of silver, like a knowing wink.

  The Wish Box.

  Around it, is a letter. Ben closes his eyes for a moment. Then he takes out the paper, composes himself, and reads it aloud. He knows Andrew would want it no other way.

  Dear Ben,

  I gave this to Mrs Hardy-next-door to send to you if anything happened to me. So, if you’re reading this, well, something has happened. Which is strange to write. I’m ill again. I thought about letting you know, but what would it serve? You’d only feel sad, want to do something, and I don’t want that. I want you to enjoy Zimbabwe, not worry when there’s no need.

  I’ve thought so often about you. I hope you forgive me for refusing to see you when we found out. I’ve realised that if we’d found out we were brothers before we fell in love, I think we’d have been fine. Close. Brotherly. Affectionate. Time was at fault, not us. We found out too late. I was cruel to turn you away after the test, but I couldn’t handle it. I knew you were young enough to find someone else. Which I wanted for you, even though it hurt like hell to think of.