Fifteen feet away from this graceful trio, Gus stopped and turned. ‘Giraffes aren’t aggressive. Though they do have a ferocious kick, so we won’t get too close. I don’t want to disturb them, eh?’
‘Definitely not,’ Connie said eagerly.
Luke smiled at her enthusiasm. Luke had been keen to see rhino, lion and buffalo. He had surprised himself with his fascination for these giraffes. They watched their safari guests with mild interest. They were poised with their legs slightly apart, like a catwalk model with an unreadable expression. Luke could imagine them being brought down by a lion and maintaining this dignity. He stood transfixed. He could only vaguely hear Matt and Katherine talking softly at the back.
Gus coughed to keep them on track before speaking more loudly than usual. ‘Giraffes are the tallest and largest ruminants. They’re even-toed ungulates.’
‘Watch it, Gus,’ Sara said. ‘You are a bit free and easy with ungulates. Translate.’
‘Even toed-hoofed mammals,’ he said smiling. ‘Lizzie will be delighted to know that their full name is Giraffa camelopardalis because their faces superficially resemble camels. But they are not in the same family, eh. They have more delicate features.’
Gus signalled for them to move forward. Luke shifted to walk with Gus. ‘They are dark, aren’t they? I imagined that they would be a lighter shade of brown.’
‘Their markings get darker as they get older. These three are probably about fifteen.’
Before she had started the massage, Luke had vaguely imagined that he might have his first ever fling with Kimberley. She was lean, smooth and toned. Not an ounce of fat. She was an attractive girl for a one-night stand. Not that he had any experience whatsoever of having a fling. He had only slept with three women in his life. After the violence inflicted by Emma, he couldn’t imagine exposing his body to anyone. Anyway, Luke couldn’t make himself into the kind of man who could have casual sex with anyone. As her hands worked effectively up his thighs, Luke hadn’t thought about sex with Kimberley. He had imagined making love to Connie.
Luke moved to one side ostensibly to take a photo of them together, along with Gus and his gun. Through his lenses, he watched Connie. She was wearing tight pale beige jeans and a flimsy white shirt, which reminded him of that nightie she used to wear. Her features were fine: her button nose, high, thin cheekbones, bright blue eyes and her brown-blond hair, which swept back to the nape of her long neck. He started snapping. He zoomed in, until he framed her from the arch of her neck to the tip of her forehead. He ran the risk of Sara noticing, or worse, Julian. He didn’t care.
He quickly took a group photo. It was a great one. He had rarely seen his friends during his marriage to Emma, yet he felt even closer to them now, as if his suffering made his friendships more potent. He wished he could pour his heart out to Matt. Tell him everything about his relationship with Emma.
‘Which particular species of giraffe are they?’ Sara said peering out from under her khaki bucket hat. Luke gave her an affectionate tap. She looked like some mad zoologist from an era when women didn’t travel independently. She was wearing a safari dress that was expensive and trendy enough to have an unflattering A-line that settled somewhere between her knees and mid calves.
Luke caught Gus looking at Sara intently. Luke wasn’t socially astute, but he knew that look. Not that Sara or the others seemed to notice. Sara should come with a warning: approach with extreme care, will bite any stray male.
‘There is only one species of giraffe,’ Gus said.
He had taken long enough to answer to give Sara the opportunity Luke knew she loved to question him. ‘Are you positive? I am sure that they said there were nine species on Inside Nature’s Giants.’
Julian waded in. ‘Apologies for my friend. One minute she’s quoting Disney, now it’s Channel 4. Please ignore her.’
Luke reluctantly noticed Julian’s sensitivity to Gus.
Gus didn’t back down. ‘Sara, you are partially right. There’s one species but nine subspecies defined by geographical areas. The one here is the South African subspecies. And there are about twelve thousand giraffes left.’
Luke gave Gus a slight wink. ‘You got her there.’
Gus smiled appreciatively, even his smile made Luke think about love.
It was the first Friday night formal dinner at Wills Hall at the end of Freshers’ Week. Luke was gawky in black tie with his second-hand academic gown hanging down over it. The first few boys he spotted in the corridor were in suits and ties. He must have misread the brochure. He stood nervously by the door, holding a half-empty beer glass for support. He rarely knew who to approach or what to say, but dressed as he was, he was incapacitated. He moved to stand by the high window and stared glumly into the room. He rallied a little and made a concerted effort to look out for the two boys he had met on his corridor: Daniel and Matthew. They were nowhere to be seen. He felt her first. She touched his hand with hers as she took his glass with her thin, cool fingers. He looked up nervously. He saw his own social anxiety mirrored in her face. It made him smile. She smiled straight back. She was almost as tall as him with impossibly long thin legs. A bright pink sequinned flapper dress hung off one shoulder blade as if she had carelessly thrown it on. She wasn’t exactly wearing her gown. She had pulled it on as far as her elbows as if she couldn’t be bothered to get it as far as her shoulders. The material bunched and ruffled along her forearms like a gigantic kimono. ‘I’m Connie,’ she took his hand with her free one, which she could just about release from the gown. ‘I don’t know anyone except that blond girl. She’s called Lizzie.’
She waved at Lizzie’s back. He hadn’t been able to think of anything to say back. He murmured, ‘Luke.’
‘Luke, mate,’ Matthew called loudly across the hall, giving him a vast wave. ‘Hello.’
Luke reluctantly let go of her hand and turned to give him a half-wave back. He fully expected Connie to be gone by the time he turned back round. She wasn’t. Connie slipped her hand into his. She stood beside him, waiting for Matthew with Daniel close behind. She didn’t say anything. For a moment, Luke worried that she was expecting him to make conversation. He glanced over at her. She stood beside him in silence. He was relieved. He was happy looking at her. She had a delicate face and startling blue eyes that looked out at the hall with the same wonderment he felt.
‘You look smart, Luke.’ Matthew reached them in a suit and tie. He eyed Connie. ‘Well, hello. Are you going to introduce me to this babe on your arm?’
Luke blushed. ‘Connie, Matthew.’
Daniel was with them. ‘And Daniel.’
She smiled at them. ‘Hello.’
‘Hello, lovely Luke. I hope we’re not interrupting?’ Matthew asked.
‘No. Not at all,’ Luke said quickly. He was sure his feelings were best kept in his head.
He sensed his mistake. She let go of his hand. He watched silently in horror as she made her excuses to Matthew and Daniel and pushed through the thick crowd away from him.
‘Oh God, mate I’m sorry. We’ve botched that up for you,’ Matthew moaned.
Luke tried to wave away his concerns. He couldn’t speak.
‘She looked keen,’ Daniel insisted. ‘She is beautiful.’
‘Sexy too,’ Matthew added.
Luke mumbled back, ‘I don’t think so.’
‘What? You don’t think she’s attractive?’ Matthew looked amazed.
‘No, I mean…’ What did he mean? ‘Not my type.’ What was he talking about? He hadn’t had a girlfriend. How could he have a type? If he did, she would be exactly like Connie, down to the height of her collarbones.
He looked to see where she was in the room. It wasn’t hard to spot her. She was taller than most of the girls in the room, a beacon of vibrant pink.
‘I can’t believe it. The pair of you,’ Matthew was exclaiming enviously, ‘Daniel here has already been asked out. Can you believe it?’ He gesticulated at a small girl with long dark hair.
<
br /> ‘Lucky you,’ Luke said, nudging Daniel warmly. He risked looking up again. She had her back to him. He reached for his drink, but realised that he had given it to Connie, or rather she had taken it.
‘What about you, Matthew? Any girl caught your eye?’ Luke diverted the attention away from himself.
‘Oh, there are so many pretty girls here… I have to say I’m rather overwhelmed. Too much choice.’ Matthew murmured. He was starting to sweat around the collar of his shirt.
‘Exactly. Too early to choose.’ He took another slug and passed it to Matthew.
People started to sit down at the long tables, which didn’t have a table plan, unlike the High Table.
Matthew and Daniel led the way. Luke followed. They settled down into the L-shape of one corner with Daniel in the middle.
‘Are these seats taken?’ Lizzie asked. Connie stood behind her with another girl.
‘No, no. We would be delighted,’ Matthew urged. ‘I’m Matthew.’
‘Lizzie,’ she smiled running her hand through her hair. ‘Oh, and Sara and Connie.’
‘We’ve met Connie,’ Matthew insisted. ‘Sara, hello. Haven’t I seen you somewhere? Are you reading law?’
‘Smart, you are,’ Sara had smiled. ‘How are you finding it?’ She sat down next to Matt.
Luke looked down as Daniel got up. ‘Why don’t one of you sit between Matthew and Luke? I’ll come round the other side.’
Lizzie moved round and Connie sat down next to Daniel, across the table from Luke.
He tried hard to think of something to say to Lizzie. ‘What are you reading?’
‘English. I absolutely love it. It’s fantastic.’ Lizzie smiled encouragingly. ‘What about you, Luke?’
‘History.’ He tried to think of something witty to say about it, but he couldn’t.
‘Connie’s reading history.’
His stomach lurched.
‘Connie,’ Lizzie called across the table. Connie looked up at her. ‘Luke’s reading history.’
‘Really.’ She didn’t look at him, but added calmly. ‘Daniel is reading English.’
‘Goodness, really? Let’s swop places, can we? No offence.’
Neither Luke or Connie moved or spoke, but Lizzie had enough momentum for all four of them. She squeezed one leg and then the other out and off the bench and moved round to Connie’s place next to Daniel. Luke fully expected Connie to object. She looked at Lizzie for a moment and then silently got up.
She glided round to the space between Matt and Luke. He tried to make as much room for her as possible, pressing against the person on his other side. She didn’t need it, even with Matt on her other side. She slid gracefully on to the bench. Neither of them spoke.
Connie moved his glass back in front of him. ‘Sorry, I took it.’
There were fresh ones on the table in front of them. Luke had no idea what to say. ‘No problem. I’ve got more upstairs.’
She paused, ‘Well, then. I’ll keep it.’
He risked glancing at her. She wasn’t smiling.
‘Please do.’
He couldn’t keep the concern out of his voice. He was doing this all wrong. Connie’s blue eyes rested on him for too long. She didn’t appear to be uncomfortable. He looked straight back at her. He didn’t know what to say. He simply reached for the hand nearest his on the bench. He slid his hand on top of hers. Her hand moved out from underneath. She lightly brushed her fingers against his. Luke captured her whole hand, trying to hold it without squeezing it. The feeling of her fingers gave him the most intense sense of belonging.
He wasn’t wrong. She stayed holding his hand for three years.
Chapter 13
Gus’s commentary was a loud TV in the corner of the room. Matt didn’t want to listen, but a few facts struck him, however reluctantly. African buffalo killed around two hundred people a year. Hence their nickname: ‘Black Death’. They were highly unpredictable, prone to charging. How great to get away with being that high maintenance. There was no political correctness in the Kalahari. It was okay to be a sexually dominant male throwing your weight around, and then roaming off in a petulant sulk behind an acacia tree. The African equivalent of hiding in your ‘cave’.
The lone male buffalo’s sullen brown flesh partially camouflaged him. Blessed with a body crushing any Seca scales at a gravity-defying nine hundred kilos, he couldn’t exactly hide behind an acacia tree. Like a Welsh rugby player from the seventies, this beast was all body with no neck and drooping cauliflower ears. He might be mistaken for a farm bull, if it weren’t for his horns. He was a mature bloke, according to Gus, hence one metre and sixty centimetres of horn, meeting above its eyes in a barnacled cliff of bone called the ‘boss’. It used this ugly eyesore to head butt sexual opponents, sometimes inflicting critical carnage.
Matt was large, but not living out in arid Savanna. Sophisticated urban women deleted any reference to his naturally male genes. First Annabel. Now Katherine. He shifted his knees, which were pressed uncomfortably into the seat in front. He looked at Katherine: beautiful, bewitching, yet reducing. He was a blokes’ bloke, really. He enjoyed nothing more than watching a rugby game with a few friends and a few more beers. Get drunk, have a laugh.
He was so desperate to be accommodating to Katherine that he was masquerading as a Zeta male. Katherine had coined the phrase first, writing a feature in her magazine about the new trend for ‘Zeta males’: aka Matt, whom she described in detail, concluding he was ‘perfect husband material’. An Alpha or Beta male was a neanderthal man hiding behind romanticised, socially acceptable labels, Katherine insisted. Not the Zeta male. He never did anything because he was a man. Oh no. The Zeta didn’t think like a male; he didn’t act like a male.
Matt was submerged by a wave of hopelessness. To rub it in, the buffalo emerged from behind the trunk. He was looking directly at Matt, challenging him. Are you a man or an urban wimp? Come on, prove it to me. What came next surprised everyone except Matt. He knew what was going to happen, what should happen. Natural law out in the Savanna, where Darwinism ruled over Twitter.
The buffalo charged. He moved with such speed for a hefty, old man that Matt was utterly transfixed. Matt wasn’t scared at all. He was relieved. Things were as they should be.
The rest of the vehicle erupted. Katherine’s voice was the highest-pitched. Dan’s voice staccato: ‘No, no, no.’ Julian’s predictably tense: ‘I would love to make it back to London, alive, please.’ ‘What’s going on? Gus, please talk to us,’ Connie struggled to keep calm. Julian’s firm retort: ‘Keep calm, troops. Gus and Ben have got it under control.’
Unemotional, Ben murmured to Gus, who jerked through his gears, lurching them diagonally forward into deep grasses to the left of the track.
Gus shouted: ‘You guys okay? As I have said, I would never take any risks eh?’ He kept cracking on through the sand, whipping them away.
Who can outdrive a buffalo? Matt wondered, feeling calmer than he had all afternoon. The buffalo was charging, helmet down, feet pounding, though he was no longer moving in their direction. He veered off, thirty degrees away from them. He slowed to a gentle trot. He decided that they weren’t worth the effort. Nine urbanites? No contest. Matt smiled to himself.
He had called for an update before they left for their evening drive. His call came minutes after Dawn had been rushed through for an emergency Caesarean. Fleeing an aggressive buffalo enhanced his powers of sober observation. It was too late. They could never have got to the hospital in time, even if he had had the guts to talk to Katherine at lunchtime. They were far too far away to change the course of events in Manchester. All they could do was to wait, drive it out in the Kalahari.
There was no point in Katherine doing the waiting and worrying. He had made the decision not to tell her. He had to be man enough to live with it. Dawn, their baby’s survival and their future were out of his hands. He was free for the first time since they had decided to backpack solo along this bandit rout
e of surrogacy. Whatever the outcome, he regained a sense of his own freedom.
Katherine was keen to wait until they were married before trying for a baby. She had a strong sense of what was appropriate. On their wedding night they weaved back to their hotel, a kilometre from Katherine’s parent’s white clapboard house in Vermont. Two days before, Katherine had playfully thrown her last pill packet away out of the train window on the journey from New York.
As he fumbled to unhook her elaborate bodice, he said, ‘Let’s make a baby.’ God knows if he actually meant it.
They didn’t talk about babies again for four months. Matt didn’t even think about them. Or the obvious fact that Katherine wasn’t pregnant. Matt was simply excited to be living with Katherine. He was focused on helping her settle into London and her new job.
One night, he was opening a bottle of red wine when Katherine came up and took it decisively out of his hands and placed it firmly on the coffee table. Her expression was stern.
‘I don’t want you doing that right now.’
‘What’s wrong, Katherine?’
She folded herself down on to their sofa. ‘It’s four months. And I am not pregnant.’
Matt relaxed. ‘It’s early days yet, darling. Don’t worry. You will be soon.’
Katherine pursed her lips. ‘I’m not leaving this to fate, Matt.’
Matt nervously eyed the unopened bottle on the coffee table. ‘Of course,’ he said though he was not sure what she meant.
‘We need to address our diets and our lifestyle.’
‘Sure.’ Matt was eager to meet her halfway. She was anxious, which was understandable. She desperately wanted to have a baby with him.
‘No caffeine, no alcohol, no artificial sugar, no red meat,’ she said. ‘Lots of oily fish and vegetables and omega-3 oil.’
The Art of Unpacking Your Life Page 11