‘I thought you were taking folic acid,’ he countered.
‘Omega-3 oil as well as folic acid,’ she insisted.
Matt sat down beside her, holding both her hands in his and kissing her gently on the lips. ‘Katherine, I know you’re worried, but I don’t think this is necessary. It’s waffle generated by the magazines.’
‘It is vital, Matt,’ she insisted. ‘Don’t you see?’
Matt sensed this talk was premeditated and planned, which he felt put him at an unfair disadvantage.
She bent down to her handbag on the floor and brought out a card that looked like a cheap room temperature gauge. He waited. He already knew that if Katherine had her mind set on something, he was better letting her talk her way through it.
‘An ovulation calculator,’ she solemnly pronounced.
Matt tried to regain his calm. He had to talk her down.
He gave, he hoped, a winning smile. ‘Sorry, Katherine, darling. We need to keep perspective on all this, don’t we? It’s only been four months.’
They made love, though Matt couldn’t help wondering whether it was because Katherine had the desire or that the ovulation calculator determined it was the optimum night.
In the morning, she offered him a hot water with freshly squeezed lemon juice, instead of his habitual coffee. As he accepted it, he noted her hold over him.
He thought about the hot lemon, which had been the start of it, when he was waiting on one of the smart brown leather sofas at the London Women’s Clinic in Harley Street. The reception reminded him of a successful businessman’s hotel, where the decor signals stylish professionalism. The tiled flooring was only disturbed by tall potted plants, the right-angled sofas, neat cushions and unbroken lines of magazines upon a vast coffee table. The manicured interior didn’t make Matt calm. Quite the opposite. He felt as if it were a disguise: making right the wrong of this highly interventionist, clinical way of making babies.
He stared at a pamphlet, entitled ‘Getting Started’, which Katherine had silently passed to him. He couldn’t process what he was reading:
IVF
ICSI
Intrauterine insertion (IUI)
Egg donation and egg sharing
Surgical sperm retrieval
Surrogacy in the UK
Frozen embryo transfer (FET)
Time lapse imaging
Low cost packages
Egg Freezing
Other treatments
He looked anxiously at his shoes, hoping Katherine could sense his alienation. But she was focused. She wanted them to do the ‘Three Cycle Package’, she informed him on the Underground. Three IVF treatments for the price of two. She had already read everything about this clinic. It gave them the best possible chance of success against the lowering odds as she was over thirty-five. Having done extensive research, she was convinced by this service, unquestioning of the rights and wrongs of it.
Matt glanced at her. She was staring straight ahead, keen not to be diverted by his doubt. He wondered whether it was easier for her because she was American, used to paying for what she wanted. Matt was profoundly uncomfortable with it. He wanted a baby as desperately as Katherine did, but he couldn’t reconcile it with the intensely uncomfortable feeling he had even being in this Harley Street waiting area.
‘Mr and Mrs Carlton?’
Katherine sprung up. She didn’t turn round to check he was behind her.
Matt struggled off the sofa and stood midway between the seating and the doorway. He was holding the leaflet. He debated whether to take it with him. He flung in back on the pile on the coffee table and walked slowly up the corridor after Katherine.
Chapter 14
Gus slowed down for a rare herd of impala, which gleefully danced in front of the vehicle. They were the most delicate of antelope. Spotless Bambis with skinny legs and catwalk faces. Lizzie was annoyed she had forgotten her species checklist. She must remember to tick them off.
‘You have seen a lot,’ Gus enthused to Lizzie, as she leant over the seat behind him. ‘You should buy a lottery ticket.’
Lizzie grinned. ‘We have, haven’t we?’ Gus was rather attractive in a boyish kind of way. He wasn’t her type, of course. She was attracted to men, not boys.
‘Do you use that line on every one of your guests?’ Sara quipped from the back row without turning away from the impala.
If Sara was less fierce and more open-minded, she could probably have a fling with Gus, Lizzie thought.
‘Sara,’ Gus sounded annoyed. ‘Honestly, you have seen a great deal in two days. Believe me.’
‘We have. We really have Gus,’ Lizzie said in sympathy. Sara could be harsh, especially with men. ‘Now, what about your pet meerkats…’
‘Habituated meerkats,’ Gus insisted, ‘They are not tame, eh.’
‘Too tame for us, Gus,’ quipped Jules. He was looking straight at her. A little tame for you and me, he meant. ‘You see, Gus, Lizzie here would far rather be walking on the wild side with black rhino. Wouldn’t you, Lizzie?’
‘It is too tame, isn’t it,’ she echoed, ‘Hardly compares with charging rhino, Jules,’ she echoed.
When Lizzie first met Jules, he might as well have been a black rhino. She thought he was wildly sexy. He was a friend of her cousin’s, who was two years ahead of her, and already had his own flat, off the far north end of Ladbroke Grove. His flatmate was Jules. They had been at university together, both reading PPE and determined to enter politics.
Her cousin made an overcooked pasta lunch. The two of them were both wading through a deep colourful bowl when Jules emerged in the doorway. It was the only way Lizzie could describe it. He filled the room. He was tall, broad, wearing a navy suit that made him look more imposing, even at twenty-two. He had a neat pile of rolled newspapers under one arm and a briefcase in the other hand. Lizzie didn’t know any men who owned a briefcase. He had been interviewed by the Conservative constituency selection panel for a marginal seat in Yorkshire.
Despite being obviously grown up, he peeled off his jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves and sat down beside Lizzie, equally determined to make her laugh, to charm her. She flirted back. When she reluctantly left late that evening to get the last train back to Bristol, he asked for her phone number. He rang Harley Place before she was awake the next morning. Luke stumbled out of the room that he shared with Connie.
‘Lizzie. Julian someone or other on the phone.’
At the time, Lizzie loved Jules’s decisiveness: he knew what he wanted and he went out to get it. Lizzie responded in kind, inviting him down for the night the following weekend.
Jules was right. Safari wasn’t about turning up to a pre-designated site for a guaranteed close up of meerkats. There were two other vehicles already there. Apparently, a film crew from Wildlife TV had been filming them over several weeks. A student ranger had spent the last six weeks making them comfortable with human beings.
They walked up a track to an open stretch of land, lightly whispering with leggy grasses. There was no sign of any animal life.
A sweaty student, hot enough to have lank hair, stumbled over to them. She wiped her forehead on the sleeve of her khaki rolled-up shirt.
‘Hi, Jane. How’re you doing?’
‘Hello, Gus.’ Jane’s vowels were pure Home Counties.
‘Are you out here on your gap year, Jane?’ Jules was obviously curious.
‘Not exactly. I am training to be a ranger.’
‘Really? An English female ranger. How fantastic. My daughter Lou would love to do that.’
‘She would, wouldn’t she?’ repeated Lizzie to reinforce their connection. It was one of her great strengths that his children loved her and she was good with them. It would make everything easier.
Lizzie was beyond wanting her own children. She had had a crisis in her mid-thirties, about the time when she was turned down for the commissioning editor job, when tiny feet were all that mattered. Her body craved babies. The heat of bi
ological urgency was directly related to the probability of pregnancy, which had dwindled to nothing in her mind. White coals were warm, but not glowing. There was no real chance of relighting the fire. Best to kick away the remaining charcoal, let it blow away on the breeze.
‘So, where are these little pets?’ Jules asked Jane.
Someone had to keep an eye on Jules. She knew he strayed. Not that it was his fault. She blamed it firmly on Connie. She had this amazing lifestyle: a gorgeous house in London, one in Oxfordshire, holidays and lovely clothes. But she didn’t give Jules what he needed. Thankfully, Jane wasn’t pretty. She was wearing a pair of wonky black classic Ray-Bans, which stood out on her blanched and spotty face. She had an unwieldy teenage body, which she held uncomfortably, hugging her arms under her breasts.
Jane was sufficiently intimidated by Jules into saying nothing. She walked away from them across an unprepossessing stretch of sand and grass strewn land. They followed her in single file. Luckily, otherwise they might have walked over him. One solitary meerkat stood high on his hind legs. He looked at Jane and then at Jules. They shushed each other.
Gus spoke. ‘It’s fine to talk, eh? Jane, will you tell the guests about the meerkats?’
The sweat pooled around the base of her neck, as she struggled to get started.
Jules wasn’t the most patient person. Why should he be? ‘Jane, where are the rest of them?’
Matt normally chided Jules when he was a little abrupt. He said nothing. He was unusually quiet. He looked absorbed by some private joke known only to himself. Katherine looked concerned. Lizzie wickedly wished that they had had some sort of row. She was ashamed.
Jane stuttered. ‘You see, the one here. He’s the one left.’
‘And then there was one,’ Sara intoned.
‘Mmm…’ murmured Jules.
Gus jumped in. ‘Okay, Jane what you should explain is that it is an extraordinary achievement for us to be a few feet away from this meerkat. And it is the result of weeks of you sitting here, talking to them, even singing, I believe.’
They laughed.
Jane scratched at the acne on her neck. ‘They seem to enjoy it.’
Gus laughed. ‘Well, she is from England…’ He waited for the protests to die down. ‘This meerkat has been left here on purpose. He is a “sentinel”. He is looking out for danger, while the others search for food, particularly scorpions, which they love. He will sacrifice his life for the group, eh?’
‘We love a little self-sacrifice, don’t we campers?’ Jules smiled.
Lizzie spoke without thinking. ‘Well, that’s Connie’s department.’
There was silence. She panicked. She hadn’t meant to say that. She often thought Connie was a martyr, obsessed by her domestic life and children, but never said it aloud. Her own words shocked her. Connie was such a generous friend to her. She reached over for Connie’s arm. ‘Oh Connie, I was joking. God, with kids you have sacrificed a lot.’
Connie gave that infuriating unreadable smile. What did it mean? Her self-possession unnerved Lizzie. Why couldn’t she say what was on her mind?
‘Too right.’ It was Luke, which made Lizzie feel uneasy. She had no wish to revisit that day in Harley Place. She wanted to remember the good times.
Matt sighed. ‘What do any of us know about sacrifice? We lead such safe, little lives.’
Connie moved beside him and gave his arm a squeeze. Luke moved round to his other side.
Lizzie had had enough. They were getting too intense. She was left out of whatever drama was unfolding around her. She had an idea. One that she knew Jules would love.
‘This meerkat moment calls for a tune.’
Lizzie had a great voice. She didn’t have her own flat or a good job or a man, but when she sang in a bar or on a train people stopped what they were doing and listened. She had once sung for the group on the way to Connie’s house in Oxfordshire and a man had moved from the next carriage to listen to her. She had sung for Jules late after that first lunch in her cousin’s flat.
She gave a quick cough, raised herself up and swung out her arms. Her throat roared low, long. ‘Summertime.’
‘Lizzie, you could make it big as a singer,’ Alan called out.
She sang deliberately slowly.
‘Yes,’ said Jules. ‘Go for it Lizzie,’ he turned to Gus. ‘She has a superb voice.’
She was excited. Vindication, recognition. She raised the volume. Singing out across thousands of kilometres of desert. Singing across a continent. Singing to Jules. She wanted to remember every breath.
‘Oh, Christ almighty. They are coming out,’ said Sara. ‘Don’t stop, Lizzie. You are the Pied Piper of the Kalahari.’
Lizzie glanced sideways. Four meerkats had popped out of several previously invisible holes. They stood, looking alert, looking at her. She lowered her voice slightly. Two more appeared. The group was more transfixed by the meerkats than her. She couldn’t help sucking in a huge gulp of air and belting the next two lines. She was singing to Jules, to her best friends, to the meerkats, to the horizon. She was invincible. Nothing could stop her now.
When it happened, it was unpredictably violent. Like a quiet couple nobody noticed in the corner of a bar until the man calmly stood up and shot the woman in the head with a silenced gun. Then everyone retold the crime from their own standpoint, some having predicted it, others not.
The Black-chested Snake Eagle dived for the smallest meerkat. Its chocolate head and chest covering its white belly as it descended with chilling accuracy and swooped up its supper in one clean, faultless move. Down, down, up, up and seamlessly gone from sight. The eagle didn’t falter, it didn’t stop, it didn’t make a sound. Nor did the meerkat. It hung from the eagle’s mouth, limp, possibly already dead. Its lack of protest added to the horror.
No one said a word. Lizzie stopped singing. It was the first time she had ever been silenced mid ‘Summertime’.
Chapter 15
Traditionally, a boma was a circular enclosure for livestock, created out of tall reed stakes. The same encircled space had provided British colonial officers with makeshift offices, and more recently sheltered tribesmen from the wind. Gae had converted this boma into a private outdoor dining area, where the roof was a navy sky sprinkled with stars. An open fire pit flamed with uninhibited craziness in the centre of the fiery red sand. Tall torch lanterns danced shadows round the reed stakes.
Their table was majestically alone in this seductive space. Sara sighed, a peaceful exhalation. This was the most beautiful dinner. The reserve’s own springbok charred over the fire, the pumpkin delicately infused with rosemary, the lamb skewered with the same herb and the traditional pap – a light baked couscous – alongside the Thelema Cabernet Sauvignon was deeply satisfying. As she reached once more for the black earthenware pot of springbok, she was suddenly aware she was happy. Was she ever this happy in London?
She couldn’t answer that question. Of course, she was stressed and unhappy after what had happened. Everything she had worked for her whole life was threatened. The question was when would it ever end? She hadn’t thought about Joanne Sutton since this morning. She was physically far away. She had to move the same mental distance. It was the joy of a holiday that was alien. You could forget everything else, peel away the layers of your daily life. Only in her case, Sara wasn’t sure what would be left.
Connie rose to her feet. Julian tapped his glass with his spoon in that annoying, pompous way of his. The group stopped talking, clattering.
‘Pray be silent for my beautiful wife.’
‘I’m not going to give a speech,’ Connie was beaming, which made Sara even happier. ‘I wanted to say that I will never ever forget being here with you, my dearest friends. Thank you for coming. From the bottom of my heart.’
They were moved to shout, even Dan.
‘You know I’m no good at this public-speaking business,’ Connie held one hand to the side of her face. It reminded Sara of Luke’s gesture when
he was shy. ‘I’ve asked Gus to share the plans for the rest of the week.’ Connie grinned.
Gus stood up. He was blushing. Sara smiled, imagining him cross-examining in court.
‘Well, Connie should be filling you in, but here goes. Unfortunately, there’s a storm coming in later tomorrow. But we should get you out riding in the morning.’
Matt shouted, ‘I’ll pay good money to see Julian on a horse.’
‘What do you mean?’ Julian snapped in mock umbrage. ‘I was born in the saddle.’
Dan interjected. ‘Julian, please. Gus, do continue.’
‘Connie has booked the sleep-out deck in the middle of the dunes. It’s incredible. Newly built. It’s for a maximum of three people and she was hoping to tempt Sara and Lizzie out there.’
‘A girls’ night out,’ Sara laughed, surprised by her excitement.
Gus immediately turned to her. ‘Yes, it is incredibly beautiful sleeping out on the dunes. And extremely luxurious, eh?’
‘I should hope so, Gus,’ she teased gently.
He blushed again, which amused her. ‘Well, then we are going to track that black rhino.’ There was a cheer from Julian. ‘Hopefully find you some cheetah and wildebeest along the way.’
He paused and fumbled in his pocket for a piece of paper folded into repeated, neat squares. He took his time, laboriously unfolding the paper. He was surprisingly secure and confident.
‘Oh yes and then dinner out on the dunes,’ he looked at Connie. ‘And the finale… Do you want to say?’
Connie shook her head.
‘Hopefully, if the wind’s right, you will end the week on a balloon ride over Gae with John. He is a great balloonist from Jo’Burg.’
‘Connie, that is amazing,’ Luke said.
Sara stood up. ‘To Connie. Without you we would never have been dragged kicking and screaming to the Kalahari.’ She was overwhelmed by her feelings for each one of them. ‘You are such important friends to me. I don’t know why it’s taken so bloody long for us to be together again.’
The Art of Unpacking Your Life Page 12