The Art of Unpacking Your Life

by Shireen Jilla

  ‘Connie,’ he said as she slowly approached their table.

  She looked uncomfortable. ‘I thought that you might have left already?’

  Katherine answered quickly. ‘No. We are not leaving. We’ve talked to Dawn, but she needs to be with her own family right now.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Devastated.’ Katherine’s face fell. ‘Naturally. Like any mother who has lost a baby.’

  His chin wobbled, but he quickly spoke to Katherine. ‘Though Isobel was our baby girl.’

  Connie nodded. ‘Of course.’ She reached out and took both their hands in hers.

  ‘Do they know exactly what happened?’

  Katherine squeezed Matt’s arm, leaving him to explain. She already knew that he derived comfort from the facts.

  ‘It points to the pre-eclampsia. It was a strong contributing cause, combined with birth complications. Dawn unexpectedly haemorrhaged. They might know more after the post-mortem. It is hard to establish the cause of a stillbirth. Often they never know.’

  Katherine squeezed his hand and continued for him, ‘The funeral will be on Monday in Manchester. It’s going to be special. Dawn’s whole family is coming. I think that we will be able to share our grief with them.’

  Connie took her hand as well. ‘We will all be there, of course. If you would like us?’

  Matt could only nod. Katherine squeezed his hand harder. ‘We need you all, our close friends.’

  Connie crouched in front of them. ‘I know it’s a terrible thing to happen to anyone. I can’t begin to imagine what you both feel. But I know that you have each other.’

  Matt turned to Katherine. She gave him that secret little smile, he remembered on their first night together. ‘Yes we do, Connie. You are right,’ he said, kissing Katherine.

  The rain was light as Connie went back to her room. Her legs were stiff, particularly her inner thighs. She hadn’t ridden for years. She had loved every minute of it. The total escape. They had seen hardly any animals, but it hadn’t mattered. Connie felt liberated by it.

  Their front door was ajar. There was no sign of Julian. She looked out on the terrace. He wasn’t there either. She sighed. He had probably slipped back to the phone without Matt and Katherine noticing. She walked through to their bathroom, desperate for a cool, long shower. She gave a short cry. Julian was sitting on the closed loo seat.

  ‘Julian, hello, you gave me a shock. Busy morning?’

  He didn’t respond. Julian would brood through an impending crisis, working out his own position, before bursting out with a detailed explanation of the Chinese whispers that had led him down the latest dark corridor. She glanced casually at him as she unbuttoned her jeans. His skin had a tinge, despite two days of sun. She ought to be the good wife. Ask what was wrong. But she didn’t want to delve into the human entrails of yet another political situation after such an uplifting ride.

  ‘Connie,’ Julian said as if trying out her name. His voice sounded dry. ‘How was your ride?’

  ‘It really was exhilarating. I love riding. It makes me happy. Why don’t I do it in Oxfordshire?’

  ‘You must.’

  When they were first married, Julian had encouraged her to do the things she loved. He was as proactive and as enthusiastic about the small details of their life together as he was his career. Not so any longer. When had it changed?

  She dismissed the idea of telling him that she might have found her grandfather’s notes. She spotted a pale tan school-style exercise book with his name, George Sanderson, written in loopy black, smudged ink on the cover. It was in a cabinet in the library. Of course, it might be sketches or more photos. Still, she was excited by the discovery. It reminded her of the thrill she felt researching history at university. The sense of adventure into an unknown past.

  ‘There has been a coup in my absence.’

  She sighed. She was right. She distracted herself by trying to peel off her jeans, which were cellophaned to her legs by the extreme humidity.

  ‘I can’t work out who briefed against me,’ muttered Julian, leaning heavily on his arms. ‘My instinct is it’s Susan. She benefits most from me resigning from the Cabinet. The PM would offer her Chief Secretary.’

  He stood up, towering over her. She tried to inch her jeans down her thighs.

  Connie guessed he was already in Westminster, fast-forwarding to the next cabinet meeting.

  ‘Susan’s a bitch,’ he continued as if Connie had made a comment. ‘She had it in for me.’

  She looked up. She could only guess why. She didn’t respond. Julian didn’t require political feedback. He needed to vent his anger, work out his own solution and move swiftly to exact his subtle revenge. It was the way politics worked. Of course, even from the Kalahari, Julian would trace the mole. It was extraordinary he didn’t already know for certain. Susan, if indeed it was Susan, would rue the day she started a war with Julian Emmerson.

  Connie resorted to crouching with her bottom resting on the floor and pulling one leg at a time up thirty degrees, as she rolled the jeans painstakingly inside out and down her calves.

  ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ he lowered his eyes to hers. ‘I’ve rather botched up.’

  She looked sharply. It was one of those idiosyncrasies of any long-term relationship: the tiniest things gave the greatest away. Sweetheart was a decidedly un-Julian word.

  He raised his arms in a gesture of helplessness, gave a dramatic shrug. She had seen this act many times before.

  ‘I’m sorry, Connie.’ He sighed deeply. ‘We have to go home. Face the music.’

  ‘You are not talking about leaving now?’

  ‘Well,’ he sighed. ‘The story is going to break in the Mail on Sunday. I need to be back before it goes to print. I need to counter it. Otherwise they will write: Julian Emmerson is hiding from the press on safari in the Kalahari. Privileged bastard. It will make it easy for PM to be bullied into letting me go.’ He gave her the strong, purposeful look that had won her over in that French restaurant.

  With a final, desperate shake of her right leg, she hurled the jeans across the white tiled bathroom floor. ‘I am sorry, Julian, but I’m not leaving my friends in Africa on my fortieth birthday celebrations. Not to mention Matt and Katherine after they have lost their precious baby.’

  She was taken aback by the vehemence in her tone, but delighted by it.

  ‘I heard,’ he murmured. ‘Awful.’

  ‘How could you ask me to leave them now?’

  She stood up, sweaty and rather deliriously confident. It was probably the pre-storm humidity that had yet to completely melt away.

  ‘It’s…’ Julian trailed off.

  Such a tiny pause, yet such an obvious clue. When was Julian ever lost for words? Connie started to worry she had misjudged the severity of the problem.

  ‘I’ve been tormented, Connie. You have no idea what I’ve been going through for the last seven months.’

  She searched his face and saw his lost schoolboy look: I’ve got into trouble, but it’s not my fault, honest. Connie wasn’t about to break a habit of twenty years and ask him if his latest fling was breaking in Mail on Sunday. She had been publicly humiliated before, and she would be again, but she would rather sit it out in the Kalahari than in west London. Nothing would make her ask Julian about it; he would never volunteer the information. It was the power she had over him.

  ‘Well, I am certainly not going home for that reason. In fact, that is a perfect excuse to stay.’

  She turned her back on him and moved towards the bathroom door leading to the outdoor shower.

  ‘Connie, we need to outwardly present a united front. There can’t be any ambiguity,’ he was pleading with her. ‘This time.’

  She frowned. She was angry with him for breaking their code of silence on the subject of his affairs. She couldn’t help thinking of Luke’s probing. She hated her friends being here to witness her latest humiliation. It would make it far worse.

 
‘Why is it worse this time, except for my friends being here?’

  ‘Connie, you know, I never, ever set out to hurt you.’ His eyes were watering. ‘It’s Sally.’

  She squeezed her hands, one on top of the other over her mouth, but a sound escaped somewhere deep in her throat.

  ‘Connie, please, look. We both feel hideous. I didn’t know how to tell you. I kept trying. It was never the right time.’

  She looked down confused, expecting to see blood dripping down her leg.

  ‘I was sorry for her. You know her story: late thirties and desperate for a baby. We both did, didn’t we?’ He lurched forward, trying to take both her hands and draw her back to him. ‘But I love you, Connie. You know I do. God knows: I’m entirely in your hands.’

  She backed away from him, hitting her head on the corner of the Yellowwood cupboard by the door. The knock made her dizzy, made her feel as if she might vomit. She went out of the bathroom. He didn’t follow her. She stepped out uncertainly on to the path. Her bare feet touched the brick, but her body swayed, loose and lost. She kept looking at her hands. She was drenched by the time she reached the lodge. She walked round the back path to the deck. The rain was overpowering everything. She could feel it, seeping into her bra, down through her T-shirt, her knickers, her legs, pouring down her skin like blood. Blood everywhere. Blood thumping in her head. She walked slowly into the pool, down the steps, wading right into the centre. The water was part of her, it seeped into her skin until she was fully submerged. She was safe. But she couldn’t let herself breathe. Her heart was bounding somewhere. She held her breath to suspend this moment. The longer she held her breath, the safer she was. The longer she held it, the greater pressure knocked against her eye sockets and against the back of her head, and the better she felt. Make it go away. Then slowly her mouth opened and she filled it with water. Her body was sinking as happily as her mind. She was where she wanted to be. Beyond consciousness.

  She was being yanked up by her armpits. She resisted, trying to shake the hurt off. There were voices. Loud, insistent shrieks forcefully interrupted her calm. The soaked decking was beneath her. She heard someone being sick, repeatedly, until vomit swilled around her face. The voices sharpened.

  ‘Give her some air, some space.’

  ‘Connie.’ Not Julian. ‘Connie.’ Definitely Luke.

  She looked up at him. He smoothed her hair back from her face, as Dan wiped her mouth. Luke propped her head up with a towel and then moved her legs into the recovery position. He tucked a blanket around her shoulders.

  The voices were too loud. She closed her eyes again, willing the shouting to stop.

  ‘It’s all right, Connie. I’ve got you.’ She opened her eyes. Luke was crouched in front of the group, his face close to hers. They were all watching her with such concern, such tenderness. Here they were her oldest, closest friends. She wept for the first time in a long time.

  Chapter 19

  Lizzie spotted Connie slipping on to the deck in only her T-shirt and knickers. She was soaked. She waded into the water. Sara was thrashing everyone at whist and Lizzie was distracted. It was only when she looked up again at the end of the game that she spotted that Connie was still in the pool, under the water. It took Lizzie a second more to fully understand what she was witnessing. She stood up quickly to double check that she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. Then she screamed. She pointed madly, terrified that the others wouldn’t understand the emergency. For once, her panic made everyone move. They jumped up as one from the table. They jostled each other down the decked steps, pushing past each other to get to Connie first. It was Luke who lifted her out of the water. He heaved her up the three steps leading to the decking. He wedged the towel under her head, moved her swiftly into the recovery position, banging her on her back to force the water out of her.

  Lizzie was too shocked to do more than circle Connie, watching her repeatedly vomit. First water, then breakfast and lastly bile. Lizzie closed her eyes and then blinked several times to stop her own tears. Connie finished retching. She half-opened one eye and started weeping. Connie was weeping.

  Lizzie was horrified. What could possibly have happened to make Connie try and drown herself? Something must have happened to one of the children.

  Luke held her close to his chest as he carried her to a sofa; Dan ran to find a member of staff to call for a doctor. Luke sat holding her hands while Sara hurried to find water from the bar. Lizzie wanted to do something, but she couldn’t think what to do. She was helpless and useless.

  Luke gently cradled Connie’s head in his hands. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  ‘Sally, my housekeeper, is pregnant. It’s Julian’s,’ Connie spoke quietly to Luke, but they all heard. She was shaking uncontrollably, but turned to Matt and Katherine. ‘I am sorry.’

  Lizzie was shocked but equally appalled by her own self-deception. What on earth had she been thinking? How could she have intended to inflict this kind of pain and horror on Connie, her dearest friend? Considering how many years her fantasy about Jules had festered, her realisation was quick and utter. She was immediately ashamed.

  ‘Connie,’ she took the water from Sara and held it to Connie’s lips. ‘Here.’

  ‘How fucking warped,’ Sara gestured gently towards Matt. ‘When you have lost your precious baby girl.’ She reached to squeeze Matt’s hand. ‘He is a prize cunt.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Matt paled. ‘I don’t think that I can deal with this.’ He collapsed on the arm of the sofa and put his head in his hands. Katherine moved rapidly in beside him. ‘I cannot believe that I’m hearing this.’

  ‘He’s a bastard.’ Lizzie didn’t think she had ever heard Luke swear before.

  Lizzie had been living in a fantasy world, where the reality of secret sex didn’t have consequences or ruin lives. Of course, it did. Everything had consequences.

  ‘Okay, we need to think straight.’ How like Sara. ‘First question: is this whore out of your family home?’

  Connie looked blankly at her. ‘I don’t know. No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll sort it. I’ll call your parents and get them go up there right now.’

  Lizzie wished she had come up with the idea. They both knew Connie’s parents. They had stayed with them numerous times in their university holidays and after they had left Bristol.

  To make up for it, Lizzie insisted, ‘I’ll call them, Sara. You’ll be far better dealing with Sally.’

  Sara nodded. Connie appeared happy to delegate all responsibility. She let Dan and Luke comfort her. Dan held Connie’s hands while Luke stroked her hair.

  Luke murmured, ‘Why did he tell you now?’

  ‘It’s going to break in the Mail on Sunday.’ Connie said blankly.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Dan asked gently. ‘How does Julian know it’s going to be in the Mail on Sunday?’

  ‘Politicians know what’s coming up in the papers before the rest of us. They get tipped off.’

  Connie spoke without a trace of bitterness, which disturbed Lizzie, but not for long. Julian walked in. His face was drawn. He anxiously scanned the room. Lizzie immediately could see he had been told, possibly by a member of staff, what Connie had tried to do.

  Lizzie walked up to Julian and slapped him as hard as she could across the face. She had no idea she was planning to do it. A welt rose under his eye.

  He looked genuinely hurt. ‘Lizzie, I thought we were friends.’

  ‘My friends don’t behave in this despicable way.’ Lizzie heard an alien steeliness in her voice.

  ‘God, Emmerson, you think that you can talk your way out of anything?’ Sara looked visibly upset. ‘You are a vile coward.’

  Matt interrupted Sara. ‘Jesus, Emmerson, do you feel no shame? After what has happened to Katherine and me? There’s you, cavalierly fucking your housekeeper and getting her pregnant?’

  Julian tried to make eye contact with Connie. Luke was sitting in front of where she
lay, while Matt moved to perch on the arm. Katherine was hugging him from behind, as if she wanted to shrink away from Julian.

  ‘I love you, Connie,’ Julian threw out into the room. ‘You know that. And I’m not leaving here without you.’

  ‘You are, Julian,’ retorted Luke who seemed to be gaining confidence from the situation.

  Julian turned on him. ‘You’ve become very righteous all of a sudden. You ran off and left your wife, poor Emma, in not-so-sweet suburbia. Took her children away from her. You ask Connie what she thinks about that!’

  Luke was shaking. ‘I never lied or cheated on Emma or anyone. I have a conscience, a moral code.’

  Julian sneered. ‘Right. If you believe that.’

  Luke spoke calmly. ‘I’ve only slept with three women in my entire life. Connie was the first. I don’t have such a fragile sexual ego that I need to fuck around.’

  Lizzie was proud of him for his honesty.

  ‘You took Connie from me to do this to her.’ Luke whispered, barely getting the words out. ‘Her own father describes you as an utter cunt. It destroys him to see how you treated his only daughter.’

  Lizzie was shocked. She never imagined Luke was still in touch with Connie’s parents.

  The last person Lizzie expected to speak was Connie.

  ‘Luke,’ her voice was stronger than she looked. ‘I made a terrible mistake for both of us.’

  Julian tripped backwards catching the edge of the woven matt with his foot. He recovered his balance and strode out of the room.

  Connie made an effort to sit up. Lizzie ran forward with cushions and support.

  ‘Lizzie, I wasn’t trying to…’ Connie’s voice was definitely her own again, which was such a relief. ‘You know, I was in shock.’

  ‘Of course, we know that Connie,’ Lizzie held her tight. ‘My dearest friend.’

  Lizzie didn’t believe her, but she accepted her denial thankfully. Connie was strong. How she could keep up appearances when her life was so bloody?