The Beautiful Mother

by Scholes, Katherine

  Essie approached the Dining Tent cautiously. Breakfast had been served and cleared away; a fresh tablecloth had been spread. Ian was the only person in there. He was reading a journal, a pencil in hand. Essie couldn’t decide if the absence of other people – her mother-in-law and their guest – was a good thing or not. She and Ian would be able to speak freely. But she wasn’t sure where the interaction might lead.

  ‘Good morning,’ Essie said tentatively. As she sat down she saw her note lying on the table. Viewed in the light of day, what she’d written had a flippant tone. I’ve gone for a drive.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ The apology came out automatically.

  Ian lifted his gaze, jutting his clean-shaven chin. ‘Where on earth have you been?’

  ‘It was because of the birds,’ Essie began. ‘I just woke up and —’

  ‘Birds?’ Ian broke in, frowning incredulously.

  ‘They left in the night. I knew Carl would be upset. He won’t be able to do his work now.’

  Ian looked confused. Then his eyes narrowed. ‘You went to see Carl Bergmann, by yourself, in the middle of the night?’

  Essie bit her lip. She knew, suddenly, it was crazy how she’d let herself become involved with Carl – how she and Simon had kept on making visits to the Mission house, accepting cups of tea, staying for long conversations. Then, there was the day Carl had joined their field trip, and they’d all swum in the pool. Somehow she had pretended to herself that Ian would approve . . .

  ‘You drove over there to comfort him?’ A look came over Ian’s face – shock, outrage. ‘What’s been going on between you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Essie said. ‘We’re friends.’

  ‘And what does that mean?’

  Essie felt a wave of anger. ‘You spend all your time with Diana. I don’t ask what you’re up to.’

  There was a brief pause. ‘That’s different. I have to look after her. She’s our benefactor.’

  Essie pointed at the new Rolex on Ian’s wrist. ‘She’s given you presents. You’ve taken up wearing sunglasses, like she does.’

  The words sounded petulant and childish. But she knew Ian wouldn’t have been too pleased if she’d been the one receiving gifts from a member of the opposite sex.

  ‘She’s just a generous person,’ Ian said. ‘Look at all the things she gave you for the nursery.’

  Essie had to nod. Diana had been very kind. Her gesture had made it possible for Mara’s needs to be met – even if many of the luxuries had proved unnecessary in the end. Yet, as she eyed her husband mutely, a new thought came to her. Maybe there had been a purpose behind Diana’s generosity. Maybe she’d wanted Essie to be preoccupied with a baby so she could step into her place. The truth was that Essie still didn’t know what to make of Diana – whether she was genuinely interested in the Lawrences’ work, or if she had a more personal agenda in being at Magadi. Perhaps she wanted to punish Frank for his many misdemeanours by joining a new family. It had even occurred to Essie that Diana wanted to beat him at his own game and have an affair of her own. In the past Essie would have felt confident that Ian’s professionalism would protect him from such a ploy. But since the revelations about William and Mirella, she wasn’t so sure. Sometimes she thought she detected a sinister undercurrent in Diana’s actions. She had the idea that Ian, Julia, herself – and even Mara – were like a collection of dolls that were part of some game Diana was playing. One day, she’d get bored with them all and just walk away, leaving a chaotic mess of mismatched clothes, plastic shoes and other doll’s accessories behind her.

  Ian closed his journal and pushed it aside. ‘At least Diana’s interested in the work. You aren’t any more. Nothing matters to you these days except that baby.’

  Essie took a breath as a thought flashed into her head. ‘You’re jealous of her!’

  ‘Of course I’m not.’ He looked at Essie as if he hardly recognised her. Then he sighed. ‘Essie, you don’t have to do this.’

  He gave her a pleading look. She felt like a child who had stepped out of line and should know better. But even as she felt this, her anger flared again.

  ‘What are you talking about? What am I doing?’

  ‘You’re escalating the situation. You know what my concerns are. Having a baby here has changed you. I’m not blaming you, but it’s a fact. And because you’re so taken up with her, of course I turn to someone else for . . . company.’ Ian looked down at the tablecloth; he spoke in a hushed voice. ‘You and I haven’t touched one another for ages. You’re always tired. And last night you walked out on me.’

  ‘It was because of the way you spoke about Mara. It made me angry.’

  Ian didn’t react straightaway. Then his eyes widened, an idea dawning across his face. ‘And this photographer. I suppose he was keen on the baby?’

  ‘Yes. He loves Mara.’

  A breath burst from Ian’s lips. ‘I bet he does.’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘He was trying to impress you. A man like him isn’t interested in a baby.’

  ‘You don’t know anything about Carl.’

  ‘No, I don’t. And I don’t need to.’

  In the silence that followed Essie saw him dismiss Carl as any kind of threat. She knew she should feel relieved, yet part of her was outraged at the arrogance underpinning his conclusion.

  ‘What concerns me,’ Ian went on, ‘is that right now I feel I don’t know anything about you – my own wife. You would never have behaved like this in the past.’

  Essie gave no response. He was right. She had changed. But surely that was part of being alive? There was a quote Ian liked to use while discussing evolution: the words of the Greek philosopher Heraclitus. Change is the only constant. Why had they ever thought that the truths they understood to be part of their work would not also apply to themselves?

  ‘I just know where this will end up,’ Ian said. ‘You’ll want a different life. A family. A house. You’ll want me to get a job in Cambridge. All those ordinary things.’

  Essie shook her head. She’d love the chance to return to Cambridge to visit her father. Aside from her desire to see him, there were new questions she wanted to raise with him now. It would probably be pointless to ask him about Lorna’s family, as Carl had suggested, but Arthur might be prepared to tell her more about her illness; their marriage; why she’d been so unhappy. The idea of moving back to England, though, was far from Essie’s mind. On the other hand, if she was honest, she didn’t see how she was going to slot back into her old life here at Magadi after Mara was gone. As Essie sat here now, all she really wanted to do was get away from the camp – back to the austere beauty and deep peacefulness of the foothills.

  ‘Tell me the truth.’ Ian leaned forward in his chair, fixing Essie with a penetrating gaze. ‘Have you begun to think about what it would be like to have your own baby?’

  Essie froze. It was a question she hardly dared ask herself.

  Of course I have.

  A thousand times . . .

  While she was deciding what to say, Kefa appeared with a tray of tea. Ian waved him brusquely away.

  ‘It is not what we agreed,’ he continued. ‘When we got married you knew what you were taking on. The work. My commitment to my mother. To Magadi.’

  ‘But a marriage isn’t a business deal,’ Essie objected. ‘It can’t just go on and on like clockwork. A relationship has to evolve over time.’ Essie listened to herself in amazement. She and Ian had never spoken so directly and openly before. They hadn’t needed to.

  ‘My parents were always the same,’ Ian stated. ‘They just got on with things.’

  ‘Let’s not use them as an example. Your father was an adulterer.’ Essie held her breath: the words, said aloud, felt like sacrilege.

  Ian pressed his lips together. He wanted to repudiate the accusation, Essie could see – but his own mother had made the claim. ‘Maybe it was Julia’s fault that he had an affair. A wife can drive her husband towards another
woman.’

  Essie remembered Julia’s crazed outburst by the fireside. A man’s needs must be met. She swallowed on a tight throat. The implication was clear. By devoting herself to Mara, Essie was pushing Ian towards Diana.

  ‘So you’re attracted to her?’ Essie winced at her own words. They sounded like a cliché – part of a conversation that had already been overused by others.

  Ian shifted in his chair. ‘She’s a beautiful woman. That’s obvious.’

  ‘Are you . . .?’ She couldn’t bring herself to ask the question: Are you falling in love with her?

  ‘She’s not my type,’ Ian stated.

  Essie looked down at her lap. Surely he should be reassuring her – telling her she was silly to even think he could be lured away from his wife? On the other hand, she knew the answer he’d given her was the truth. Diana was not Ian’s type at all. Essie had seen how disconcerted he was by her unpredictable ways – that odd, childish streak. And how embarrassing he found her overt extravagance and unconventional manners. At the same time, though, Essie knew he admired Diana’s drive; the way she’d adapted to the conditions at Magadi, and her apparent interest in his research. It must be confusing for him. Perhaps it was this very destabilisation that was dangerous. Essie looked across at the orange tent. It stood out like a warning beacon. ‘When is she leaving?’

  Ian hesitated for a few seconds. ‘She’s not planning to, at the moment. She wants to make a new life for herself. Work hard. Achieve something.’

  Essie stared at him. He’d admitted he was attracted to Diana; now he was saying that she was going to be an ongoing part of their world. ‘Tell her to go. Send her away.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You know I can’t do that.’

  He gestured at the pin board behind him. Among the lists of things to do was an updated budget; on the bottom line was a very long number. Essie knew Diana could easily withdraw funding if she chose, and then everything would grind to a halt.

  ‘But would you want to send her away?’ Essie persisted. ‘If you could?’

  There was a long silence. Ian seemed to be struggling with himself. He had always been open with Essie, but she didn’t know whether discovering the truth about William’s unfaithfulness would undermine his honest ways, or further entrench them. The new image of his admired father could pull him either way.

  Finally, Ian shook his head. ‘No. I want her here.’

  Essie felt sick. In this moment, the five years they’d spent together felt like a day, and the edifice of their marriage as flimsy as a filmset façade. They’d worked side by side, sharing everything – yet she wondered how well they really knew one another. For that matter, how well did each of them know themselves? Questions and uncertainties swirled around her until she felt as if she was drowning. She wanted to reach out to Ian, grasping his hand for safety. But as she leaned towards him, he stood up. He took his sunglasses from his pocket, flicking open the arms. As he put them on, Essie glimpsed herself reflected in the shiny lenses: her pale face, dark eyes. Then the image was whisked away. He was gone.

  Wind blew across the hillside scouring the sunbaked landscape, adding stinging dust to the sweaty heat. Rudie’s tongue lolled from his open jaw as he jumped from stone to stone. Essie drew a muslin scarf up to cover Mara’s head. The wind tugged at it, but she held it firmly in place. She wasn’t afraid of Mara getting sunburnt – the Hadza had such black skin, even by African standards. It was the result of living constantly outdoors; over countless generations they evolved to have increased melanin for protection against the harsh rays of the tropical sun. This didn’t mean Mara would be impervious to heatstroke, though. When it was this hot, Hadza tribespeople would seek shelter under a shady tree or rocky overhang. Essie glanced up at the sun. It would soon be time for her and Simon to do the same.

  She looked ahead to where the man was striding along, a rucksack bouncing on his back. He was turning his head from side to side as he searched the ground. She felt a wave of appreciation for the way Simon kept on working so diligently, even though after all their scouting they’d only found a few interesting stone tools and a possible Upper Paleolithic home site. There was no sign of a cave. He didn’t seem to be held hostage by the idea of reaching a goal. He was as happy to play with Mara in the shade or make a length of twine from the fibres of wild sisal as he was to survey the hillsides. It was hard to match this person with the ambitious young man who’d been hired as her assistant. Essie wondered, now, what Simon really thought of the way everything at Magadi was focused on a schedule, a plan, a process. She wondered, as well, what he thought of her husband with his strict, uncompromising ways. She knew Simon might be aware of the tension between her and Ian – he’d arrived at the Dining Tent with Mara only moments after the end of their fraught interaction earlier. He’d made no reference to it, though; neither had Essie. The two were friends as well as colleagues now, after the weeks of working so closely together, sharing the care of Mara, and spending time with Carl. But their connection existed in a bubble out here away from the camp; neither of them seemed to want anything from outside to intrude.

  As Essie walked on, she focused on the sound of her footsteps, drumming a slow beat. She was finding it hard today to concentrate on the details of her surroundings. After the confrontation with Ian she felt empty and lost. She almost hoped not to stumble on anything of interest – a piece of flint, dislocated from its source, or a fragment of fossilised bone. She could barely be bothered with the procedure of marking the location on the map, bagging the sample, writing up her notes. When the present felt so insecure, it was hard to be interested in a time that was long past.

  Only gradually, as she trailed after Simon, did she become aware that something was missing: the sound of Tommy’s hooves clattering on the rocks, or skittering over the gravel behind her. She looked around, but there was no sign of him.

  ‘Simon?’ she called out. ‘Can you see Tommy?’

  He turned back. ‘I thought he was following you.’

  Essie frowned. It was unlike the gazelle to become separated from her. If he got tired, he normally bleated loudly until she slowed down. She scanned the area, looking for the patch of tan hair, the fast-flicking tail. Nothing.

  ‘Tommy! Tommy!’ she called again, across the windswept hillside. Her voice seemed to disappear, swallowed by rock crevices and bushes.

  She started back the way they’d come, beckoning for Simon to do the same. When he joined her, she eyed him in alarm. Had Tommy’s little hoof become trapped between two rocks? Had he been snatched by some predator, unseen by her or Simon, or even Rudie? A leopard, or a bird of prey . . . Essie stared from the sky to the trees and back, her heart thudding in her chest.

  ‘Tommy!’ she shouted urgently. ‘Here, Tommy. Good boy. Come here.’ Images flashed through her mind: the gazelle as a little baby, tottering on clumsy legs, guzzling hungrily on his bottle. His eyes, so big and dark, fixed on hers. She told herself to be calm. Tommy had only been missing for a short time – but she felt an irrational fear that she would never see him again.

  ‘Shshsh!’ Simon raised one hand, signalling to her. Then he turned his head, listening.

  Essie could detect nothing unusual, but Simon suddenly began striding back along the trajectory they had taken. ‘He is here. I can hear him.’

  ‘Where?’ Essie demanded. ‘Where is he?’ She wished she had the Hadza’s keen hearing.

  Some distance away she saw Simon drop to his knees. He shouted back to her. ‘He has fallen. Now he is stuck.’

  Essie hurried towards him. She peered ahead, but there was no sign of the familiar tawny shape. When she was closer she saw that Simon was leaning down into a crevice. She could hear Tommy’s protest now – hoarse and thin. Only the gazelle’s hind legs, tail and rump were visible. The head and shoulders were hidden from view. It was not just the wind that had caused her not to hear him; his cries were muffled by the earth.

  On his knees, Simon was picking out st
ones and throwing them behind him. Rudie came to stand at his elbow as if considering how to join in.

  ‘Is he hurt?’

  ‘I do not think so.’

  Essie crouched down, holding Mara steady in the sling. It didn’t take long for Tommy to be freed. Simon lifted him from the hole. As the animal caught sight of his rescuers he started bleating more loudly. He sounded annoyed rather than in pain. Essie smiled with relief.

  ‘You silly thing,’ she murmured to the gazelle. ‘You should look where you’re walking.’ She stroked his head, running her fingers over the whorls of hair on his forehead and the nubs of his emerging horns. Tommy stretched his spine and shook his legs, one at a time, as if to make sure they still worked properly. Then he began licking the dust from his coat.

  Essie peered into the hole where he’d been caught. There were two large stones close together – he was lucky not to have broken a bone as he slipped down between them. She got to her feet – a little awkwardly, managing the weight of the baby. As she did so, a pebble dislodged by her boots rolled into the crevice. Seconds later she heard a sound, so faint that it almost didn’t exist. It was the stone falling, bouncing off another stone, then falling again – into nothing.

  Simon tensed, eyeing Essie. Crouching over the crevice, he began removing more stones.

  ‘Be careful,’ she warned. ‘Don’t fall through.’

  After hefting out a large chunk of sandstone, Simon bent down, leaning further into the hole. His arm disappeared to the shoulder. Twisting his neck, he looked back at Essie. ‘The air is cold.’