The Art of Unpacking Your Life (27 page)

Gus stopped about twelve metres away. Matt could see the mother and calf calmly lying side by side. Nature was mocking him.

The mother bolted. She moved heavily, yet rapidly towards them. Julian, Lizzie and Sara stepped back simultaneously, falling against Dan and Alan in a desperate, crushing attempt to escape.

Gus spoke urgently, ‘It's okay. Keep calm everyone. We've surprised her. She'll veer off, eh?'

They ignored him and continued to retreat. The line descended into chaos and they careered into each other. Lizzie swallowed a scream that came out as a sharp intake of breath. Gus squeezed her arm. He wanted to reassure her.

‘We are outside her sight. She is picking up our scent,' Gus whispered urgently, ‘And can possibly hear us.'

The thought of no longer being the trackers, but being tracked, silenced them. The group's desire to push and shove subsided as their instinct for survival was stronger. As Gus predicted, the mother galloped for another two metres before abruptly slowing down as if she were unfit and running for a bus, only to miss it. She trotted to the right of them and out of sight. Surprisingly, she didn't ‘thunder' past. She barely appeared to move. Her legs appeared to be folded into her skin.

Matt thought of Kipling's ‘How the Rhinoceros Got His Skin'. His mother had read the
Just So Stories
to him as a child. Life was beating him up, whichever way he looked.

Despite the intimacy he had witnessed, the mother had left her calf alone and exposed in the small clearing. The calf moved uncertainly forward on its own and looked at them. He couldn't see that far, but looked in their direction. It was difficult to feel afraid of a child, though as far as black rhino were concerned, that was a naive and reckless position to take. Still Matt felt sorry for this calf alone, possibly afraid of them. He was ashamed that they had disturbed them. Slowly, the calf disappeared after its mother.

Once he was out of sight, the group erupted. There was a burst of euphoria, the thrill at being metres from danger: excitement, pride, emotion, togetherness. Matt caught Julian's eye. ‘Quite a tale for the office.' He nodded curtly, because that was what he was thinking, but he didn't want to countenance Julian in any way. Katherine pronounced that Connie would be a fool not to leave him now. Otherwise, what would he do next? Move his mistress back into their family home? He seriously wondered whether Connie would agree with that. He wasn't sure. Matt had no desire to judge Connie.

Gus instructed them to turn slowly round and walk back towards the vehicle. Ben joined them from his vantage point up in an acacia tree. He led them, while Gus took up the rear. Their obedience had been stretched to its limits and they slid back into pairs. Katherine went first and he had to keep up with her long stride; Julian and Dan, and Alan and Lizzie followed with Sara a few feet ahead of Connie, who was trailing at the back. Gus was politely hovering behind her.

Matt heard the snorting before he saw any movement. Immediately afterwards, when he was comforting Sara and Katherine, he had only one image of the whole scene. It was that image that he would replay, re-tell for years to come, to the point where he wasn't sure what he had seen and what he had embellished.

The black rhino bull had been hidden in the acacia bush behind the opening where they had first seen the mother and calf. He burst out into the space. His nostrils were flared, his head right down until it touched the ground, his tail was erect, his ears cocked forward, listening for human sounds. He couldn't see them, but he moved distinctly in their direction. No one moved out of line; every one of them looked to
Ben, then Gus, then Ben again. Ben power-walked them towards a cluster of acacia trees. They squashed behind them, squeezed, as if getting even closer to each other might make that vital difference. Gus stood his ground, facing the rhino and shouting at him. He slipped his rifle in an easy movement from his back to his arm. What had he said? Three rounds in nine seconds.

The bull charged. He could only be twenty metres away from them now. They saw her in their peripheral vision. Connie. She hadn't followed the others behind the acacia bushes. She was standing out in the open behind Gus with her hands calmly together in front of her, like Kate Middleton's at an official function. There was no change in her expression.

Julian moved out from behind the bush, shouting, ‘Constance.'

Ben grabbed his arm and jerked him back; Julian hit Ben, a feeble punch in the shoulder, but Ben was too strong for him. ‘Let go!' Julian shouted his anguish in a long howl: ‘Constance.'

Ben and Julian wrestled as the sound of the bull became more distinct; the ground shifted. He could only be a few metres away now. They heard the clack of a rifle bolt being slammed back. A shot. On top of it, another one. Then only the sound of the bull. And silence.

Sara was crouching down and weeping uncontrollably. Katherine looked blankly at Matt, before whispering, ‘I have urinated.' He didn't know what to say. He held her tightly. No one wanted to be the first to look. Ben moved decisively out from the bush and they waited as long as they could before following him, except Sara who didn't move or stop crying.

Connie was standing beside Gus. They were both unharmed. Matt's relief was tempered by his dread of seeing one of these rare animals dead because of them, because they were keen to see it ‘in its natural environment'. High-powered tourists, who need to track an animal to feel alive. He was deeply ashamed of everything. First surrogacy, now this crime on safari, Matt closed his eyes and then slowly opened them again and followed the others.

There was no dead rhino. No rhino at all. It had gone. Gus had apparently fired warning shots.

Connie spoke into the silence. Her mouth traced a smile. ‘Well, Gus, you said to stand your ground. So I did.'

Gus was bright red, visibly shaken. His anxiety and stress seeped out of him in sweat around his neck and down the sides of his shirt. He didn't speak but stared at Sara, who was crouching on the ground.

The group erupted. Katherine stood behind him, clearly trying to hide her wet trousers. She whispered into his back, ‘I mean, when that rhino came out of nowhere. How crazy was that? Matt, I thought “we are going to die”.'

Dan looked an unhealthy shade of grey. Sara was wailing. Gus helped her back upright. Sara flung her arms tightly around his neck, a gesture so out of character it emphasised how shocked she was. Gus squeezed her back. Julian squeezed the corners of his eyes with his fingers, before moving slowly and deliberately towards Connie.

Only Connie looked calm. ‘You better get out your species checklist, Lizzie. Two ticks for a charging black rhino, don't you think?'

Connie could cope with anything. She was stronger than she looked. Matt was humbled, yet again, by the strength of a woman.

The charging rhino was a sign. Connie imagined Leo and Lou laughing, but like Flora, she firmly believed in the synchronicity of life. How else could one accept the decisions one made, for good or for bad? Last night she made love to Luke, accepting the obvious sign: Julian and Emma had acted despicably, leaving Connie and Luke beached and wounded. They were meant to seek solace in each other. It was clear to Connie. On the journey to find the rhino, Connie thought about her night with Luke. She had no idea what it meant in the wider context of their complicated lives, or how they would move it forward. But it felt right.

When the rhino charged, she felt she was being taught a lesson: she needed to stand her ground with Julian. Making love to Luke was only the first step.

Julian was taking the midday flight in twenty minutes. His tears and his bloodshot right eye moved her in spite of the deed he had done. She wanted to share her grief with him. She wept silently. They were slumped in wicker chairs in the staff-free airstrip reception. Gus sat far away in the vehicle, pale and quiet.

Connie stopped weeping. As she watched Julian, she thought it was only four days since they flew into Gae. It had been long enough for her life to unravel. Connie wasn't ready to leave. It wasn't the safari she would miss, it was the space and time to be with her close friends. It was inextricably bound with a nostalgia for her past before
Julian, family and children. It welled up inside her. Of course, it would pass. She would unlock their front door and Leo, Lou, Flora and Hector would be there, demanding and wonderful. Her family life would greedily re-absorb her, though it would never be the same. A fact she was forced to accept.

Julian looked up. His face was tortured, drawing Connie back to their life. ‘Are you going to divorce me, Constance? I won't leave you. I'll sleep in a tent in the garden, if I have to.'

Connie considered the question. If she divorced Julian, everything she stood for was over. Her children would lose their close relationship with their father; their family would be forever incomplete. Julian would move on and in with Sally and their baby. Yet they could never repair the damage. Their marriage was over. Connie had seen a path with Luke, however unclear. The answer was somewhere in the middle of the possible options. She craved order, but she couldn't pretend there was order any more. Her life was messy and imperfect.

‘For now, I am happy for you move into the basement flat.' Connie couldn't quite bring herself to say Sally's old flat. ‘Long term, I'll have to see.'

Julian was looking down at his knees, Connie coughed to signal her intention to speak. ‘Were you ever planning to leave?' Connie heard a certain detachment in her question, which gave her strength.

‘No,' he insisted hurriedly. His eyes blinked. Connie could see he was fearful of her. ‘That was never the plan. Believe me. I made that clear to Sally. She is happy with that.'

‘I can imagine,' Connie believed him, knowing Sally. She would demand nothing, create no issues. ‘What exactly was the plan, Julian?'

She gave him space to answer. She had no desire to speak for him. Her anger wasn't vituperative. She was comforted by the thought of Luke.

When Julian failed to speak, Connie couldn't resist saying, ‘Were you really planning to wait until she was in the delivery suite to say: “Sorry, forgot to mention, Sally and I are having a baby today.”'

‘Connie, it wasn't like that. I wanted to tell you. There was never the right moment.' He looked up at her for understanding. Madly, she knew it was the truth, however flawed.

‘You are a coward, Julian,' Connie said.

At dawn, when she lay in bed talking to Luke, she articulated Julian's cowardice. She talked herself through the enormity of the situation and the possible outcomes. When he was sure that she had finished, Luke spoke surprisingly firmly. ‘Connie, last night, I took a slim chance that if we made love again, it might lead somewhere. But I'm not expecting it. Okay?'

She had simply nodded.

‘I thought you must have known and you decided not to say anything.' Julian's words dragged her back to their conversation.

‘What a despicable excuse. You are a huge coward.' She wasn't hoping he would acknowledge his own cowardice. She had finally learned she couldn't redeem him: she had had four children in the belief that the largesse of their family love would outweigh his adultery. The children hadn't changed anything. His affairs had been
largely nameless and faceless, bar the odd tabloid exposure. But she had to face that her complicity had led inextricably to Sally.

Julian's head was bowed. He was crying again.

‘How long have you been sleeping with each other?'

She could let the question slip out between her lips. She smiled inside. She was strong enough not to tell Julian that she had slept with Luke. She didn't owe Julian any explanation, nor did she want to devalue what happened with Luke by exposing it to Julian's censure.

‘Sort of off and on,' Julian said quietly. His head was bowed. Connie was gratified that he felt some shame.

‘How long, off and on?' Connie asked.

‘A few years.'

Connie reflected that it had taken this shocking thing to enable them to talk properly about his extra-curricular life. Connie wondered what they had been doing all these years. Mere couriers delivering packages of pointless words.

‘What? Ten years?'

Julian looked up at her. She could see his surprise. He hadn't expected her to be this calm. ‘About four or five.'

Her chest tightened into a knot that made breathing excruciating. ‘You are in love with her.'

Julian shot her an assessing look. The question was calmly asked. It demanded the truth. ‘I was. Yes, I suppose I was. I was sorry for her. She was desperate for a child.'

‘I know. Of course.'

How many conversations had they had about poor Sally and her genetic alarm clock? Had Connie chosen to bury the truth she surely must have spotted? Had she been deeply complicit? Surely over the years, she must have seen what was between them? Had her brain chosen to block it out? Connie couldn't honestly say.

‘You slept together in our basement?' The knife was deep in the folds of her flesh. There was no point pulling it out now.

Julian looked awkward. He could only offer her silence in response.

Connie had to repeat it. ‘You slept together in our basement?'

He nodded bleakly without looking at her.

They were left with their great family, four children, which Connie calmly noted was much stronger and better established than Sally and her poor baby.

‘What are the plans now?'

‘I've said to Sally that I will obviously be around.'

‘Be around? What does that mean exactly, Julian?' Connie sensed her strength. She could face this situation. Julian couldn't.

‘I will obviously see her. Well, see the baby.'

‘I'm confused. Spell it out for me: you are going to continue to have sex with Sally and see your child?'