The Art of Unpacking Your Life (30 page)

‘You have four kids to think about, I understand.'

She chose her words carefully. ‘Katherine is strong too. She seems to be coping with the news about Isobel.'

Matt nodded silently.

‘What about you, Mattie? How do you feel now?'

‘What about me?' There was a hollow echo in his voice. ‘Coming up against a rhino puts your life in perspective. I have Katherine: she is beautiful, wise and lovely. And she really does love me. It's not ideal, but it's more than enough for me.'

Connie was silent as she considered what he had said.

‘Katherine doesn't want to try again. The surrogate thing was tricky from the start.' Matt spoke quietly. He sighed and pulled at his handkerchief in his shorts pocket. ‘I don't know, Connie. I hated the whole process too. If we had got what we wanted in the end… who knows?'

They were both silent, distracted by the hooting of the others.

‘Scorpions,' she grimaced, ‘Too much for me.'

He didn't seem to have heard her. He was staring at Luke.

She followed his eyeline. ‘He's not feeling well. It's probably flu. Let's leave him.'

She touched Matt on his shoulder to draw him back. He ignored her. He lurched precariously round the table until he landed in a heavy squat beside Luke's chair. He awkwardly re-adjusted into an uneasy crouch. Connie couldn't read Matt's movements and expression.

‘Connie, he has stopped breathing.'

Connie tried to resuscitate him. She used every ounce of her strength. She fought to bring him back to life. She could give him air; she could save Luke. She kept trying, again and again, until she was oblivious. It was as blinding a tunnel of physical endurance as childbirth. After a while, she wasn't aware of herself physically or
mentally. The doctor arrived with oxygen. Matt gently tipped her back on to her knees, but she refused to move further away. Minutes later, the doctor stood up and told them what he thought had happened. A myocardial infarction, probably caused by coronary artery disease, which could have been exacerbated by sudden and extreme exercise, though he made clear that only the post-mortem could be conclusive. And he pronounced Luke's death.

Connie sat on her knees beside Luke's body. She didn't move. She could hear the others talking, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. She sat watching Luke. She was focused on this task, because it was important. As the others moved around, back to Luke and away again, she stayed where she was. Only she was too late to protect him. Always too late.

She reached for his hand. She lifted up her shirt and pressed his palm to her stomach.

Dan was beside her. She saw the knee of his jeans. ‘Connie, we are going to get Luke back to Gae.'

He talked like a nurse, explaining the practical details the doctor glossed over. She heard him, but she couldn't respond.

‘Connie?' Dan paused. ‘They are going to make a bed for Luke in the goods vehicle. You can go with him, if you want.'

Connie wanted him to go away. Leave her to Luke. Leave them together. He didn't move.

‘Connie, sorry. Someone needs to call his parents and the children.' Dan struggled to contain himself. ‘And Emma, I suppose…'

Connie spoke sharply. ‘Not Emma.'

‘Sure,' Dan spoke hastily. ‘But we need to call his parents right now. Matt's prepared to make the call.'

Connie slowly turned to him. He was crying.

‘I should call them.'

She saw Dan look at somebody and Matt descended down to her other side.

‘Connie, darling,' Matt's voice was unstable. His face was wet with tears. ‘It's fucking horrible. You've gone through hell in the last hour, I'm not sure that, understandably, you're up to call. God, I don't want to have to speak to Tina and Michael but I will. Why don't you leave it to me?'

‘It's my call to make.'

Matt and Dan moved simultaneously up and away from them. They were left together again. Connie and Luke. As they were meant to be. She bent gently down over his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

‘Connie, Matt has the number in his phone. Are you sure that you can do this, sweetheart?' He squeezed his fingers into his eyes.

She nodded vigorously. She spoke softly to Luke, ‘I have to go and talk to your parents now. I'm coming back.'

Dan and Matt helped her to her feet. She took the phone from Matt and walked to the edge of the living room. She sat down in the director's chair, where Luke had been before dinner. Strangely for him, his glass was only half finished, resting on the arm of the chair. She felt repulsed by it and turned to Matt's phone for comfort. It rang and rang. It was after midnight, and Tina and Michael were over seventy. She kept
ringing. No answer. There was an automated voice:
We cannot connect your call. Please try later
. She ended the call and returned to the number again. This time it was as if Tina was beside the phone.

Tina's voice tinkled through the darkness. ‘01364 714—' Connie didn't hear the rest of the number, which, anyway, she still knew by heart. ‘Hello.'

Matt and Dan were right. She couldn't do it to them. They were such good people. Luke was their only son.

‘Tina, it's Connie.'

‘Connie, hello!' Her enthusiasm punctured Connie's numbness. ‘How is the Kalahari? Oh and happy birthday. I can't believe you are forty, makes me feel old. I remember you at nineteen.'

Connie was shaking. ‘Oh Tina.'

She fought to hold in the tears. She bit her lips furiously. She had to be strong for Tina and Michael, for Ella and Finn. It was all she could do for Luke now.

‘Connie, what's wrong?' Tina's voice sounded scared.

Connie clasped her mouth. How could she make her suffer like this?

‘Tina.' She was sobbing too much to speak.

She heard Tina move away from the phone. There was silence for a moment. She sniffed violently several times to hold it in.

‘Connie, hello, it's Michael. Tina's at the other end. Please tell us what has happened.'

She breathed in sharply, ‘Luke has had a heart attack.'

‘No.' Tina's voice seemed to disappear from her.

‘I'm so sorry, Tina, Michael. He's dead. I'm so sorry.'

Tina was wailing; Michael was silent.

‘Thank you for making the call.' He said eventually. ‘Can't have been easy.'

‘I wanted to be the one to tell you.' The tears flowed. She couldn't stop them. ‘Michael, I wish I was with you.'

‘Thank you, Connie. I don't know what to say.' Michael's voice was formal. He didn't do personal conversations. Here was the cruelty of life forcing him into an alien role. ‘Especially after yesterday.'

‘Sorry?' Connie couldn't follow.

‘Luke called us yesterday.'

‘Oh,' Connie was nervous about where this was leading.

‘He told me what happened with Emma,' Michael coughed. Connie knew he was hating every minute of it, but he needed to talk. And she was, perhaps, the only person he could confide in. ‘He told me, because he had confided in you, and it made him realise that we needed to know. He had to be brave enough to tell us. He said we needed to understand why he had the grandchildren.'

Connie struggled to think what she could say. Michael didn't deserve guilt on top of grief.

‘Emma hurt him physically,' she said carefully. ‘But she couldn't destroy who he was. Luke was unchanged by her.'

Michael coughed. Then Connie realised he was crying into a handkerchief or something to mumble the sound. She didn't say anything. She waited for him.

Finally, he spoke. ‘I'm not sure whether it's the truth, but thank you, Connie.' He paused. ‘He also told us about the two of you.'

‘Oh, Michael, what must you think of me,' Connie continued rapidly. ‘If it's any consolation, I always loved Luke.'

‘If it's any consolation, he did too.'

Connie wiped her face. She didn't know if Michael was now speaking the truth, or was he simply comforting her as she had comforted him. But she gratefully accepted it.

‘Michael,' she paused, ‘I abandoned him, us. I am responsible for the fact he ended up with Emma.'

He sighed. ‘Oh Connie, don't punish yourself. You were both too young to be serious about each other.'

Connie didn't believe that. ‘But I'm not going to abandon him now. I'm not leaving Africa without him.'

‘I don't know what we are going to do.' He sounded frail and lost. ‘We need to tell the grandchildren. Then we'll have to stay put to be here for them. Anyway, I'm not sure that I could make it over.'

‘Absolutely not. You must stay at home,' Connie hoped she sounded reassuring. ‘Luke would have wanted you to be there for Ella and Finn. It's the best thing you can do.'

‘Yes, you're right,' he sounded as if he gathered courage from the thought of them.

‘I'll bring Luke home to Dartmoor.'

‘God bless you, Connie.'

The wake was Sara's idea. Her mother and her best friend Sandra had held a wake for her auntie Val. Sara wouldn't have suggested it if Luke had died in his bed in Battersea. London would have constrained her taste and emotions. Out here, it was only right that the group should watch over their closest friend. They were his family. In the morning, he would be gone from them – his body was being flown to Jo'Burg for a post-mortem. Sara hadn't expected the others to embrace the idea. She was quite prepared to stay up alone with Luke.

As they arrived at Gae, following the vehicle carrying Luke, Sara spoke carefully. ‘I think that we should all stay with Luke tonight.'

Matt started to cry. Katherine held him in her arms with a tenderness that Sara envied. Lizzie was silent, staring at the vehicle ahead.

Connie was in the other vehicle with Luke. Sara was shocked and hurt, she couldn't begin to imagine what Connie was feeling. She walked slowly to join her. She was fearful of seeing Luke again. She didn't look at him.

‘Connie, I was suggesting to the others that we stay with Luke tonight. But would you rather be with him alone?'

Connie didn't look at Sara. She was crouched on the floor of the vehicle beside a stretcher, which was placed in the empty back of a storage vehicle. She was holding his hand. ‘I'm not leaving him, but I would like you there.'

The reserve staff were desperate to oblige in the circumstances. They understood their need for the wake, but were keen to quickly isolate them away from the few other guests. Sara, Matt and the doctor shifted the sofas in Luke's sitting room until they pressed against the large wardrobe housing tea and coffee, a kettle and an iron, and the bookshelf leaving a large space in the centre. A dining table was found, carried down the brick path from the deck by two staff and covered with white tablecloths.

The doctor and Matt lifted Luke from the wheelchair, which they placed him in to get his body from the vehicle to his house. Connie covered him in a throw, while Sara lit candles around the room and turned on two low table lamps. Connie opened the curtains though it was too dark to see even the outline of bushes or animals.

Sara was shocked when Connie climbed on to the table beside Luke. She curled beside him underneath the throw with her arm over his body. Her eyes were wide open, but she didn't speak or cry. Lizzie looked like she might be sick. She sat next to Dan, who squeezed her hand and wiped away his tears with his free hand. On the other side of the room, Matt and Katherine wrapped their arms around each other.

In the silence that settled on the room, Sara watched her friends. Connie had such strength, it radiated from her, even now. Matt had undoubtedly lost his best friend, but he loved Katherine. Lizzie would weep and sentimentally re-tell everybody about losing Luke. Dan would process it and move on. Alan was nowhere to be seen, which hardly surprised Sara.

What about her, Sara wondered? The others believed she had Northern grit, but that was rubbish. She was soft like egg yolk, the mere touch of a fork and she burst.
She had no brothers, no sisters, no father. The loss of Luke drew her back to her perennial loss. She closed her eyes.

She didn't know any more if she made it up. She had never discussed it with Mum. It was too cruel to ask her. Her dad in his grey ill-fitting pin stripe with the shiny knees, his blond hair gelled back, dressed up for his job at the bank, on the tills, as he used to say. His long legs forcing his knees up over the minute pine table fitted between their cooker and kitchen cupboards. Every morning he had three slices of toast with a thick layer of butter and marmalade. They never talked at breakfast time. Her mother hovered, serving them both. Sara usually had her head in a book. She probably had that morning. She needed to believe she did. It somehow excused her from not realising that this moment was upon her. He finished his toast and tea. Did he kiss her on the forehead, as he usually did? When she was a girl, she believed that he said, ‘I will never stop loving you, Sara.' Of course, he didn't. It hadn't been a movie moment. The camera didn't pan to his pained expression as he left his wife and daughter forever. He simply left.

She found tears coming. She shifted on the arm of the sofa, trying to tear herself away from the past. She rigorously never ever thought about it and certainly didn't talk about it, even to the group. The past was the past. Lots of people had had difficult childhoods. The important thing was what you did with your life.

Matt gently unwound himself from Katherine and reached for her hand. His tenderness overwhelmed her. She sunk into Matt's shoulder. He hugged her tightly.

These friends were her precious family, whom she had somehow taken for granted in the last ten years, imagining they would always be around. She had
superficially replaced them with her fellow barristers in Chambers. Charles Fahy, head of Chambers, became a modern father figure: a career mentor. Yet when she called him, as she must do today about her breaches of the Code of Conduct, she couldn't imagine telling him about Luke's death. How could she share with him what Luke meant to her? What this week meant to her?