The Art of Unpacking Your Life (33 page)

Fear flooded through her. Her deep-rooted fear of rejection. She never trusted men. She hated herself and Gus for cornering her. Losing Luke had made her vulnerable. Gus had taken advantage of her grief.

Neither of them spoke for the next ten minutes. Time dragged. She stared fixedly at the horizon, willing the lodge to come into view. When she saw it, nestling in the mountains, she sighed louder than she had intended. Gus didn't radio in to say that they were nearly back. There was no member of staff waiting with chilled towels.

When he stopped the car, she struggled to get back to normal. ‘I'll see you to ride out this evening.' She turned to go.

‘It'll be one of the other guides. I've got four days off.' He didn't make eye contact.

‘Good,' she was desperate to escape. Strangely, she thought of her mum.
‘Best face, Sara. Always your best face.'
Sara forced herself to stay. ‘Going anywhere exciting?'

‘Down to Cape Town tomorrow.'

‘Isn't that a long way to drive?' Count to three. Her pride would be intact.

‘Sara.' He turned away. She heard the admonishment – he could obviously tell her conversation was merely an attempt to save her pride.

‘Keep an eye out for road kill, eh,' she flung at his departing back.

She turned down the path to her room. Only it wasn't her room, it was the room she had shared with Lizzie and the evidence of her friend's disorganised departure was
everywhere. Lizzie's sheets were half coiled on the floor. The things she had left behind: a tube of toothpaste on the bathroom floor, a hair brush thickly entwined with her frizzy coils, and a lipstick without the lid were depressing reminders of the group's holiday together. On top of the sheets was a Post-it note. Sara picked it up. It was barely legible. Sara was one of the few people who could decipher Lizzie's scrawl:

Things to do:

Call Michael Stubbs about possible job.

Call parents. Ask them for help with mortgage.

Find Internet dating site.

Do 5:2 fast diet.

Buy new clothes.

Sara couldn't believe how much she already missed Lizzie, let alone Luke. She must pull herself together. She made a snap decision. She would settle on to the wicker sofa on her terrace and read. She was done with safari rides. She had brought three books and she hadn't touched them. She needed to escape in a great novel. Then she would feel strong enough for her conversations with Chambers. Work calls, sleep and back to London. She wouldn't drink for the rest of the holiday. She had overdone it. Detox and refocus. It made perfect sense.

Sara had a nagging feeling, an itch she couldn't locate. She knew it was about Gus, but she refused to explore it. She read until six in the evening. Famished, she ordered poached eggs and toast for supper and ate them in her sitting room.

She couldn't put off calling Charles. It wasn't just that he was her head of Chambers, she owed her career in large part to him. Not recognising her landline
number, he didn't answer his mobile phone. How typical. He always screened his calls. Only it irritated Sara now.

‘Charles.' She coughed. ‘It's Sara. Call me back.'

Her mobile rang. It was Charles, of course. She immediately heard the concern in his voice.

‘Sara. Thank God, I've got hold of you.' His phone voice had a Shakespearian rasp to it.

‘Charles, what can I say?' Sara was about to say sorry, but she checked herself. She forced herself to switch into Chambers speak. ‘It was a stressful case load, media pressure, internal jealousies, you know the score.'

‘Quite. Exactly.' He sounded pleased with her answer. ‘Sara you are a brilliant barrister. I believe that. This is a fucking disaster. Pardon my French. The only answer is plead emotional stress, pile on pressure. You know the thing: harrowing family heartbreak mirroring your own story can get to even the toughest woman.'

‘Charles. I'm not playing the girlie card. Or delving into my family background.'

‘Sara, listen to me. You don't have a fucking choice.'

‘I do. I'm going to tell the truth. I should have alerted Stephenson; I misled my client. End of story. If I get disbarred—'

‘Sara. You need to get your arse back here. Get yourself back into Chambers super bloody early Monday. We'll thrash this out.'

‘I haven't got the energy to thrash it out, Charles. Are you listening to me?'

‘Sara, I know you better than you know yourself. You're one of my best. This isn't like you. You're exhausted. This case was huge. I understand all that. But you need to get yourself back into your battle gear. Okay? Let's do it.'

Sara was silent. She didn't care anymore. After Luke's death, it no longer mattered. Charles took her silence as acquiescence. He relented.

‘Look, get some sleep. I know this is stressful. Julia sends her love.'

Sara imagined his sleek wife Julia beside him on their sofa, stroking his paunch with her manicured nails.

‘Come for dinner Monday night. Okay, Sara?'

Her audience was over.

‘Bye, Charles.'

Sara hadn't the energy or desire to speak to Pete or John. She was drained. Her sober resolution wavered. As she closed the door to the bar, she saw too late that the only occupants were Gus, Kimberley and another ranger. They had the only three high stools next to the mahogany bar. Gus ignored her. The other ranger immediately stood up for her.

Kimberley urged. ‘Hey, Sara. Come and join us.'

‘No thanks. I'm grabbing something to take to my room.' She tried to sound in control, but she heard her own vulnerability. So much for her resolve to detox.

While she waited for the barman to appear, Sara played the bar as if it was her Steinway at home. Why did Gus kiss her and then pull away? She batted back the hurt. What was the point of trying to analyse men? They were all shits in the end, which is why she was lucky to have such great friends.

Where was that barman? As she waited, she glanced at Gus. He was wearing a checked blue shirt and earth-coloured jeans. He looked good in casual clothes, in a way that someone like Julian never could. No longer encumbered by his shapeless safari shirt and thick trousers, she was forced to recognise that he had a strong body, not too bulky. Listen to yourself, Sara. She tightened her orange silk wrap over her breasts.

‘More Marilyn than Moss,' she flippantly snapped around Chambers, ‘Real curves and breasts: only real men need apply.' It always got a laugh. His Jess was probably some skinny bird. He didn't fancy Sara. It had probably been no more than a dare from another ranger, or worse, a sympathy snog. Christ.

Her confidence re-surged as Kimberley and the other ranger moved to a sofa. Gus got up to follow them. Before he could, she tapped him as lightly as possible on the shoulder.

‘Gus. Quick question.' She tried to sound matter of fact.

Gus looked levelly at her. ‘Sure, Sara.'

She almost asked, ‘Why did you stop kissing me?' She was being ridiculous. He was the bloody ranger, who probably slept with every singleton who came through the safari. She had a lucky escape; she needed to get back home. Her cleaner would have been. Everything would be spotless. She could face her new reality much better from the security of her home.

‘Forget it.'

Her canvas wedges unevenly hitting the path. She was too agitated to go back to her house alone. Dan and Alan's door was half open. There were no new guests. Sara settled down on their sofa. She lay there thinking. Even Dan and Alan had split
up. It proved how impossible relationships were. Only Matt and Katherine were truly happy together, but even they were locked in their own grief. It was safer to be alone, to avoid pain. Sara knew that.

She didn't have any clarity on relationships. She couldn't think straight. She kept thinking of Luke. He was full of energy, despite the shit time he had had with Emma and losing Connie. He ploughed on until his death. Where did it leave her? Depressed and lost.

The whole of her life had been a branding exercise. Since university, she had been better at packaging her life than Lizzie and Connie. That was all. Her life was an empty Shard building. There was nothing of significance inside. A soaring significant edifice on the London landscape, yet one vandal had thrown a rock and the glass had shattered.

She didn't have the strength to worry her way through another complex set of strategic moves to fight her potential disbarment. She wondered dispassionately if she would even turn up to the tribunal.

She reluctantly returned to her room. Gus was sitting on her doorstep, his face shadowed; his knees awkwardly up near his chin. He didn't look comfortable, but he didn't get up.

She wished there was an easy way of getting past him into the house, locking the door and curling up into a deep, long sleep. She wanted to escape her unravelling mind.

‘What did you want to ask me?'

‘Why did you stop kissing me?'

‘You've lost a great friend. You are stressed out because your career is falling apart. You are going home to months of disciplinary hearings. And you are on holiday, far from home. I've been an easy shoulder to cry on. No more. Who knows if you will allow yourself to see what is between us. You'll return to your life in London. Happy or not. You have no intention of coming back.'

What Gus was saying was logical. She wasn't a barrister for bloody nothing. She didn't reply ‘you are right', because it wasn't the truth. She could easily come back for him. He was the closest she had got to wanting someone.

‘Then why did you kiss me?'

She saw in his smile her own desire. ‘I'm not a saint, Sara. Despite what you may think.' He sighed looking away from her. ‘You are beautiful, sexy and incredibly smart. A big softie to boot. And I'm a man.'

She tried to imagine any other man being able to deliver that line without making her cringe. Failing, she allowed herself to glimpse the possibility.

Gus stood up. He was too close. He inspected her. ‘Look, I better go, eh.'

If a bloke said that to her in London, she would have known that it was an elaborate ploy. The bloody lot of them were into games that confused and angered her, which is why she resorted to one-night stands. ‘You get what you get and you don't get upset.' It was her line. How many lines did she have? Too many. All meaningless.

She couldn't extricate herself from Gus. The fear returned. Only now it was the fear that he would go straight to Cape Town. If he lurched right that moment. If only she was brave enough to say please don't go. She studied the grasses behind the path.
She convinced herself that the huge disappointment she could already feel physically weighing her down was irrational.

‘Goodbye, Sara, take good care. I'll be watching for you, eh.'

She heard his feet pad the path. She moved her eyes to watch him go. He kept walking. He would soon be out of her sight.

‘Gus.' He didn't seem to hear her. ‘Please come back.'

She started running. In the seconds it took her to reach him, he had turned round. She was afraid he would be gloating, but his face was awash with emotion. He was a proper person. How could she have nearly missed it?

‘I don't want you to go.' She was calm.

He kissed her and this time she kissed him back. She drew him to her with the intensity of her feeling for him. Her fingers blended with his hair. Gus gently peeled his mouth from hers. But he didn't let go of her this time. She watched him openly. Those thoughtful green eyes, his gentle intelligent smile. And the glimpse of his chest above his top button. He put his arm around her waist as they walked back to her house. He didn't pause in the sitting room. As he moved the two beds together, his smile spread into a grin. Sara folded her arms around him, slowly undoing his buttons from behind. He turned swiftly round and drew her tightly to him, pressing his body against hers. His soft smile flicked to desire. His hand moved down under her blouse and into her bra. As his fingers skimmed her left breast, he murmured. ‘God, I've been desperate to do that.' He undid her blouse and unclipped her bra. Then he paused. He was staring at her breasts.

‘More Marilyn than Moss.' Sara said shyly. She wished she had stepped through the doors of her expensive gym. ‘And only Marilyn if you're shortsighted.'

‘Sara, I've been avoiding the pool in case I stare at you.'

Then his hands were on her body, his breath on her neck, his eyes burning into her, his mouth on hers. She was completely lost in him.

Afterwards, they lay twisted together, looking at each other. Neither spoke. She gently ran her finger from under his thick fringe along the side of his jaw to his mouth. His green eyes became part of hers. She was going to drive with Gus to his farm and his family. It was the only thing she wanted to do.

Gus raised himself on to one elbow without moving away. ‘Tell me about your dad.'

Sara sighed. ‘What do you want to know?'

‘You told me he left when you were six.' He kissed her.

She looked quickly at him, before dropping her gaze. ‘I never stop thinking about him. Yet I never talk about him. I have this picture of our last breakfast together, but I have probably imagined it.' She gave a rueful smile. ‘My mum's amazingly strong, but she never talks about him either. It's like this weight we both carry around, which we have never shared with each other or anyone else.' She didn't want Gus to feel sorry for her. ‘Probably more info than you wanted.'

He didn't say anything for a moment. Sara reflected that it didn't feel awkward. It wasn't a silence that was begging to be filled.

‘You need to trust me, Sara,' he said quietly.

‘I've been single for two decades. I have made a concerted effort never to trust a man, but somehow I do trust you.' She managed a smile.

Gus gently took her face in both his hands ‘Sara, promise me now, you won't panic. You have nothing to fear with me, eh? I fell in love with you the moment I saw you at the airstrip. I thought you looked like Grace Kelly with your string of pearls close to your neck and your cream silk blouse.' He grinned and stroked the side of her cheek. ‘Only smarter and funnier.'