The Art of Unpacking Your Life (12 page)

Hope Africa is amazing?

Love, Jo xxx

The sun shone visible rays over ancient, squat olive trees. They appeared darker under its glare. The photo was filled with trees. Far behind them, a towered Tuscan farmhouse stood dilapidated, worn and faded. A symbol of endurance.

Dan brightened the laptop screen. He re-angled it until it was nearly vertical. Then he leaned forward and stared hard at the photo. He was searching for some missing detail. Something he couldn't see, but he was sure it was there.

Matt intended to race out in search of Katherine. He replaced the guest phone into its cream holder, heaved himself up from the low studded stool and strode across the library. His sense of foreboding was echoed by the sound of his feet heavy on the worn wooden floorboards. Before he reached the spiral staircase, there was Dan uncharacteristically slouched on a low leather sofa. He was staring hypnotically at his laptop. His mood appeared to mirror Matt's, and he hesitated. Dan looked up, definitely distracted. Matt realised too late that he had projected his emotions on to Dan. Projected his emotions. What was he thinking? Katherine was getting to him. He was resentful. Why did he have to be the one who took the call?

Dan spoke, glancing up at him. ‘Mattie, you okay?'

It was the same warm, generous tone he had used when Katherine had told the group about Dawn and their baby. The same warm, generous tone he always used. Matt was choked. What would he do without his friends? He knew what he ought to do – tell Katherine first. Perhaps if Dan hadn't spoken, he might have moved on, straight down the stairs, his arms reaching out for Katherine. But it was Dan. And Dan's kindness arrested him. He didn't want to move past him to deal with Katherine. He hadn't the strength. He bent down to sit beside his dear friend. Dan would be concerned, but loyal to Matt first and foremost. Perhaps it was the fundamental difference between friendship and marriage. The latter was a more complex cross-current of passions, needs and hopes that were beyond Matt.

‘Oh Christ, Dan, it's over. I'm finished.' Matt gave a start after the words left his mouth. He had meant to say, I've had some bad news. Already, he was fast-forwarding to the end as he believed Katherine would do.

‘Is it the baby?' Dan immediately asked. The emotional shorthand he had with Dan, Connie and Luke was wonderful. Matt had really missed them.

‘Dawn's got pre-eclampsia.'

Dan's lack of reaction reminded Matt of his own as the nurse had spoken. It had sounded serious, but it had meant nothing to him.

‘Which translated means Dawn's got high blood pressure and high amounts of protein in her urine. I don't know exactly what that means. The hospital says it's serious for Dawn and the baby. They might have to induce her.'

‘Oh no,' Dan reached easily for his shoulder. ‘Horrible. What an awful shock. You poor thing.'

Matt slumped forward, his wide hands spread over his knees. He was sweating round the back of his hairline and down his neck. It was hot up here. He looked up at the thatched roof. From inside, you couldn't see the damage the baboons inflicted from the outside. For a moment, he madly thought of escaping on to the roof. It made him think nostalgically of the roof terrace in Harley Place. If only life was that simple. He wanted to go back to their room, have a freezing shower, lie down and try and think straight. But he was bound to bump into Katherine.

Dan continued brightly. ‘Listen, don't worry, Mattie. You read about women giving birth eight weeks early all the time. The baby will go into special care for a while. It will be okay.'

Matt didn't know whether it would or wouldn't be. He was logical enough to know that. He had a sickening yet certain knowledge that followed a third port. A hangover to end all hangovers would follow. He suddenly realised that he wasn't even thinking about Dawn, this generous woman, who had put herself through this physical hell for them. He was more concerned about Katherine's reaction to the news. And their future. And that revelation appalled him.

‘I need a drink,' he moaned, resisting the intense urge to curl up in a tight ball on the sofa. He imagined Katherine's displeasure. How can you consume alcohol at a time like this?

Dan was up. ‘Red, white or rosé? It's really hot up here. I advise white or rosé.'

He smiled. Dan would never offer him anything stronger. ‘A pint of white please.'

As he sat blankly looking at his clipped nails, he heard Katherine's voice downstairs: sharp and refined as crystal. How could he tell her there was a problem? After she had spent months imagining issue after issue: worrying for Dawn, worrying for the baby, worrying for them.

Dan nudged a glass into his hand.

‘Mattie, you should tell her.' The way Dan suggested it was gentle. ‘She said to me that you can tell her anything and vice versa.'

‘I am her rock. I know that.' He was upset by his voice, which melted away from him. ‘She tells me every emotion as she experiences it, but I couldn't possibly do the same.'

Katherine was a beautiful, intelligent, successful, sexy woman; he was an overweight, divorced solicitor, whose ex-wife ran off with a partner in his law firm. The power was obviously in her favour. She had married him, undoubtedly loved him, but she could easily change her mind, move on, go back to New York. In any negotiation, there was a price. No baby, no deal. He stood up, appalled by his self-reflection, when his own flesh and blood might be at risk.

‘What matters is the baby,' he said with a certainty he didn't feel. ‘It's the baby that matters,' he repeated, before adding rapidly, ‘And Dawn's health, of course.'

Dan nodded, before he said firmly, ‘Exactly, Mattie. Why don't I google pre-eclampsia? It's good to know exactly what we're dealing with.'

‘No, no. Please don't,' said Matt hastily, shuddering. ‘I don't want to know.'

Dan nodded supportively.

Matt drew strength from him. ‘This whole surrogacy issue is so complicated, Dan. It is counter-intuitive. To get a woman you don't know to carry a child for your wife. To pay her, ultimately, to have a baby for you. To me, it's modern life gone mad. I'm conservative, middle-aged and middle-brow. I read the
Telegraph
, for God's sake. I grew up in Hampshire. How have I ended up in this place, Dan?'

‘Firstly, you want a baby and unfortunately you can't have one in a more straightforward way.' Dan always was able to put things into perspective. ‘Secondly, you are in love with Katherine and she desperately needs a baby.'

Matt sighed. ‘Yes, she does and it is far worse for her. But our marriage is so new and tender. Can it survive this? I don't know, Dan.' He had a clear head that came to him uniquely from a drink. It gave him resolve. ‘I'm not going to tell Katherine
about the pre-eclampsia issue. When the baby's born, even if she is premature, Katherine will be happy. All Dawn probably needs is a few days' bed rest. She's in good hands.'

Dan nodded. ‘Of course, she is.'

‘I'll only worry Katherine to a near breakdown. She'll insist on flying back, ruining the holiday for everyone. I can't do that to Connie.'

Matt was conscious that the whole conversation had been about him. Yet again. His marital problems. It happened easily with Dan because he was such a good listener. Matt was acutely aware of the imbalance. He corrected it now.

‘Dan, mate, my decision's made. Now, I want to know how you are.'

Dan eyed him cautiously. ‘I don't know, Mattie. Compared with the situation you are in right now, or poor Luke, there is absolutely nothing wrong with my life.'

‘But…' Matt shifted his weight towards Dan, causing the sofa to visibly sink.

Dan sighed.

‘You're not happy,' Matt said helpfully.

Dan relented, ‘I suppose I'm not. Though even saying that I feel grossly self-indulgent. What is wrong? Absolutely nothing: I love my work, I'm doing well, I have a lovely home and I'm healthy.'

‘So?'

‘I'm not happy with Alan.' Dan blushed, as if what he said was a revelation. Dan had always been funny like that. Back at university, he believed that none of them realised he was gay. Now he thought his floundering relationship with Alan was equally invisible.

‘It's a tiny thing that I cannot shake off,' Dan hesitated. ‘I want to move forward, grow up somehow. I want the happy, conservative life my parents have got. Pretty difficult as a gay man living in London.'

Matt smiled. ‘I never thought that I would be a divorcee living in a flat having a surrogate child. I thought I'd be living in Hampshire with three children and a nice homely wife.'

‘So, Mattie, what to do about it all?'

‘You need to get blindingly drunk and then spill the beans to that Ibizan beach bum of a boyfriend of yours.'

Dan laughed. ‘Matthew, you are outrageous.'

‘Oh God, I wish.'

Jules walked unannounced into the bedroom. He didn't need to say anything. Not with her. He was an Alpha male. A man with broad shoulders and a broad mind. He was exactly her type. Fine hands. She fancied men with well-manicured nails. He closed the door behind him, locking it. His dark glint and charming smile was focused on her alone. She saw shyness, a slight sexual insecurity in it. She was the only one who did. She saw him when his guard was fully down. She smiled back. A come on with a certain sexy charm, but not too eager or brash. He had caught her standing there in her knickers about to have her siesta, tiny pink lace knickers that she had bought at La Senza. They were a little tight. But he would get more turned on getting them off her. He pushed her back towards the mosquito netting, firmly but gently. He parted it with one hand, moving her swiftly back on to the bed. ‘I want you, Lizzie.' He was aggressive yet tender as he bit into her ear. His hands rubbed both her breasts. ‘God, they turn me on. You turn me on.' One hand moved insistently down her stomach, which he caressed on the way down to the gap between her legs. She started to moan. ‘Jules, Jules.' She was already wet. He climbed inside her. The force, the thrill. She was coming. She tried to stop it from happening. She wanted this fantasy to last. Jules. Her Jules. As he was meant to be. But he was so intensely in her recent memory that she came far too fast with an inward moan.

Lizzie used her top sheet to wipe between her legs. She turned towards the wall and fell into an exhausted asleep. The heat rash, which had driven her out of the sun, was completely forgotten.

Julian marched purposefully into their sitting room. ‘The ex-Head of the British Army, General Charles Green, is staying here.'

Connie nodded and smiled, pointing to the phone, ‘Lou.'

‘That fantastic white-haired gentleman with a long lens camera that could belong to a wild-life photographer. He led our troops in Afghanistan,' Julian continued.

She smiled at his enthusiasm. ‘As you can probably hear, Dad's thrilled because some old army chief is here, which means the Kalahari is the new place to network. Forget Davos.'

Julian smiled. ‘Mum is being harsh, Lou,' he raised his voice.

Lou, their eldest daughter, was relentlessly sarcastic about Julian and his political life. Leo and Lou were the two who took after Julian – clever, outspoken and uncompromising. ‘Charles Green. Oh that big knob. My God, Mum, he's going to bore you rigid trying to defend the wrongs of trampling nineteen-year-olds' boots over other people's countries. Then you'll have to have him for dinner. I bet you twenty quid Dad's already invited him. Go on, ask him.'

‘Lou wanted to know if you have invited him to dinner yet?' repeated Connie smiling.

‘I've got his card,' Julian flashed it triumphantly. ‘We must invite them as soon as we are back in London.'

‘Jesus, he is such a political pick-up merchant. Put him on, Mum.'

Connie handed the phone to him.

‘Lou darling, don't tell me that scruffy, slouchy excuse for a boyfriend is in our kitchen, wolfing Sally's finest chocolate cake? Rolo should be content with Whiskas from his own bowl at home, while you take your brilliance upstairs to your desk to guarantee that string of A*s that you are more than capable of, if you ever pull your little toe out of Rolo's ear.'

She couldn't hear Lou's reply. Rolo was in their kitchen because that was where he was after school. The fact that his name was the same as their cat had led Julian into a cul-de-sac of jokes that heartily amused him. Even Lou, with her endless capacity for being the butt of Julian's humour, was annoyed, not least because he greeted Rolo with, ‘Hello. Whiskas or Kitty Cat?' When Lou complained that he was humiliating the love of her life, that normal dads didn't behave this excruciating way, he pointed out that it wasn't his fault that her boyfriend's namesake was feline. Julian was happy to call him something else, but until he was re-named – the boy, not the cat – he couldn't take him seriously.

Connie left them to chat and went to lie diagonally across the wicker sofa on their raised, decked terrace, the outer edge of which marked the start of the reserve. The view was one hundred and eighty degrees wide and hundreds of kilometres deep. A kudu wandered past and then a trio of impala. A small part of her wished that the children were here to share it with her, though she delighted in being here without
them. It allowed time for her life to breathe. She had thought more in the last twenty-four hours than she had in the last ten years at home. Of course, she was far away, she had physical and mental space to think. But it was also because her old friends were here, particularly Luke, which restored her past and gave her present some context for the first time in ages.

His watchful presence made her feel guilty with the benefit of hindsight. She had dumped him unceremoniously. She blushed thinking about it now. Connie was less certain and more dreamy, like Luke in many ways. But Julian had been sure, he had made her sure.