The Lion Tamer Who Lost

by Louise Beech

  But when it’s right, that will hopefully be enough.

  44

  Love Needs No Passport

  Ben was sure that if he’d met his grandma as a stranger in a room full of other strangers, he’d still know she was his. He’d have felt it.

  Andrew Fitzgerald, The Lion Tamer Who Lost

  Standing at Andrew’s door, holding a key from a lifetime ago, Ben pauses before knocking. He isn’t sure what he’ll say. How he will feel seeing him again after so long. He taps, gently at first. Waits. Nothing. Ben knocks a little harder. Still nothing. He turns the key over in his jacket pocket. Will he use it if there’s no answer?

  He tries knocking again.

  The neighbour, Mrs Hardy, opens the door along the corridor. The smell of warm bread drifts out, taking Ben back to days spent in Andrew’s flat, knowing what day of the week it was because of the different cooking smells. Bread on Wednesday. She hasn’t changed her routine.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ she says. ‘Andrew said you were in Zimbabwe.’

  ‘Did he?’ They must have talked about him.

  ‘I asked where you were when I hadn’t seen you in ages.’

  ‘Do you know where Andrew is now?’ asks Ben.

  ‘No, sorry.’ She has flour on her apron. To Ben’s eyes it makes the shape of the African continent. ‘He was in earlier. Heard his shower go. I knocked and gave him some quiche I made yesterday. I like trying to feed him up.’

  Ben wonders if Andrew still works at Beverley’s town library. As though sensing the query, Mrs Hardy says, ‘He won’t be at work. He gave that up a few months ago. Been dead busy with the book. And…’

  ‘And what?’ asks Ben.

  ‘Well, he’s been ill again, hasn’t he? I think two jobs got to be too much.’

  Ben puts a hand against the doorframe. Feels a wave of nausea rise. Though his dad mentioned Andrew looking unwell, Ben had clung to the thought that he had merely had low blood sugar, despite Andrew denying it was that.

  ‘I … well, I had an idea,’ he says. ‘What happened? Did he tell you?’

  ‘I know he had cancer last year, but he said he’d gone into remission. He looked much better again. Was away with his book, doing tours and that. But then…’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘He started looking awful. He walked up the stairs so slowly the other day, I was right concerned. I said, you’re not good, are you? He shook his head. Said it had come back.’

  Ben feels faint.

  ‘You okay?’ Mrs Hardy moves towards him.

  He nods. ‘I will be. It’s just…’

  ‘You didn’t know?’

  ‘Not for sure.’

  ‘Do you want to come in and sit down.’ Mrs Hardy touches Ben’s arm. ‘I’ll get you some cake and tea.’

  ‘No, thank you. I’ll let myself into Andrew’s flat and wait there for him.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  For the first time in many months, Ben puts his key into the slot and opens Andrew’s door. Mrs Hardy disappears into her flat, the smell of fresh bread still lingering. Ben enters the place he once loved as much as he did Zimbabwe. It is as though time hasn’t passed. He goes into the narrow kitchen with cupboards lining one wall. Touches the fading I HEART PARIS fridge magnet. Andrew has a new 365-new-words-a-year calendar. Today’s word is sempiternal. Ben leans closer to read the definition: eternal and unchanging, everlasting. He wonders if Andrew read it earlier. If he already knew what it meant. If he read it aloud as Ben has just done.

  At the top is the lion postcard Ben sent from Zimbabwe. He unsticks it and reads the back: I saw it and thought of us.

  The living room is unusually tidy. But it feels the same. A haven. There is one addition, and one absence. On the desk is stack of beautiful gold-spined paperbacks. The Lion Tamer Who Lost. Ben touches them, opens one and smells the new paper. He looks again at the dedication. For Ben. After a moment, he turns to the occasional table by the curtains.

  The Wish Box isn’t there.

  Perhaps somewhere else? No, it never has been, and Ben can’t imagine where it might be instead. He looks behind the curtains, on the window sill, behind the sofa. It isn’t there.

  Why?

  He goes into the bedroom; the duvet is neatly pulled over the bed, and the window is open, letting a breeze move the curtains. He can smell Andrew. Picture him lying on top of the covers, reading. On the bedside table are small vials of pills next to glucose tablets and mini chocolate bars.

  Ben sits on the bed with his head in his hands. He can’t bear that Andrew is suffering. Why didn’t he tell him? Andrew could have overlooked everything that happened and written to him. Could have let Ben be there. They are brothers after all. Ben realises with surprise that the feelings he has right now are in fact brotherly. His affection is protective, fraternal, profound. If Andrew were here now he would kiss his forehead, tuck him in, make sure he had everything he needed.

  But where is he?

  And where is the Wish Box?

  If it were here, would he look at the current wish inside or respect Andrew’s privacy as he has always done?

  Ben’s phone buzzes twice. He takes it out; there are two messages. He clicks on the first. It’s Stig. Saying that Lucy is still doing fine. Her stitches are healing, and she has been resting and eating well. Thank God. Ben feels as if everything will be okay now. He clicks on Esther’s message. She asks him to call her. He tells her he will do later, that he’s just at the shop.

  Ben goes back into the living room to wait there. After an hour, he decides to take a walk, call Esther, and then come back later. He heads towards the town centre. The June day is warm. Pink-and-white apple blossoms brighten his stroll. Café owners have set chairs out on the pavement and people fill them. He dials Esther’s number and it only rings twice before she answers.

  ‘It seems like forever since I saw you,’ she says. ‘How can it only be twenty-four hours?’

  Ben can’t believe it either. ‘How fast you get used to being home. Are you okay? Your parents?’

  ‘I told them last night. They were a bit shocked, which I totally get. But they’re fine now. I said you’d come up soon and meet them. Got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.’ She sighs. ‘When will you be coming? I know you’ve only just got there, but you’ve no idea how much I miss you.’

  ‘Soon,’ says Ben. ‘Just a few things to sort out here. Things I’ll tell you about. But it’s complicated over the…’

  A smash engulfs Ben’s the word, a sound like one he heard before, one he has never forgotten. One that was punctuated with glassy tinkles and car horns and squealing breaks. One that interrupted his walk with Jodie Cartwright. Led to Andrew. This one is softer and followed by swearing.

  ‘Just a minute,’ he says to Esther.

  A car has pulled away from the kerb, perhaps without checking for oncoming traffic, and hit the bonnet of a passing cab. The taxi driver is assessing the damage. A young man is waving his arms and kicking the front tyre.

  ‘Call you back in a tick,’ says Ben.

  He heads towards the cars, curious.

  He remembers walking to the wreckage that day, right before he saw Andrew in the cafe. Jodie had followed him, her heels out of time with his. Ben remembers the small boy, Jon, still strapped to his seat.

  This accident though is minor.

  The taxi’s front is dented, and the other car scratched. Ben frowns. Music drifts from the cab: Andrea Bocelli. It is the driver who took them to the hospital when they got the results. What was his name? An unusual one. Bob Fracklehurst. That was it. He chatted nonstop. He was playing Andrea Bocelli then. Said he could enjoy his songs without knowing what the words meant because he could tell from the way Andrea sang them.

  Ben has always resisted believing in fate; has always found logical explanation for coincidence. But now he shivers. In the back of the taxi is Andrew. Looking right at him. Pale, a little stunned, hair ruffled.

  Ben goes
to the car. Andrew winds the window down. Ben bends to speak to him.

  ‘You always follow an accident,’ he says.

  Andrew smiles.

  Ben smiles.

  Bob Fracklehurst tells the man there’s no need to swear.

  ‘Thank God no one’s hurt,’ says Andrew.

  ‘You sure you’re okay?’ asks Ben.

  ‘Just got a bit of a jolt. I’m fine.’ He pauses. ‘You’re home.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Yesterday.’ Ben holds Andrew’s gaze. ‘I got there a few hours after you’d been.’

  ‘You know.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I had to tell him.’

  ‘I understand,’ says Ben softly.

  ‘I saw your dad in the supermarket a while ago.’ Andrew speaks slowly as though the memory exhausts him. ‘I really wanted to speak to him. Then yesterday, when I woke up, I decided to go and tell him. I didn’t want to cause trouble. Didn’t want him to know about … you know.’

  Ben nods, wants to touch his cheek, say it will all be okay now.

  Bob Fracklehurst comes to the car.

  ‘Sorry about this,’ he says to Andrew. ‘Just going to exchange details and we’ll be away. Do you want me to get another cab for you?’

  ‘No,’ says Andrew. ‘I always allow extra time. I’ll wait.’

  Bob returns to the other driver.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Ben asks.

  ‘Nowhere.’

  ‘It must be somewhere. Andrew, I know. About the cancer. I was at your flat, saw Mrs Hardy.’

  ‘I’m going to the hospital,’ he admits.

  ‘Let me come.’

  ‘No.’ Andrew is adamant.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ Ben puts his forehead to the taxi roof. ‘You don’t understand. I get it now. I understand. I’ve moved on.’ Ben pauses. Thinks of telling him about Esther, but that needs time, not a moment standing here on a pavement.

  ‘It’s just a simple check-up,’ says Andrew. ‘Maybe we can catch up tomorrow.’

  ‘Are you just appleasing me?’

  ‘Appleasing?’

  Ben smiles. His mis-words are back. He doesn’t even mind Andrew pointing it out.

  ‘You know there’s a word for that,’ says Andrew.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For your mis-words. It was on my word calendar on the fridge, about two weeks ago: acyrologia.’ Andrew pauses, holds Ben’s gaze. ‘It means an improper use of a word.’

  ‘Improper?’ Ben says. ‘No, it’s all the other words that are improper.’

  Andrew smiles.

  ‘Maybe we can catch up tomorrow then?’

  ‘Yes. This is just a boring check-up.’ Andrew’s cheeks are sunken, his eyes shadowy.

  Ben feels terrible for berating him. He hesitates, then asks: ‘Didn’t the donation work?’.

  ‘Oh, it did. I went into very early remission. I felt so much better. But it’s quite common for this kind of leukaemia to return.’

  ‘Can I donate my stem cells again then?’ asks Ben.

  ‘They found a matching donor. We’re going to do it in a few weeks.’

  ‘It’s not mine though.’ Ben feels sad.

  ‘No,’ says Andrew softly.

  ‘But if it makes you better…’

  ‘Do you know about the book?’ Andrew’s face lights up.

  Ben nods. ‘I saw it at the airport yesterday and read it on the journey home. It’s beautiful.’ He goes into his rucksack and takes it out.

  ‘It’s all thanks to you for entering it in that competition.’

  ‘Here,’ says Ben, handing him it.

  ‘I’ve got loads of copies,’ laughs Andrew.

  ‘No. I wrote you a letter in the back. It will explain stuff.’

  Andrew touches Ben’s arm. The thrill this once gave is tempered. Not gone, but different. Warm. Intense. He takes the book.

  ‘How was Zimbabwe? Was it what you imagined?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Ben. ‘It’s like another world out there. And the lions are nothing like the ones we saw in the circus that day. They’re … real. Huge and breathing and colourful. I rescued a lioness called Lucy.’

  The phone in Ben’s pocket buzzes. It is Esther. He doesn’t answer, but sends a quick text saying something has come up and he’ll ring tonight.

  ‘Everything okay?’ asks Andrew.

  Ben nods. He has so many other things he wants to say.

  ‘Isn’t this weird?’ is all he can come up with.

  ‘I know. What are the chances?’

  ‘Did you wish you’d see me today?’ Ben asks.

  Andrew smiles, but shakes his head.

  ‘No new wishes?’

  Andrew doesn’t respond. Thinking of the Wish Box, Ben asks, ‘Where were you before now?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I was at your flat for an hour.’

  ‘Just had some things to do in town. I signed a few of my novels in that little book shop up there.’ Andrew looks at Ben. ‘Then this.’

  This. Them. Brought together, somehow, by a bigger hand than theirs.

  Bob Fracklehurst returns to the cab, gets into the driver’s seat. ‘All done,’ he says. ‘That lad couldn’t see that it was his fault, but no harm done. I’ve been in worse accidents. Ready to go?’

  ‘You sure I can’t come?’ asks Ben.

  ‘I’ll be fine. We can talk tomorrow.’

  ‘Shall I come after lunch?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Andrew smiles. Though his face is pale, orange sparks light his eyes for a moment. That family trait.

  Ben leans a little closer. ‘I loved that line near the end of the book,’ he says.

  ‘Which one?’ asks Andrew.

  ‘Love goes with us – it is light and has easy-to-grip handles and needs no passport.’

  Andrew nods, his eyes glassy.

  ‘You were with me the whole time,’ says Ben. ‘You became my brother out there.’

  He kisses Andrew’s forehead. Andrew closes his eyes.

  ‘We can make this work,’ Ben tells him. ‘We can. You can have your family. Just read my letters in your book.’

  Ben stands back and the taxi pulls away. He watches it leave. Waves. And unlike when he left on the bus that time long ago, Andrew turns and watches him too. He lifts his hand and waves. And even when the car is lost in the rest of the traffic, Ben imagines that Andrew’s eyes still flash with gold.

  Ben walks briskly home. The smell of the apple-tree blossoms is so English. The empty teacups at café tables are so English. The warmth that dies in moments at the arrival of a raincloud is so English.

  Ben is home.

  This is where he belongs.

  45

  Three Brothers

  Nancy said, ‘Let’s play Cheaty Chess.’ Ben shook his head, sad. ‘It’s all different now,’ he said. ‘We can’t break the rules anymore.’ So they did puzzles instead but Ben’s heart wasn’t in it.

  Andrew Fitzgerald, The Lion Tamer Who Lost

  Ben is back in Zimbabwe.

  Standing on the hut’s wooden decking at dawn, warm air tickles his bare legs and arms. The sun comes to life, turning the sky from ash into flame, the trees from shadow into textured browns. Far away, amidst the longer grass, is Lucy. She is the same colour as the sun. It’s too early to hunt. She lies down, yawns and stretches, contented. Her back leg has healed fully.

  The door opens behind Ben and he anticipates Simon – but it is Andrew. Though surprised, it feels to Ben like the most natural thing in the world that he is here.

  ‘You’re right,’ says Andrew. He looks well. His cheeks have regained their colour, his hair its life, and both are as vibrant as the sky. ‘This is just stunning.’

  Ben is excited to enjoy his private view with him; to share ownership of the morning.

  ‘I know,’ he says. ‘Wait until the sun gets a bit higher. The trees look like they’re alight. Can you see Lucy ov
er there?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘There, in the grass.’

  ‘No. Is she camouflaged? Maybe she’s only visible to you?’

  Ben frowns, looks harder, afraid he has imagined her. She rolls over as though to assure him of her existence.

  ‘You can’t see her?’ he demands.

  ‘Does it matter? You can.’ Andrew sighs happily. ‘Shall we go and get coffee? You can show me the rest of the place – the enclosures and the nurseries.’

  Ben nods. ‘What shall I tell everyone?’ he asks.

  ‘Say you invited your brother to see your favourite lion sanctuary.’

  ‘I will,’ smiles Ben.

  ‘Don’t forget me, will you?’ says Andrew.

  ‘Forget you? Why would I?’

  Ben watches Lucy. She is sleeping now.

  When he turns back to Andrew, he has gone.

  ‘Andrew?’

  Ben wakes with the word on his lips. Opens his eyes. He is home. In his small room; in England. It was a dream. But he can still feel Andrew’s presence, still smell the faint whiff of lion shit and animal fur. He opens the window; freshly cut grass replaces the aroma. It is past nine already. The dream was so powerful that Ben is sure he was there; sure Andrew was there too. Maybe one day he will take him. For now, he’s looking forward to going to the flat later.

  Despite the lie-in, Ben is tired.

  Last night he rang Esther and apologised for suddenly hanging up. He explained that there had been a minor car accident and he had known the passenger. They talked until late, her excitedly sharing plans for the baby – including a book of names she’d bought and ideas for the birth – while he listened and tried to enthuse.

  But his mind was elsewhere.

  He kept seeing Andrew’s pale face. He knew it wasn’t fair to Esther that he was preoccupied since they had got home. When she asked if he was still happy about the baby, he said absolutely, that he just had things to deal with at home, and he would explain when they were together again.