“Tell me. I’m talking to you about losing my virginity – can’t get much closer as friends than that. Tell me what’s bugging you.”
“My father.”
“What about him?”
He’s a dick. He’s cold. He’s unemotional. He didn’t give a shit about us when our mother died or before she died and he pretty much left my older brother to bring us up right from the day she died. He blames me for her death and I’m pretty sure he didn’t want me in the first place.
“We don’t get on.”
“Because you did veterinary medicine and the rest did law?”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe you did vet school because you didn’t get on.”
I shook my head. “I’m doing this for me. Because I like animals. I prefer them to people most of the time. Present company excepted.” I gestured to the waitress for more coffee.
“What did your dad do?”
“He didn’t do anything. That was the problem.”
“After your mum died.”
I nodded. “After she committed suicide. She’d had depression. It was made worse with all the shitty hormones in her after she had me.”
“It isn’t your fault, Callum.” There was a wariness to her tone, one which suggested she knew what I was thinking.
“I know. But my dad thinks it is. Or that’s how I’ve always felt. I don’t want to talk about it. Tell me how shit Jonah was in bed so I can take the piss out of him later.”
She smiled sweetly. “I don’t kiss and tell. Or lie.”
“Fucker.”
* * *
We reachedthe lodges just after one in the afternoon. Jaime was already there, unpacking along with the crew. One of the cameramen was already off filming, probably looking at the light. In the distance was the lake, the largest manmade lake in the world and big enough to make it seem as if you were looking out into the sea.
“I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.”
I turned to look at Wren. She’d slept for an hour or two, jetlag catching up with her, her head against my shoulder, drool wetting my t-shirt which I teased her about as soon as she woke up.
“It’s an experience.”
She smiled, her eyes fixed on the lodges that were in front of us. They were new, built sustainably, but in keeping with the area and Africa.
“It looks amazing.”
It did. There was a pool and what looked like a hot tub, chairs made for falling asleep and a view of the lake that I didn’t think I’d ever forget.
Mars was deep in conversation with a Zimbabwean man in a suit who I figured was the owner or manager. There was laughter and a handshake, words in a language I didn’t know and then a shit ton of people descended on us, grabbing luggage and calling at each other with instructions.
I laughed. The peace that had settled had now evaporated, briefly, the furore of noise I knew would settle once they were happy everything was right and we were comfortable. I watched Wren’s expression, liking having a moment where I could study her. That she hadn’t been to Africa before surprised me; I knew she’d travelled, worked abroad, and Africa was a hard place to avoid because the charities and sanctuaries were always in need of vets to volunteer. If there was a reason, I wanted to know it, and then I wanted to take her everywhere, without a camera crew.
They were watching us. The producers had noticed that we were quiet together, talking, touching. Someone had taken a photo when Wren was asleep on me in the jeep and I suspected it was already on social media. Anything like that was good publicity for the show.
“This place is amazing.” Her words were soft, barely audible. I remembered when we’d visited Loch Lomond one holiday because we’d been in the area. Jonah was with us and a couple of others from our course. She’d said the same then and even though I wasn’t responsible, I felt proud.
“It really is. Shame we’re only here for five nights.”
