Chapter 8
DOMINIC
We’re seated for lunch in our now habitual pairs.
Flavia is still tense as we’re served grilled chicken and salad.
She had relaxed a little after getting off the bus, but since the group conversation turned – very naturally – to the safari to come, she became much less chatty than usual, almost rigid.
As Mike talks about the big five animals, I sense her go very still next to me.
I can’t help thinking that there’s something about the safari itself that’s making her like this.
And maybe that’s why she’s been tense at other moments while we’ve been away.
I thought that she might have received a stressful message or two from family, friends or work, but maybe not; maybe it was all worry about the safari.
‘I’ve been reading about lions,’ Mike tells us. ‘Surprisingly, the average pride only makes about fifty kills a year, and for a single lion it’s clearly much lower.’
‘Sounds like I hunt better than a lion,’ Alex the self-billed Serbian sniper comments.
We all – except Flavia – laugh a little too much. She doesn’t seem able to produce even a smile, let alone a chuckle, which is very unlike her.
I wait until everyone else is distracted by more lion facts, like female lions doing more of the hunting than the males, then lean in so that no-one else will hear and ask, ‘Without wishing to intrude, are you okay? Not worried about lions or anything?’
‘Little bit,’ she tells me in a strangled voice.
She’s been facing straight ahead so that I can only see her in profile. I angle round and note that she looks quite pale.
‘Is it just lions?’ I ask.
‘Nope.’
Wow. Really not the best for going on a big animal safari.
‘It’s going to be okay,’ I say, while I cast around in my mind for something a little more concrete to help her.
‘I do like them,’ she says. ‘They’re beautiful.
So majestic. I want the opportunity to see them in their natural habitat.
It’s awful seeing them in zoos and reading those statistics about them being able to cover huge distances daily while they’re living in a hundred-metre-square pen or whatever, and it’s obviously an immense privilege to be able to see them here in Africa.
And I do think they’re incredibly beautiful animals.
But, yep, if I’m honest I’m kind of terrified. ’
‘What are you scared of exactly?’ Have I just asked a really stupid question?
‘Of one of us getting killed. Which I know is silly, and I know that statistically it isn’t going to happen and that it’s an irrational fear, but, yep, there you go.’
‘Okay. You know what?’ I’m searching for the best arguments I can find to cheer her up.
‘I don’t think it’s entirely irrational.
I mean, of course it isn’t. Lions can kill people.
But statistically, if you were to do a deep dive, I’m sure that you’d find out that there are very different levels of safety among the different tour companies and the different jeeps you travel in, and the guides as well, obviously. ’
‘Yes.’ She’s regaining a little bit of colour in her cheeks, probably just because she’s talking about it, but she doesn’t look entirely convinced.
‘And you know what, I did actually check the company out.’ I actually did. Because an ex-colleague did have a bad experience on a South African safari (which I will definitely not be telling Flavia about). ‘And they have an excellent safety record.’
‘Really? Is that true?’
I nod.
She narrows her eyes. ‘I do feel as though you’re telling the truth. Unlike with your aeroplane statistics. But what I wonder is why you checked the company out?’
Bugger. Of course she was going to realise there had to be a reason. Except…
‘Because I’m Dominic,’ I say. ‘I plan everything.’
‘You do plan a lot, I’ve noticed. I just didn’t realise you’d plan to this extent.’
I think there’s a vague compliment in there – she didn’t think I was that anal – and that I will now be going down in her estimation (or maybe there was no compliment and it was pure insult), but it’s worth it, if it makes her less stressed, because she’ll clearly enjoy the next two days a lot more if she isn’t constantly worried.
‘Yeah,’ I say. She smiles at me, and I have to say I feel very good about that.
‘Also,’ I continue. ‘I’ve just remembered.
You know when you read all those news stories about surprising statistics about the most dangerous animals: lions are definitely not up there.
As in, they might be dangerous if they’re hungry or scared and you’re unprotected and in their sights, but they kill very, very few humans, and those who are killed by them are nearly always people who live locally and have the misfortune to stray onto their territory, or for the lions to stray onto theirs.
’ I really don’t know whether that’s true or not but it certainly sounds plausible.
‘That does make a lot of sense.’ She gives me a proper, big smile, and I feel very good that she feels better.
And it’s time to go.
We’re spread between three jeeps. In ours, it’s Mike, Judith, Flavia and me.
Flavia looks like she’s having a wobble when our jeep driver starts going through a safety routine.
I whisper to her, ‘Pretty sure not all guides bother with the safety chat. This is a good thing.’
‘Very good point,’ she replies, looking immediately cheered up, and I feel pleased with myself all over again.
We have the great good fortune to see hippos, elephants and buffalo during the afternoon.
At the beginning, Flavia grips my hand very tightly, possibly not even aware that she’s doing it, but as I murmur a couple of my statistical platitudes into her ear, and mention how extremely sturdy the jeep is and how very competent our guide seems, she begins to relax, and soon she’s exclaiming in hushed but excited tones just as much as the rest of us.
At one point, just after we’ve spied a lioness lying in the sun with her cubs and our guide has told us that we’re particularly lucky to have seen them at this time of day, Flavia turns to me, beaming, and says, ‘Can you believe that only two days ago we were in drizzly England?’
I beam back at her and, yeah, it’s just a great moment out here in the bush with this amazing woman and these other nice people.
As we head back through the vast plains to the lodge at the end of the day, Flavia suddenly gasps and says, ‘I didn’t take a single photograph.’
I didn’t either, I realise. I was too busy enjoying Flavia’s company when I wasn’t admiring the scenery and the animals.
‘Don’t worry,’ Judith tells us. ‘I took some. I’ll forward them to you.’ She sets up a group chat and everyone who took any (basically everyone except Flavia and me) adds their photos and videos.
‘I need to send some to my mum now,’ Flavia says. It’s lovely how close their family are to each other. My own family are more… distant. We love each other, but that doesn’t necessarily always extend to liking each other and wanting to spend too much time together.
As Judith and Mike both get busy posting photos to the new group chat, Flavia says quietly to me, ‘Thank you so much for your pep talk earlier. It really helped. I’ve had an amazing day and I wouldn’t have done if I’d been terrified the whole time.’
‘Hey, no, nothing to thank me for.’ I’m about to say more (although I’m not sure what) when Maxim claps his hands to gain our attention.
‘We’re going to have sundowners out on the terrace,’ he tells us. ‘You’ll be shown to your bedrooms now so that you can freshen up and get changed if you like.’
When we’re shown to our room, Flavia stops dead just inside the door, and I walk straight into her.
When we’re untangled from each other, and I’ve pushed all thoughts of her beautiful softness out of my mind, I look around, and immediately see why she looks so shocked.
I’m not really sure why it didn’t occur to either of us before now that we wouldn’t have a suite.
The room we’ve been shown to has a very long window to one side overlooking the bush – displaying breathtaking views – and only one other door, which is on the opposite wall and leads to a bathroom.
In the middle of the room, there’s a gigantic, modern, four-poster bed. I shake my head slightly to dispel an image of Flavia in the bed, and look round the rest of the room.
There are a couple of small sofas, one under the window and one on the wall opposite the bed. The room’s furnished in greens and beiges, with a lot of textured wood, which nicely reflects our wider surroundings. It’s a great room. For a couple.
Flavia and I look at each other, both of us a little wide-eyed, and then she asks the man who’s shown us to our rooms, ‘As a matter of interest, I wondered whether there were any spare rooms in the lodge? I mean, this is beautiful and we both love it. I just… wondered?’
‘I’m so sorry but it’s full,’ he tells us, his brow immediately furrowed. ‘Is there anything wrong here? Anything we can do to improve it?’
‘No, no,’ we both rush to say. ‘It’s perfect.’
‘We love it,’ Flavia adds. ‘It was just an idle question. Really. We love this room. Thank you so much.’
As soon as the man has gone, closing the door behind him, Flavia says, ‘Okay, no arguments. I got the bed in the hotel. These sofas are wide but shorter than you. I’ll take a sofa tonight and then I get the bed again tomorrow night and that’s more than fair as far as I’m concerned.’
I shake my head. ‘Can’t do that.’
Flavia lowers her voice and begins to explain at great length in a whisper why I can and will.
I’m trying not to laugh.
‘What?’ she asks, a little frostily. ‘Nothing I am saying is funny.’
‘Loving your cloak-and-dagger low voice. But everyone knows we aren’t a couple so there’s no need for it.’
‘Oh. Yes. Very true. Well, fine.’ And then she repeats herself really loudly.
I laugh out loud.
‘Not going to give in,’ I say. ‘At the risk of going full toddler again.’ And then I sit on both sofas in turn and pat them.
Flavia pats the edges of the sofa I’m sitting on and then plonks herself down on the other one and pats that one too.
‘I have just out-patted you,’ she tells me.
I laugh again and say, ‘Not at all toddler-like from you.’
‘Never,’ she agrees.
And then she laughs too, and then, for no apparent reason, we both really laugh.
When we’ve returned to normality, both of us literally wiping our eyes, Flavia reaches a foot out and touches one of mine briefly (the sofas are next to each other at right angles, so we’re seated within easy reach of each other).
‘Thank you again for helping me today,’ she says. ‘With all your planning and your logic. It was an amazing day and I wouldn’t have enjoyed it anywhere near as much without you.’
I nudge her foot back with mine and say, ‘Nothing to thank me for. Any logical planner would have said the same.’
We sit there, smiling at each other, and I suddenly wonder how, in the space of one day, we got to this point. She’s become… a woman I like. I can’t entirely remember why I found her quite so annoying yesterday.
She breaks our silence. ‘So I’m going to take the sofa tonight and you’ll take the sofa bed again tomorrow night back in the hotel, and in return you’ll go first in the bathroom now and then go down to drinks so that I can have the room to myself.’
I feign shock. ‘Did I not pat these sofas? Meaning they’re mine?’
‘I’m sorry, but in my world sofa-patting is not legally binding. You have to let me take the sofa or I won’t sleep out of guilt. And now you have to go into the bathroom because otherwise we’ll be late for our sundowners.’
‘I’ll think about the sofa,’ I say as I gather up clothes and my toiletries bag.
‘No thinking necessary.’ Her cheeky smile stays with me as I close the bathroom door behind me.
I take a cold shower, but it doesn’t do as much as I would like to stop me remembering how good Flavia and I were in bed together all those years ago and wondering what a repeat would be like.
‘We seem to have become friends,’ I tell my mirror reflection as I brush my teeth. Flavia’s lovely and she’s clearly been bruised by events of the past year. I like her very much. I don’t want to hurt her. And I would. Because that’s what I do.
Nothing of that nature can happen between us. Maybe we’re becoming the old cliché: just good friends. Clichés can be a good thing. They’re there for a reason.