The Last Tiger

  ‘Bee. I’m offended, I don’t mind telling you.’ He sounded genuinely wounded.

  But Bee was in no mood to sympathise, ‘Why are you offended? You and I are both human beings, Tuan, but there is no way we are of exactly the same species. Look at you. We’re not talking racial origins here, are we, some superficial specialisation that means nothing once you peel off the skin.’ She immediately flushed and looked ashamed, ‘I’m sorry. That was incredibly thoughtless. I didn’t mean it like that.’

  For a moment her insensitivity silenced them both.

  ‘You’re wrong, you know. We are the same beneath the skin.’ Tuan said, eventually.

  ‘In the sense you mean, of course we are. But reproduction is another matter.’

  ‘Bee, it is nonsense to think we are not the same. We are.’

  ‘How can we be? Look at you? You’re… very beautiful… handsome, I mean… but in a different way from other people. And you’re so big, and your teeth, and you smell things, see things, sense things that I can’t. It’s amazing, so why are you pretending otherwise? And you can’t magic the baby into being yours just because you want it to be.’

  He laughed incredulously.

  ‘Explain then, if I am so confused.’ Bee suddenly looked as if the weight of life was upon her.

  ‘You never listen properly to anything, Bee. You never have.’

  ‘I listened hard at Whitegate.’

  ‘You were ten.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So you have not remembered properly.’

  ‘I did biology at school.’

  ‘You failed biology at school.’

  Bee frowned, ‘Look. I know what I know. Stop trying to make me doubt it.’

  ‘Maybe, but you’re wrong. You’re thinking about convergent evolution, Bee. When two entirely different species fill the same niche and appear very similar even though they are totally unrelated.’

  ‘I’m too tired.’

  ‘Okay. Listen. You have one animal from Australia, the other from North America. They’ve never, ever, come across each other. Never. They just happen to have evolved in a similar way to fill the same type of space. That is not me, it’s not us.’ He reached across and took her hand. She let him. ‘Divergent evolution isn’t like that. Divergent evolution is when a single species separates and changes. Individuals that have left the original group evolve and diversify, until there is a new population different from the original. They start together but move apart. You must have heard of Darwin’s finches?’

  ‘Yes. I know all this. It’s not that I don’t understand, Tuan,’ she said, wearily. ‘I told you, I didn’t spend all that time at Whitegate and learn absolutely nothing. And I didn’t fail biology.’

  ‘So what’s the problem? You must know that divergent species are only truly separate if they can’t interbreed. Giles never said I was that removed. Never. No one has.’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘He did not. Bee. You’re arguing about a subject with the subject: arguing with me about me. I am telling you that we are definitely so closely related we could have a baby. No doubt.’

  She looked at him gravely. ‘Maybe you are right. Maybe. But a fertile baby? I don’t think so. I know what constitutes a species.’

  For a moment Tuan was silent. She was right. Here was the measure of a true species. Fertile offspring. ‘Would it matter, if the baby wasn’t fertile? It might make it the last in a freak show, but that’s all. Plenty of people can’t have children. I’m not saying it’s necessarily easy to deal with, but it’s a fact.’

  ‘Can we stop talking about this?’

  ‘He told me, you know.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Giles.’

  ‘Told you what?’

  ‘The results of all my tests. Every time they came in’

  She frowned a little. ‘You’ve never talked about them.’

  ‘Why should I? What would I say? “Excuse me, but did you know this aging thing is in my genes? Yes. I am going to be an old man before you. Great isn’t it. Aren’t I lucky? What was that? You didn’t ask? Okay. So would you like another drink?”’

  ‘Tuan…’

  ‘Or “Excuse me, it turns out my babies will be fertile, because I am not from another planet, just an island?”’

  Bee looked into her lap, and gave Tuan back his hand, ‘Then I suppose in a few weeks time we’ll know. Won’t we.’ An air of resignation slowly passed over her.

  They were silent again, each mulling over what had been said.

  ‘Let’s keep walking,’ he suggested, ‘feels chilly just sitting here.’

  ‘My feet feel like they are going to explode,’ Bee moaned, ‘maybe I’m starting preeclampsia.’

  ‘No. You’re feet have been swelling for ages. Sudden swelling is the worry.’

  She looked at him astonished, ‘So Doctor, since when did you know so much about it?’

  ‘Since you became pregnant.’ He helped her up. ‘I’ve been reading.’

  They wandered on past the duck pond, through the housing estates, and past the shops until they were heading back toward Bee’s home.

  ‘Looks like Wilson’s inside,’ she remarked as they entered the close. Through a window they could see him drinking a cup of tea. ‘Guess they felt bad about leaving him out in the cold.’

  ‘Maybe. More like he went in and asked for one. Anyway, I don’t mind.’

  ‘He’s not your pet, Tuan. You don’t own him.’

  ‘I pay his wages, Bee.’

  ‘You should come back in and say goodbye properly.’

  ‘Going am I?’ Tuan was surprised.

  ‘No. I didn’t mean that. But it’s getting late. I’m staying here tonight.’

  ‘Perhaps I could stay too?’

  ‘Ian will be here first thing to pick me up.’

  ‘I’ll go before he gets here.’

  ‘Stop it. Today is about Nana and only Nana. Can’t you see I’m exhausted,’ Bee opened the door. ‘I need to lie down for a few minutes.’

  ‘I’ll call you,’ Tuan said as she went up the stairs.

  Bee did not reply.

  PEACHES AND CREAM

  ‘Greater than her desire for the past was anger toward a time that had not been, yet seemed so firmly shaped. Often she would crumple with the futility of it all. At other times, when by some miracle she could raise herself up and see life as a whole, feeling each day was to be treasured as a thing of its own, she eagerly plotted a future. She knew of his whereabouts. Holed up in a house fit for the hero of an ancient tale, and with its huge open rooms, grand staircases and enormous gardens, it was a perfect platform for a museum piece such as he. But day-by-day what had once been a showpiece itself was rapidly decaying, the fabric of the building caving in about him, each step in the process of dereliction accelerating the next, nature reclaiming everything the man touched and more. One day the house would suit him better, she thought, when the last of the walls had crumbled to rubble and the final few bricks had been smothered with creeper and vine, the fine halls carpeted green with weed. When, like him, it would be on its knees. Already buddleia and elderberry sprouted freely from the guttering and chimneystacks, and slate lay smashed on the ground where the wind had tossed it. It was only a matter of time before the roof collapsed, and then the house would truly begin its end and so would he.

  Would she accept him as the man he had become? Certainly so, and she often planned how she would find a way to reach him and scrape away the cynicism that ingrained his view, strip away his despondency, restore his faith in life and help him bury his past in a way he could properly mourn. But then her heart would sink when she thought of him, for he was not much more than a boy when first they met and already he was an old man at heart, not much younger in body. She could only imagine his pain, and hope that in lucid moments he might reach out and think of hers.’

  *

  Wilson endlessly washed and re-polished a cl
ean car; the gardening firm was fired, cleaners too; overdue maintenance men booked for essential repairs were turned away. Tuan barely blinked. He wanted no one near him. The few paparazzi camped outside the gate slowly fell away, more reliable income calling. Felix continued to telephone, something of a habit, but failed to achieve his aim, hearing only via Misses P of the terrible condition Tuan seem content to suffer.

  Weeks became months and Tuan did not leave the house. The shutters remained closed and the beautiful Hall quickly took on a decrepit air, only creeping damp stirring within the absolute stillness. Misses P continued to cook and tried her best to clean but found herself barred from entering any room but her own and the kitchen, plus the favoured chamber in which Tuan voluntarily suffocated in embittered self-pity. She was forbidden entry yet instructed that all internal doors were to be left wide open. As if waiting in the rafters for the moment to strike, dust and mould began to coat everything he owned.

  Each meal was served with unwavering regularity, but when Misses P tried to reduce the available alcohol, Tuan lashed her with a vicious and spiteful tongue. Growing tired of the constant haranguing she threatened to resign. He accepted. She stayed but from then on served only the bare minimum of alcohol. It made no difference, for when she was in bed or out shopping he stomped to the kitchen or cellar and got more. Each morning she cleared the empty bottles in an ever-thickening silence. Satisfied in isolation, Tuan became an extension of his chair. Some nights, when there was nothing left to see across the valley, Tuan paced the house. Misses P and Wilson listened to the echoing footsteps with more than a little trepidation, for he had shown the power of his temper when he destroyed the nursery in a fit of violence. The room had been locked up ever since, shreds of a wedding dress, like rags, on the floor. The only door permitted to be shut.

  And so sitting alone, wallowing in misery, he observed life across the valley unfold and grow; a life he felt was his by rights. Sometimes he wept so bitterly he would retch. Other times it was silent disgust. He watched Boyce’s regular departure from the house with a good deal more than loathing. It was the same intense hatred he had experienced on the island as he watched the loggers – as he watched Giles – a justified and murderous resentment. He could easily kill Boyce, he decided, and this time, thoughts of failing his Ancestors and suffering a sinner’s fate were of little consequence. He welcomed the idea of damnation and it was only thoughts of Bee and her baby that kept him from it.

  Through his powerful telescope, Tuan regularly observed baby Violet, pink and blond and big. His feelings towards her were far from unkind; she was Bee’s baby and by default that made her part of Bee. He could not kill Boyce. It would be a terrible thing for Violet to become known only as the child of a murdered man. And what good would Tuan himself be to them, languishing in prison for the rest of his life? But when depression besieged him no amount of logic helped. The ever twisting and tightening turns of hostile machinations were not navigable. Hours would pass by, days even, as he planned how best to do it. Then from nowhere the sight of Bee with the child would raise him back up and he would abruptly let go of it all. He would drink himself senseless.

  The oddity of his situation was not beyond him. That he could feel something positive at the sight of Bee holding another man’s baby surprised him as much as it would anyone. So it was, that when from across the valley Tuan observed the family together he came to view the whole as two of his own kin suffering the company of one expendable usurper. And if that usurper should live or die depended entirely on the moment.

  *

  Late one summer evening, when Tuan had eaten and drunk his fill, he sat watching the house. Many months had passed since the birth of Violet and the valley was filled with the dense greenery only midsummer can bring. The days were long, nights short, and sunlight warmed everything it fell upon, including Tuan. The sky was filled with darting swallows swooping this way and that, gathering up flying insects, a feast soon to be joined by tiny bats. The whole valley was a beautiful sight, and the windows of Bee’s house were reflected in golden light.

  Although drawing to a close, the air still held something of the day that had been and Tuan felt inclined to go outside. The room in which he had shut himself away for so long opened directly onto the front terrace. He didn’t pause to consider his actions or deliberately add drama to the moment. In much the same way he had entered Bee’s bedroom in the house in London, he simply made the decision and exited through the glass double doors, stepping out into fresh air for the first time in a very long while. For a seemingly colourful individual, rarely did Tuan consider the performance of his actions beyond the practical.

  The freshness was startling. He had become so used to breathing his own stale exhalations that he had forgotten the taste of clean air. He squinted a little, his eyes feeling bruised by the light. Behind him, Misses P entered the room to clear the dishes. On discovering the spectacular change in circumstances, she scurried away, calling Wilson’s name.

  Without a backwards glance, Tuan walked away from the Hall, pace increasing with every step. The direction was clear and although it would take a degree of inventiveness to steer a path through and around all the coming obstacles of high fences, dense thickets and the river, he planned to walk directly to Bee. He was drunk, but, feeling a new lightness and giddiness at his release, was soon striding through his own estate and into the trees beyond, hair wild and coat tails flapping.

  The walk began without difficulty, but after working his way across a long steep and unstable rocky slope, and then around an enormous tangle of brambles, Tuan stopped. It was exhausting work. He was inherently strong but months of intoxicated seclusion had taken their toll and he was desperately unfit. The valley was much wider than it appeared and Bee’s house remained a distant hope; however much ground he covered, the convoluted route taken so far more than trebled the distance. Once upon a time he could have bounded across.

  He sat on a rock and from a hipflask swigged the remnants of whisky, enjoying the quiet rustlings of the wild animals around him. Somewhere nearby a blackbird chattered in the gloom, angry at his presence. Tuan hoped to see it, to look upon its beautiful black feathers, but it stayed in the shelter of the bushes. Bee’s house was also hidden from view, the Hall too, but Tuan had no doubt which way to go. No more circumnavigating, he decided, no more avoiding. Wasn’t that what he had spent his entire life doing? Now he would be undeviating, absolutely direct, only down, up, over, through and across.

  Still the valley seemed endless as, exhausted, Tuan pushed on. Eventually, clothes torn and hair stuck with twigs and leaves, frock coat abandoned somewhere along the way, he found himself in open farmland, trudging up through the fields below the lane running in front of Bee’s house. Wet, muddy and speckled with clinging plant life, he paused and took a breath. He had arrived, but what should he do? Should he just walk in? Maybe he should sit on the wall again and wait to be found. He tidied himself before taking the flask from the pocket of his britches, swigging at nothing.

  *

  The baby could sleep all night if she fed at half past nine, and that evening Violet had nursed readily before falling asleep on the breast. Bee carefully placed her in the tiny white cot, pulling up the little girl’s soft blanket before leaving the room.

  Boyce was out. Since the birth of Violet he’d found excuses to be anywhere other than available. When he was at home he doted on the baby and most of the time treated Bee as if she were a princess, although it was a pedestal that was an especially precarious place to stand. With the baby asleep and Boyce away, Bee decided to enjoy the closing rays of the evening summer sun in peace. Sitting on the iron garden bench watching the quiet world of the valley go by, she waited for the seamless passing of glorious day into peaceful night. Across the way, Kinsman Hall hovered.

  She cradled a cup of tea. It was part of the new ritual, adding to the pleasure of the evening. Before becoming pregnant with Violet, she always took a large glass of wi
ne into the garden in the evening when it was nice, or sat in the window gazing out at the world if the weather was too wet or bitter to bear. This evening she planned to watch the stars as they emerged. At first they would appear slowly, following the moon, and before long there would be millions. They made her think of Tuan, but so did most things.

  No sooner had she sat down than he appeared.

  ‘Hello Bee.’

  The tea spilled. ‘You made me jump.’ She stood up and placed the flat of her hand over her heart, as if this would somehow lessen the fright, ‘I’m not used to people jumping out on me like that.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  She steadied her breath, ‘I was just thinking about you. Well, the stars, anyway.’

  ‘Sorry. About the drink, I mean. And your jeans; wet denim… gross. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

  Bee let out a shaky breath, the last of the shock. She smiled a broad smile that was more than sociable, her pupils widening into enormous black saucers that her old school friends would have been proud of. She thought of Boyce. What if he came home? She would call him, just to make sure. Lying had become so much easier since the arrival of Violet, her tiny ally.

  ‘I can’t believe it’s you,’ she said. ‘Where have you been? Everyone has been so worried about you. I heard you’ve been like a hermit.’

  ‘Is this a lecture?’ he laughed, ‘already? I’ve only just got here.’

  ‘Of course not. No. Not a lecture. Sit down. Here, you have the bench and I’ll get a chair from the shed. Tea?’ She gestured with her half empty mug, ‘I need a top up anyway.’

  ‘Slow down. I don’t need anything. I came to see you, not to drink.’ He said, sitting and filling the narrow space, ‘Well, maybe a beer would be nice, as you’re going to the kitchen. It was thirsty work. A long way.’

  ‘You walked?’

  ‘It’s a nice evening.’

  ‘It’s a long way!’

  ‘Not the way I came. Well, not really.’

  ‘You just said it was a long way yourself.’