The Wild Girls Read online

  ‘It’s a beautiful country,’ he says, and his voice softens when he speaks about it, as though he’s remembering a person, not a place. ‘Challenging, though. It has its drawbacks. Very different to the UK.’

  ‘Of course,’ Hannah says, but she feels a flicker of unease in her stomach, picturing poverty, wilderness, the unknown. Something about the way he describes it makes her feel uncomfortable, as though she is part of the problem.

  They chat for a little while – he asks what she does, and Hannah tells him she’s in human resources, keeping it very top-line for now. It’s on the tip of her tongue when he tells her that she’s lucky to get time off to say that actually, she is on maternity leave, but somehow the words just don’t come. Hannah finds herself enjoying it – pretending just a bit, to be someone she is not, and once she’s told one lie (well, a lie of omission really) it becomes easy to tell another. She plays a little game with herself in her head, begins egging herself on.

  When he asks if she is married, she tells him she’s recently separated, has yet to take her ring off. When he asks about her friends, Hannah says that they all live down the road from one another, that they see each other all the time. When he inquires about children, she looks the other way, laughs, and tells him not yet. A flight attendant stands up at the front of the plane, catches Hannah’s eye, and for a strange moment she feels sure the woman can tell that she is lying, even though she is metres away, her focus on the turbulence. On cue, the plane gives another jolt, and Hannah’s stomach roils.

  ‘I’ve still got a lot of the world to see first,’ she says, gesturing at the little electronic map of the plane which is replicated on both their screens, tracking their progress as they move across the globe, closer and closer to Botswana and to Felicity.

  He smiles at that, and when the seatbelt sign flicks off and the flight attendant comes back over towards them, he orders two gin and tonics, ‘and make them doubles.’

  The turbulence is calming down, now – Alice still hasn’t woken up, and the stranger and Hannah both put down their trays and balance the drinks on them, him downing his fairly rapidly whilst she sips away at hers, the ice clinking against her teeth. She doesn’t know what’s come over her, telling all those lies, and finds herself hoping against hope that Alice doesn’t wake up, because what if she mentions Max or Chris in front of this man? He will think Hannah is totally insane. Perhaps, she thinks as she stares past him out of the small rounded window into the blackness, perhaps she is.

  The plane is in darkness now, and there are only two hours to go. The stranger tells Hannah his name is Adam, and when they begin their descent into Botswana, he hands her a thick paper card with his name on.

  Adam Draper, Hannah reads, of Draper and Sons. A law firm. She almost wants to laugh. Here she is, miles from home, pretending to be someone else, another version of herself, and she ends up chatting up a lawyer. She’s already got a lawyer at home.

  Alice wakes with a start as soon as the plane touches down. Hannah starts talking immediately, still anxious to ward off any comments that Adam might pick up on, but now that they’re here she is starting to realise that it doesn’t matter. It’s not as if she is ever going to see him again, is it? So what if he knows she’s a liar – Alice doesn’t, that’s the main thing, and besides, it was only a bit of fun. A way to pass the time during a turbulent patch on a long-haul flight. Plenty of women would have done exactly the same. In fact, it’s exactly the sort of thing that Felicity would do. She might even find it funny – maybe Hannah will tell her about it when they arrive. Use it to break the ice.

  Chapter Six

  Botswana

  Grace

  The heat hits me as soon as I step off the plane. It feels thick, like a heavy blanket, and utterly all-encompassing, filling my mouth and drying my eyes so that they feel gritty and small. The sky is inky black – it’s late here, now, we’re one hour ahead of London – and above us, the stars glow silver, little jewels in the dark. It feels other-worldly, and totally magical. I felt groggy when I woke up, as though I’d been hit on the head or something, but now, excitement pulses through me like a hot rod down my spine and actually I’m grateful that I was able to sleep the whole way, all eleven hours, and that I didn’t get sick. That would have been embarrassing, to be honest. Hannah says there was a bit of turbulence, which I’d have absolutely hated – I’m such a baby about things like that.

  I pull off my cardigan, tie the sleeves of it in a knot around my handbag and wait on the tarmac for Hannah and Alice. It feels tacky beneath my feet, as though if I trod too hard I’d sink into the ground, be swallowed up by this strange new land, never to be seen again.

  The two of them appear within minutes; Hannah looks a bit odd, all keyed-up somehow, but Alice looks as though she’s only just woken up. Her mascara is a tiny bit smudged under one eye, and I make a gesture to her to let her know but she doesn’t seem to notice me. Fine then, I think. I won’t tell her again.

  We follow the signs to the baggage carousels – Hannah and I have brought hand luggage only but Alice’s other case is huge – and once we’ve got everything, we head into the glassy white of the terminal, following the instructions Felicity has sent over. The air-con washes over us, calm and cool, a contrast to the sticky heat of outside.

  We’re here! I WhatsApp Felicity excitedly – Alice and Hannah are both texting their partners, but I haven’t got anyone else to text so I may as well be useful, let her know we’ve arrived. It’s not as if my flatmate is bothered about whether I’ve got here safe; she’s no doubt relishing having the flat to herself with Ben. My message goes through, but I don’t get the blue ticks that show she’s read it. She must be getting ready for us to come. I wonder if she’s feeling the same odd mixture of nerves and anticipation I was feeling earlier about seeing everybody again. It must be even worse being the hostess – the pressure is on.

  But Felicity always did well under pressure, from what I remember. Some might even say she relished it. In my mind’s eye, her face flashes angrily at me; her words echo and bounce off the iron fire escape steps, sharp arrows of pain that pierce my skin over and over again.

  The airport is smaller than Heathrow, but quite full. I look around, wondering for the first time if anyone here is coming to the party – whether some of them might even have been on our plane. She might’ve invited others from the UK, after all, or perhaps it’ll mainly be Americans. Now that she’s got her shiny new life, she might not want too many people from the past clinging on. Apart from us, of course. Her old best friends.

  I think of the flat in Peckham. God, I’m so glad we’re here.

  ‘Ms Carter?’

  A man’s voice interrupts my train of thought and the three of us all spin around. He looks like a chauffeur, and is holding up a piece of white card with our names printed on in black type. Grace Carter, Alice Warner and Hannah Jones. It feels like we’re on a school trip.

  ‘Yes, that’s me, that’s us,’ I say, excitedly, and he nods solemnly, not smiling.

  ‘Excellent. Won’t you please come with me?’

  We exchange looks – Alice seems a bit more awake now, and Hannah grins at us both.

  ‘First-class service, this,’ she says, and the three of us follow the man outside, back into the heat. Lights from the terminal illuminate the space in front of us, and I look around, trying my best to take it all in. Oddly, the stump of a tree greets us, sprouting from a patch of red earth laid into the tarmac; behind it are round banks of succulents, dotted between large umber boulders. Above us, the sky feels wide and endless, freeing somehow, and I feel the smile spreading across my face, have to fight a sudden urge to laugh out loud. I can’t believe we’re here.

  We follow the man to where a bank of taxis and buses are lined up, white in the overhead lights; there is a cacophony of horns honking and people talking. I see a quite good-looking man with sandy-coloured hair staring at us in the line for the taxis, catch the whites of his eyes in the dar
kness, and I frown, then realise he’s not actually staring at us, he’s only looking at Hannah. I nudge her.

  ‘That guy can’t take his eyes off you!’ I say, thinking it’s funny and that she will be pleased, but instead she frowns and grabs my arm, pulling me along with her, hurrying to keep up with our rather mysterious chauffeur.

  ‘Probably a weirdo,’ she says, and I see Alice steal a glance at her, as though there is something between them that they know and aren’t saying. I feel the old fears stir in my stomach. I don’t want to be the odd one out. I don’t want to be left behind. Not this time. Not ever.

  We’re moving away from the taxis and around the corner of the airport, the sounds and lights of it fading slightly. The air is so deliciously hot and so still, a world away from rainy, windy South London with its traffic lights and billboards and discarded takeaway boxes that blow up and down the streets. It feels as though we’re in another world.

  ‘Please.’

  We have stopped in front of a shiny, sleek black car, and the driver is gesticulating to Alice to allow him to take her big case. She obliges, of course, and smoothly, the man pops open the boot with a silent hiss and puts the luggage inside, before opening the doors for us to get in.

  Hannah goes in the front, and I’m in the back with Alice.

  ‘This is very fancy,’ she says, staring at the tinted dark windows, running a hand over the smooth black leather upholstery of the back seats. There’s a drinks holder in the middle, and a row of USB portals complete with thin white iPhone cords, ready for use.

  ‘Typical Felicity,’ I say, light-heartedly, and Alice nods.

  ‘I suppose. Hey, I wonder how everyone else is getting there. Do you think she’s putting on this kind of show for all the guests, or d’you reckon her oldest and dearest are getting a bit of special treatment?’

  ‘I hope it’s the latter,’ Hannah says, as the car engine starts – a soft, expensive-sounding burr, not the choking, loud engines that roar past the Peckham flat at all times of the day and night at home, criss-crossing London like persistent, polluting flies. I twist around, looking out of the rear-view mirror, and see the sandy-haired man who was staring at Hannah climbing into a taxi behind us, his face caught in the lights of the cars. I watch as we begin to drive and the airport disappears behind us, growing smaller and smaller until I cannot see it at all.

  The driver doesn’t speak to us again, and when Hannah volunteers to give him the address he merely shakes his head, taps at the glowing sat nav to indicate that he already has it. I wonder if he speaks much English other than the essentials; I realise I know not a word of Setswana and feel immediately guilty.

  ‘Felicity really has thought of everything,’ Alice says, and I think I can detect a note of jealousy in her tone, though of course, it could just be wonder. Admiration. All of us have always admired Felicity, on some level, anyway. Though my own view of her has been tainted, somewhat.

  ‘It’s not too far a drive from here, apparently,’ Hannah says, squinting at the address on her phone and reading it aloud to us anyway. ‘Deception Valley Lodges, Botswana.’

  ‘Deception Lodges! Weird name,’ Alice says, and I privately agree with her – I can’t help but wish it was called something else. ‘It’s a shame it’s so dark,’ Alice continues. ‘I can’t see a bloody thing.’

  ‘We’ll be able to in the morning,’ I say. ‘Perhaps we can just have some dinner tonight. I slept all the way through the flight, missed out on all the food. Though I don’t suppose it was particularly good.’

  ‘No,’ Hannah agrees, ‘I didn’t like the look of it so didn’t bother either. I’ve only had crisps since lunch – I’m starving, now you say it.’

  ‘Felicity will have thought about all that,’ Alice says confidently. ‘I reckon she’s got this whole weekend planned down to a T.’ There is definitely an edge to her voice this time; I’m not imagining it.

  ‘What time does the party start tomorrow?’ Hannah asks, and I check on my phone to see what Felicity’s said.

  ‘Drinks from seven, guests arrive from eight. Oh. So maybe we are the only ones actually staying over? Perhaps the others have all rented their own places nearby. Do they have Airbnb here, do we think?’

  ‘D’you think Nathaniel will be there tonight?’ Alice asks suddenly, interrupting my question, and I bite my lip too hard, taste the iron of blood. I’ve been trying not to think about that, about the tiny chance that we’ve got it wrong and that actually, they are still a couple. I take a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth, and start running through some of the CBT affirmations my old therapist gave me. I told myself I could do this, and I can.

  ‘I don’t think they’re still together?’ Hannah says, her voice twisting upwards, making it into a question. ‘I have been wondering, but surely she’d have said if he was coming. He hasn’t popped up on any of her channels lately.’

  There’s a brief silence in the car.

  ‘We don’t really know much about her life now, do we?’ Alice says, drily, and none of us can think what to say to that so none of us respond. Felicity isn’t the only one keeping her life a closed book these days – Alice’s statement could apply to us all.

  ‘Has anyone texted to say we’re en route?’ Hannah asks, breaking the moment.

  ‘I have,’ I tell them, glancing at my phone. The screen is resolutely blank – Felicity hasn’t replied yet. Licking my lips, I run my tongue over the slight indentation I’ve made with my teeth. It will be sore, come the morning.

  We lapse into silence as the car purrs along, and gradually, the street lights that surrounded the airport and the main highway, though dimmed by the tinted windows, begin to disappear completely. We have been driving for about twenty-five minutes by now, at a guess, and I wonder how far away from the airport the lodge actually is. We must be almost there. Felicity said it was quite remote, on the edges of one of the plains, near the Limpopo river, but it is starting to feel like the complete middle of nowhere, that’s for sure. I hadn’t realised we’d be quite so isolated.

  But just a few minutes later, we come to a stop.

  ‘Your lodgings,’ the driver says, succinctly, his low voice cutting through the silence, and I wait as he gets out of the car and comes round to open our doors. I feel uncomfortable doing so – surely I could just get out myself – but I sense that this is all part of what he’s been paid for, and I don’t want to seem foolish or odd.

  We clamber out, and now that we’re out of the car, I can finally take in our surroundings properly, illuminated by the glow of the headlights. We are on a smooth tarmac road, and in front of us stands a huge pair of tall wooden gates, with an electronic buzzer and keypad to one side. The chauffeur unloads our cases in silence, and I begin to worry about whether we ought to be giving him a tip. I haven’t even taken out any money – I didn’t think. I so rarely go anywhere that I haven’t thought it all through, and I feel suddenly stupid, woefully underprepared. But Hannah of course saves the day, reaching into her handbag and proffering a couple of notes to him with a cautious smile. To my surprise, he waves her away, shaking his head, and I worry then that we’ve misjudged the whole thing and been rude.

  ‘Thank you,’ we all chorus awkwardly, and he moves forward, punches four numbers that I don’t glimpse into the keypad. The gates begin to open silently, sliding smoothly apart, and the driver retreats, climbing back into the car without so much as a single word.

  I watch, we all do, as the red taillights of his car disappear into the darkness, leaving the three of us and our luggage standing alone in the middle of the road. Fleetingly, I have to fight the urge to run after the car, cling on to the last vestige of home. The road is too still somehow, and the high gates look a little bit foreboding in the half-light. I wonder if Felicity has felt lonely, out here on her own.

  There is a pause, then Alice breaks the silence.

  ‘Well, he was a bit weird!’

  ‘Maybe he just didn’t speak
very much English,’ Hannah says. ‘Not everyone has to, you know.’

  ‘I don’t need a lecture, thanks,’ Alice snaps back, and I feel my stomach clench slightly. I don’t want us to fall out. Not over something like this.

  ‘Come on,’ I say, picking up my bag and grabbing hold of my case, ‘let’s go find Felicity. This place looks incredible, doesn’t it?’ Inwardly, I give myself a shake – I’m being ridiculous; there is nothing to be afraid of out here.

  And it does look incredible. It really, really does. As the gates swing smoothly open, a set of bright silver lights come on and illuminate a long, wide sandy path that stretches through the spindly thorn trees that are dotted on either side. We follow the track, and turn the corner to see the Deception Valley Lodges come into view. More soft, rounded floor lights are dotted along the sides of the path, showing us the way, and as we get closer a larger floodlight comes on, shining a big white circle onto a huge wooden lodge, raised up from the sandy ground by short wooden struts. There are what look like gas lamps fixed to the sides of the buildings, too, glowing gently and casting a flickering orange light across the space. Through it, I can just about make out the water, cutting through the sand in neat straight lines, like man-made streams that must feed into the nearby river. In front of the first walkway is a wooden sign, and I use the torch on my phone to read it aloud.

  Deception Valley Lodge Complex

  Main Lodge →

  Zebra Lodge ←

  Gazelle Lodge →

  Lion Lodge ←

  Cheetah Lodge →

  ‘Cute names,’ Alice says. ‘Hey, do you think all those animals are actually here? Roaming around?’

  ‘Of course not, not in the complex itself!’ Hannah says, rolling her eyes, but I see her look quickly from side to side, as if checking that nothing is about to sneak up on us. I feel a little pinch of unease; I don’t mind gazelle, they’re beautiful, but I wouldn’t fancy coming across a lion out here. I wonder how close they really are though, picture them out on the plains, perhaps a hundred metres away. Their ears pricking up at the sounds of our arrival, their eyes glinting in the gloom at the thought of fresh meat. Stop being ridiculous, I chastise myself.