The Seven Steps to Closure

by Donna Joy Usher

  Jessie’s phone blipped indicating the arrival of a text. He looked at it and then laughed. ‘The bastard’s turned up,’ he said, as he beckoned to me.

  I stretched lazily before climbing off the lounge. ‘What’s up?’ I asked him.

  ‘I need your help getting another friend in.’

  ‘No probs.’

  In Mumbai men can’t gain access to clubs unless they are accompanied by a female. Jessie had used me to ferry in a few friends already. The bouncers seemed to be either turning a blind eye to me having several boyfriends or just very unobservant. I followed him and Tahlia out to the street where I noticed a dog with a large ulcer on its paw looking for food.

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ said Tahlia, as I started to move towards it. ‘It could have rabies.’

  ‘Ohh,’ I replied, snatching my outstretched hand back to my side.

  ‘Mate,’ I heard Jessie exclaim, as I watched the dog snuffle through an empty plastic bag.

  ‘It’s been far too long,’ said a voice so familiar I gasped in surprise as I swung around.

  ‘Matt, this is Tara,’ said Jessie.

  I felt my face split into a wide grin. ‘Hello Matt. Nice to meet you,’ I said, extending my hand.

  ‘Lara,’ said Matt, shaking my hand formally.

  ‘No, no Tara,’ I corrected him emphasising the T.

  ‘Let’s go in,’ said Jessie, ‘all the old gang are here.’

  Matt and I followed Tahlia and Jessie back to the entrance where I reached out and took his hand. ‘For the bouncers,’ I advised him.

  ‘Your friend?’ Matt asked, nodding towards Tahlia.

  ‘No. Jessie,’ I corrected.

  ‘You and he?’ He looked between the two of us.

  ‘Oh no,’ I exclaimed, ‘no, he’s with Tahlia.’

  As soon as we entered the club all of Jessie’s friends closed in on Matt, so it was a while before we were able to converse again. I tried to concentrate on the conversation I was having with Tahlia and her friends but I found myself watching Matt out of the corner of my eye. Just when I thought I wasn’t going to get to speak to him at all that night there was a surge in the crowd and we were pressed close together next to Jessie and Tahlia.

  ‘So how do you two know each other?’ Matt asked Jessie.

  ‘Oh,’ said Jessie, ‘you wouldn’t believe it, but this is Jake’s ex-wife.’

  Matt shot me a startled look. ‘Tara is Jake’s ex-wife?’ he asked Jessie, looking at me with a strange expression on his face.

  I should have realised he might have known Jake, but I had thought his and Jessie’s relationship was purely work orientated.

  ‘Yep. This gorgeous girl used to be married to my brother.’ Jessie reached out and threw an arm around my shoulders. ‘She’s over here to escape the circus of a wedding Jake’s organised with Tara’s cousin Tash. It’s all very messy, awful and boring, so she thought she’d pay Uncle Jessie a visit.’

  Matt looked at me with what could only be described as profound disgust. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, brushing past and storming off to the bar.

  ‘What was that about?’ I asked Tahlia and Jessie.

  Jessie looked thoughtful, but before he could answer his mobile rang. Immediately, the phones of all of the other journalists started to ring as well. I could hear pagers going and different ring tones everywhere. There was a split second during which they all froze staring amongst themselves. Something profound had obviously happened. Then that second passed and they were all action; mobiles jammed up against ears, the murmur of their voices urgent.

  ‘What, you’re kidding!’ I heard Jessie exclaim.

  ‘When, when did it start?’ barked Tahlia down her phone.

  ‘Just now?’ I heard Tom, another of Jessie’s friends say.

  And I could hear the urgency in my voice, ‘Jessie, Tahlia, what’s going on?’

  Jessie grabbed me by the arm and dragged me towards the door. I saw Matt sprinting in our direction as he talked into his mobile.

  ‘Leopold Café’s been bombed,’ Tahlia informed me as she rapidly punched numbers into her phone.

  Leopold Café bombed? God, Matt and I had walked past it that afternoon.

  ‘They’ve stormed the Taj Palace.’

  ‘There are shooters and bombers.’

  ‘They’ve taken the Chatrapati Shiraji Termanus.’

  ‘And the Oberoi Trident.’

  ‘They’ve killed some tourists at Leopold’s.’

  ‘There are hostages at the Taj.’

  They talked on their phones and shouted information to each other, while we searched for our drivers. It was mayhem with pushing and shoving as the rest of the crowd started to react to the news they were overhearing.

  ‘Quick get in,’ Jessie said, pushing me into the car and firing off some rapid instructions to Raj, the driver.

  Tahlia jumped in behind me, still talking.

  ‘Get down,’ Jessie barked at me between mouthfuls of phone conversation. I noticed that Tahlia had already slid down in the seat so she was barely visible from the street and suddenly I realised what was happening. All right, so I was a little slow. But one minute I’m enjoying myself at a club by the beach, and the next I’m caught up in the blow by blow details of a widely spread terrorist attack across Mumbai. I stifled a gasp and slid down in the seat as far as I could. Jessie nodded approvingly at me as he flipped a notebook out of his back pocket and continued talking.

  The drive back to Jessie’s was tense as the two of them made notes, and I sat terrified – waiting for a gunshot or a bomb to be directed at us. By the time we got to Jessie’s I had worked myself into a state of near hysteria. It wasn’t until we were safe, locked inside his apartment, and I had drunk the measure of whisky that he had pressed into my hands, that I could feel myself starting to relax.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Tahlia in a concerned voice.

  God, I was such a weener. It wasn’t like we had driven through the area under attack, but I had felt my insides wind tighter and tighter as I stared out the window with panicked eyes. My hands were tired from being scrunched into little balls of fear.

  I nodded my head, ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Here.’ Jessie topped up my glass and handed another one to Tahlia.

  ‘Not for me,’ she said hopping up and heading to his bedroom. ‘I’ve got to get down there.’

  ‘You’re going down there?’ I exclaimed. ‘Are you crazy?’

  Smiling at me she said, ‘No Tara, I’m a journalist.’

  She re-emerged shortly dressed in long black pants and a black t-shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a bun and she had a cap on.

  ‘You look like Lara Croft,’ I informed her.

  ‘I wish I had her weapons,’ she said as she crossed to Jessie and dropped a deep kiss on his lips. ‘And her boobs,’ she added with a grin. ‘Don’t wait up,’ she said, disappearing through the front door.

  ‘She’s really going?’ I asked him aghast. ‘Aren’t you going to stop her?’

  ‘Tara. I couldn’t stop her if I wanted to, and she wouldn’t thank me for trying.’

  ‘How’s she going to get there?’

  ‘Raj is waiting to take her in.’

  ‘What about you? Do you have to go?’ I asked, suddenly terrified that I would be left alone. What if they took over the city and searched the buildings room by room?

  ‘No. I write commerce articles for the London Financial Times. No doubt I’ll be busy over the next few days writing bit articles on this, and I’m sure there’ll be a profound effect on the Indian stock market, but there is no need for me to go in. Guess it makes me look like a bit of a jerk letting Tahlia go when I’m not…but my paper wouldn’t thank me for getting myself killed over this. They have other writers, much more experienced at this sort of thing – like Tahlia. I guess Matt will be in there as well. Probably get some scoop and win another award.’

  He flicked on the TV and started roaming through the channels until he found
one covering the attack. There was a night scene, with what I identified as the Taj Mahal Palace in the background, and a tousled looking journalist talking in a hushed voice.

  ‘The attacks seemed to be co-ordinated,’ he whispered in an English accent.

  ‘No shit Sherlock,’ Jessie muttered.

  ‘They started at the Leopold Café at 9.30pm, where locals and tourists were having dinner. We haven’t yet confirmed the mortalities, but we know that at least one tourist and four locals were killed in the attack – many others have been injured. What you can see behind me is the Taj Mahal Palace. Gunmen reportedly stormed the hotel shortly after 9.30pm.’

  Just then, a small group of people appeared around the corner of the building and ran for their lives up the street towards the reporter, who appeared overjoyed at his luck. The sound of gunshots could be heard as the reporter beckoned to them: one fellow, braver – or perhaps more voyeuristic than the others, scuttled towards him.

  ‘Can you tell me what’s going on?’ the reporter asked him.

  ‘We heard gunshots so we hid in the bar.’ He stifled a sob and continued. ‘We could hear them moving towards us, so we broke the window with a chair and climbed out.’ He stopped and looked nervously over his shoulder. ‘You should get out of here,’ he informed the reporter, before racing off.

  ‘So far nobody has claimed responsibility for this terrible attack,’ the reporter whispered.

  Jessie flipped open his phone and stared at a new text. ‘It’s the Lashkar-e-Taiba stupid,’ he informed the reporter.

  As if on cue, the reporter pressed a hand up to his ear, ‘This just in,’ he said urgently, ‘the Pakistani based militant organisation Lashkar-e-Taiba have just claimed responsibility for this terrible travesty.’

  Jessie flicked off the television with an irritated harrumph and, stalking to his computer, switched on the monitor. As it warmed up, he looked at me and said, ‘Tara, I’m sorry, but there’s no way they’re going to let me take leave now. I’ll be covering the economic effect of this for weeks. Shit.’ He put his head in his hands.

  I walked over to him and put my hand on his shoulder. ‘That’s all right Jessie,’ I said. ‘I won’t be going anywhere for a few days I’d imagine. And then I’ll sort something out.’ A thought crossed my mind. ‘Hey Jessie,’ I said, ‘I know this is pretty frivolous considering what’s happening,’ I paused almost too embarrassed to continue, but Jessie was giving me his full attention so I finished my question in a rush. ‘Why did Matt brush me off when you told him I was married to Jake?’

  Jessie looked at me for a few moments before answering. He got up and sat on the couch gesturing for me to follow.

  ‘Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this story?’ I asked.

  ‘Because you’re not,’ he said. ‘Jake, Matt and I all went to school together. We were like the three musketeers, doing everything together. We were in the same sports teams, the same classes and we hung out together when we weren’t in school. When we were in our first year of University, Gina – Matt’s sister – turned 16 and invited us to her party. She always was a pretty little thing, but by the time she turned 16 she was starting to really blossom. Unbeknownst to Matt and I, Jake started a relationship with Gina after her birthday party, and seduced her.’

  I gasped and held my hands over my face suspecting where this was going. ‘He didn’t,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Yep, he got her pregnant and then refused to have anything to do with her. It almost destroyed her. She ended up having an abortion, which had complications. Now she can’t have children. Matt has never forgiven him and neither have I.’

  ‘That bastard,’ I said, surprised by the venom in my voice. I could feel a weird unravelling in my mind. It was like someone had lifted the veil fogging my eyes – had cut the ties imprisoning my mind. Suddenly I could see Jake for the manipulative beast that he was. I felt something shift inside me and realised that my desire for him had gone. In its place were feelings of repulsion and revulsion.

  Jessie reached out and put a hand on mine. ‘I never told you this before,’ he said, ‘but I’m really sorry about your miscarriage.’

  I sat, lost in thought. ‘I’m not,’ I finally said.

  He left me there on the couch, staring into space,

  drowning in my memories.

  * * *

  We’d been married for eight months when my period was late. I had no nausea, no tenderness, and no moodiness, so I was not suspecting pregnancy, but I did a test just to rule it out. And there they were, the two pink lines.

  After the initial shock had worn off, I was pretty excited. And why shouldn’t I be? I was in love and married, and I was sure that once Jake got used to the idea he too would be excited. I spent the afternoon picturing us shopping for baby stuff; little clothes, bassinets, prams. By the time Jake got home, I had worked myself into a frenzy of excitement. I left the test on the kitchen bench with a note asking him what he thought, and then I sat in the lounge waiting for him.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ It wasn’t the response I had been hoping for. ‘Tara is this some sort of joke?’ He emerged into the lounge waving the test result around like some sort of weapon.

  ‘It’s no joke,’ I said.

  He stared at me incredulously. ‘How could you let this happen?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You heard me.’ His voice went up a couple of decibels, ‘How could you let this happen?’ He enunciated each word slowly, angrily.

  ‘I didn’t plan this Jake.’ I felt my fantasies of shopping hand in hand for maternity clothes dissolving.

  ‘Like hell you didn’t. You’ve been planning this all along haven’t you? Haven’t you?’ He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me as he said it.

  Ripping myself out of his grasp I said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. It was an accident.’

  ‘Sure that’s what they all say,’ he snarled. ‘I know your plan. Get the guy, rope him into marriage, get pregnant and then have the easy life.’

  I was getting upset. Firstly, he had proposed at the two-month mark. Secondly, I had been planning to go back to work at least three days a week once my maternity leave had finished. And thirdly, I don’t think being a mother is an easy life at all. From what I have seen of my sister and friends that have children, they have it far worse than me. I get to go home and put my feet up. I can skive off to the hairdressers or for a massage whenever I want. I can go out to dinner, or the movies with a second’s notice. Fourthly, I think the whole pregnancy emotional hormonal thing had finally caught up with me.

  ‘Jake, you’re in shock. Everything is going to be okay,’ I said, fighting back tears.

  ‘No it’s not. We decided we weren’t going to have children and now you’ve gone and gotten pregnant on purpose. I can’t believe you would do something so low and devious. I don’t think I know who you are anymore.’ He turned and walked out the front door. He didn’t even shut it.

  I think the shock from his outburst was worse than the shock from the pregnancy. I couldn’t ever remember having a conversation that included the words, ‘We won’t have children’. I think we had said we would wait. And the thought that I had done this on purpose was so preposterous I was speechless; just sitting on the couch like a giant fish, my mouth opening and closing soundlessly, as I tried to digest exactly what had happened.

  In the end I went to Nat’s. I felt I should be celebrating and I couldn’t do it alone at home with the echoes of Jake’s words going round and round in my head. Nat almost wet herself with excitement when I turned up on the front door with the news I was pregnant. That quickly turned to indignation when I told her Jake’s reaction.

  ‘He’s just getting used to the idea,’ I defended him.

  She didn’t look convinced. ‘Come on, let’s celebrate.’ She cracked open a bottle of orange juice and we toasted my foetus. Then we toasted the glowing mum-to-be, and of course the soon to be Godmother. And although it wa
s lovely, it couldn’t take away the sting from the fact that I should have been having a romantic dinner with my husband as we celebrated the conception of our first child.

  Jake didn’t come home that night. As I waited for him on the couch, I thought about all the wonderful things he had done for me. The first time I had stayed over at his place I had gone into the bathroom and found a new, fluffy pink bathrobe with matching slippers waiting. He routinely made me breakfast in bed on weekends, and I often had flowers delivered to me at work. He showered me with jewellery, for no special reason, and often ran a bath for me when we got home from work. I was having trouble assimilating the two Jakes; the hard angry one and my doting loving one.

  The first sign of problems began the next day. I had turned up to work hoping that Jake would be there, and was surprised to be told he was in court all day. I just smiled and pretended I had forgotten. When I went to the toilet at lunch I had some slight spotting. I told myself it was nothing to worry about, but I was dying to ask Trish, one of the other PA’s about it, as she had three children. I love Trish, but she has a pretty big mouth, so I was sure she would squeal, and I didn’t want to risk that at the moment. I did however make a doctor’s appointment during my lunch break for the following day.

  Jake was there when I got home from work. My relief rapidly turned to dismay when I met him in the kitchen carrying a small overnight bag.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To Garry’s, I can’t be near you at the moment.’ The look he gave me spoke volumes. I was a piece of dirt.

  ‘Please don’t go. Can’t we talk about this?’

  ‘There is nothing to talk about.’

  ‘What, so, that’s it? I get pregnant and you’re just going to run away?’

  ‘You expressly went against my wishes. I never wanted children, and I still don’t. If you want me back you know what to do.’ And he was gone.