The Seven Steps to Closure (10 page)

* * *

Dinah was already up when I woke. I could smell coffee brewing and hear the distinctive clacking of my laptop keyboard. I wondered what she was doing.

‘Morning,’ she said brightly, as I emerged from my room. ‘Hope I didn’t wake you.’

I shook my head and stared at her in disbelief. No strewn contents of the box of tissues I had placed on her bedside table last night. No huge black bags, the tell-tale sign of hours of weeping. Not even any signs of a hangover for that matter.

‘Wow,’ I said impressed. ‘You look great. Are you as good as you look?’

‘Yeah, I feel good. I drank a couple of litres of water during the night.’

‘Hmmm. I wasn’t referring to your hangover. I was meaning are you fine with the whole Creepy Doug thing.’

She laughed in surprise and then nodded her head thoughtfully. ‘Creepy Doug?’

‘Sorry, our pet name for him.’

‘Don’t be sorry. I like it. And in answer to your question – I feel lighter. I feel free. I feel like I can finally move on with my life. I feel like he doesn’t matter one little bit. I can’t believe the amount of time I wasted on him. And I’m not even angry about last night. I’m thankful that it happened.’

Elaine and Natalie had entered with grocery bags while she was talking.

‘That sounds like closure to me,’ said Elaine.

‘Yeah, I feel like by taking back control of my life I’ve had closure on our relationship.’

‘Ooohh,’ I said jealously, ‘you’ve had closure. That’s not fair. Elaine how come she gets to have closure without having to sleep with anyone?’

‘But I did sleep with someone,’ said Dinah innocently, ‘you, last night.’

I threw a cushion at her. ‘Yeah well I slept with you, and a fat lot of good it did me.’

It was as we were eating the bacon and eggs that Dinah brought up her plans for the future. ‘I’m going overseas for a few weeks,’ she said casually.

‘Who with?’ asked Nat

‘When?’ asked Elaine.

‘By myself, I’m not sure when. I’m still waiting for an email to see if there is any space for me. Look at this.’ She jumped up from the table and grabbed my laptop. ‘I’ve been looking into this for a while, and after last night I wasn’t sure what I’d been waiting for, so this morning I emailed them.’

‘Emailed who?’ I asked.

‘The administration of Mercy Ships, they’re big floating hospitals. The one I’m looking at is called African Mercy.’ She started reading off the computer. ‘It has 6 operating theatres, 78 recovery beds and more than 450 volunteers manning it. They have a CT scan and x-ray and even laboratory services on board. It travels from town to town around Africa.’ She looked up from the computer. ‘I just feel I could do so much more to help people than I am.’

Nat took the computer from her. ‘Listen to this. They do a lot of work for women who have obstetric fistula.’

Elaine winced. ‘That sounds painful.’

‘It’s leakage of urine and faeces, caused by prolonged labour. Apparently there are between 100000 and 150000 women a year that develop this in Africa. They become outcasts, shunned by their families, divorced by their husbands and most often they die from infection and renal failure. It can be cured by a simple operation.’

‘Makes you glad to be born in Australia,’ I said. ‘But Dinah, what can you do? Do they have dental facilities on board?’

‘I think so. I remember hearing someone at a course talking about having done it and thinking how unreal it would be. It is totally volunteer – you pay your own way there and also for your food and board.’

‘When will you hear back from them?’ Nat asked.

Reclaiming the laptop from Natalie she clicked into her email. She gasped – an excited expression on her face. ‘Already have,’ she informed us, reading the email. Finally she looked up. ‘I’m going next week.’

‘What?’ I yelped in alarm. ‘But Dinah, the practice.’

‘Will manage without me for a month. I have faith in your abilities Tara, and Mark is quite capable of stepping up to bat for me. You’ll just have to get a locum dentist to fill in for me like you did last time I went on holiday. You know what to do.’

There were so many things whirling through my head, all of them complaints and reasons why she should not go. So I shut my mouth tight and nodded. If she had the guts to fly to a third world country and volunteer for a month on this floating hospital, then surely I could run her business while she was away.

‘Thanks Tara,’ she said beaming, ‘you’re the best.’

* * *

First thing Monday morning I contacted a temp agency regarding a replacement for Dinah. Then I picked up and filled out her vaccine script before heading back to work to finalise the flights to Benin. Dinah would have to fly via Los Angeles to Contonon which would take 42 hours. I felt tired just thinking about it. I booked the flights, emailed the information to Mercy Ships and then filled out a visa application.

By five I had everything under control and a pile of resumes from the temp agency, which I took home to peruse. I decided to have a shower first and opened the door to the balcony to let in some fresh air. When I finally emerged from the bathroom, a cloud of steam around me, I could see Princess squatting in the doorway to the balcony, the tip of her tail flicking from side to side. Cocky was sitting on the railing, taunting her. He jumped up and down squawking while Princess crept closer and closer. By the time I realised what was about to happen it was too late.

‘No!’ I shrieked as Princess launched her attack. She raced towards the balustrade and leapt upwards, trying to pounce on Cocky; who lifted into the air – hovering over her head as she cleared the balustrade and plummeted down four flights to her death.

‘Princess!’ I cried, as I hung over the balcony staring at her still body. I ran down the stairs, tears blurring my vision, and approached her slowly – wishing desperately that she would move, or meow, or hop up and come over to me, telling me with her purrs about how she had lost another life. She looked like she was stretched out enjoying the last sun of the afternoon, but I knew better. I picked up her still body and hugged it. I kissed her soft fluffy head and cried into her fur. Yes, she had been a little bit of a psycho, but she had been my psycho, and it was my fault she was dead.

‘Oh Mum,’ I cried down the phone. ‘Princess is dead. Cocky was taunting her and she jumped over the balcony and now she’s dead.’

‘Calm down Tara,’ said Mum gently. ‘Now start from the beginning. What happened? Did you mention Cocky?’

‘Yeah,’ I sniffed. I figured with me so upset about Princess dying she couldn’t possibly yell at me for letting Cocky go. ‘He’s been living with the old lady in Lily’s apartment, and he’s always saying hor, horrible things, and then he came over and he lured Pr Pr Princess to her death,’ I howled.

‘All right darling,’ Mum said, ‘I want you to go and have a lie down. I’ll be there as fast as I can.’

I took Princess’s body with me into the bedroom to cuddle. She wasn’t a bad little cat really. I mean all animals have their wicked points. So she had freaked me out a few times in the night when I had woken to find her staring into my face. So she had destroyed all my nice cushions, and crapped on my bed and rug. So she had frequently found it amusing to attack me when I least expected it. She had still been company, and she had never criticised me or made me feel stupid.

I was ready to give her up when Mum arrived and we took her down and buried her in the little garden behind the apartment building. Mum had brought a lasagne with her and homemade garlic bread, as well as my copy of
Breaking Dawn
.

‘Enjoy it?’ I asked, as I whipped up a salad to go with the lasagne.

‘Loved it so much I read it three times. It drove your father crazy. He couldn’t get a word out of me for a week.’

I noticed a mosquito-netting covered bowl, full of water, with a little plant floating in it. ‘What’s that?’

‘Oh sorry love, it’s the best I could do at short notice.’

Curiously I went over to look at the bowl. Lying in the roots of the water plant was a bright blue fighting fish. I tapped the side of the bowl to see if he was alive. His tail made the smallest of movements.

‘What’s with the netting?’ I asked.

‘Mmmmm, well he’s suicidal. It’s to stop him jumping out.’

I started laughing. ‘You brought me a suicidal fighting fish? Oh Mum – that’s too good.’

‘Well, as I said darling, it was the best I could do and I didn’t want to leave you alone when I left tomorrow.’

‘Thanks Mum.’ I kissed her on the cheek and then wandered back to have another look at him. ‘He does look a little blue,’ I joked. ‘What do I feed him?’

‘Oh, almost forgot.’ She pulled a container of fish pellets out of her bag. ‘Give him two of these a day. That’s all you need to do.’

I had to admit when I went to bed that night, it felt nice knowing when Mum left the next day there would be another living thing in my apartment. It was a sad state of affairs that the best I could do was a suicidal fighting fish.

* * *

Elaine had told me to keep tonight free and had rung last night with the details of my next internet date. I had thought about refusing to go, but it was the night of the election and I was eager to go out.

I had learnt my lesson and this time I met Bob – my date – at a pub in town. And no, he wasn’t a builder, he was a lawyer. (I had cracked a bit of a spack about that to Elaine, who had coolly informed me that there were thousands of lawyers in Sydney and to calm down because it was, after all, just sex.)

He was a nice enough looking man. Didn’t seem to be a slob and made no lecherous comments within the first 10 minutes. So far the man was in the running for an internet dating gold star. Easy to talk to, good sense of humour: the evening might not be that bad after all.

The trouble started when the bartender changed the huge sports screen over to the election. ‘Oh boy, I’m hungry. Do you want to go and get something to eat?’ I asked eagerly, in an attempt to get away from the T.V.

‘Do you mind if we have another drink first?’ he asked. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing some of this.’

When he came back from the bar with another beer for himself and a cider for me, he also bought back a packet of chips. ‘Here you go,’ he said kindly.

And that is where we stayed. It would have been far less painful to watch it at home on my tiny television. But no, I had to watch it on the world’s biggest screen, and hear everyone in the bar talking about it. I was elated to overhear someone bagging Jake, but that one brave person was booed down by the now sizeable crowd in the pub.

Shit,
I thought,
he might actually win this thing.

We were onto our fourth round of drinks and my third packet of chips when it happened. A picture of him and Tash appeared on the screen looking very pleased with themselves. But that wasn’t what happened. I was used to the old kick-in-the-gut from seeing the two of them in the media. No, this was an unexpected blow that I didn’t even see coming. Silly me.

‘God,’ said Bob, ‘isn’t she something?’ He looked at me and nodded his head at Tash’s smiling face. She looked stunning in a two piece red suit; her golden hair coiled on top of her head, her dentally enhanced smile gleaming in the lights.

‘Mmm yes, she certainly is,’ I replied. But my answer was layered with so many undertones that a slightly sensitive person – or maybe just a sober person – would have noticed and asked me what was wrong.

But no, Bob the Bludgeoner just kept right on going.

‘Yeah he certainly is a lucky guy. God, did you see the chick he was with before this? Man, in comparison, she was a dragon. Apparently they’re related, but I can’t see it.’

‘Really?’ I said stiffly. ‘Some people might think she is attractive.’

‘Yeah, some people who are fuck ugly themselves might.’ He guffawed so hard he snorted beer up into his nose. ‘Yes siree,’ he continued when he had recovered from his coughing attack, ‘she was whacked with the ugly stick when she was born. Not that Tash though. Nope, God certainly loves her.’

‘What photo did you see?’ I asked.

‘What?’

‘What photo of his ex did you see?’

‘No photo, I was at their wedding.’

I stared at him in disbelief. ‘The wedding?’

‘Yeah, that Tash was one of the bridesmaids. Can you believe it? I wonder if he was banging her way back then.’

I had died a thousand deaths before that, but this was a new agony. To be given a total bagging by a stranger who was at my wedding was another type of torture entirely.

I stared at him harder. ‘The cloakroom,’ I said.

‘Pardon.’

‘You made out in the cloakroom.’

‘Hey, how’d you know about that?’ He puffed up with pride. ‘Were you there?’

‘Yep I was,’ I said, as I stood up and grabbed my bag. ‘You would have seen me; I was a bit hard to miss. I was the one all in white.’

I had the smallest of pleasures in seeing the shock register on his face before I stalked out of the pub and into the pouring rain.

He followed me to the door of the pub apologising all the way. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I was just trying to be funny,’ he yelled after me.

I held one finger up in the air over my shoulder.

‘I think you’re very pretty too,’ I heard him holler.

I kept on walking. There was no way I was going back to that. It was far too humiliating.

By the time I got home my hair was drenched, my clothes were soaked, but it was the feel of my tears mingling with the rain on my face that was the most unpleasant.

I flicked on the television, and while I stood dripping all over my rug, had the great pleasure of watching Tash and Jake hug and kiss, and Uncle Edward formally shake Jake’s hand while it was decreed that he had won the election.

Poo.

I had an urge to shriek and jump up and down like a small child. In the end I decided to sulk in a much more adult fashion. I grabbed a bottle of chilled wine, stuck it in an ice bucket and ran a bath. Then I proceeded to get myself a little drunk while I soaked in the bath and tried not to imagine myself by Jake’s side while he was declared Lord Mayor of Sydney.