Closure (7 page)

George ran under the tapestry towards the small secondary door. Neon Banks followed him, his eyes on the tiger which, though injured, was still on its feet. As they scrambled through the exit into the west wing corridor, quickly closing the door behind them, four more shots rang out, accompanied by the screams of the professor's assistant. The screams went on and on.

At last the Hall became silent. George and Neon Banks quietly opened the small door and re-entered, peeping around the giant tapestry.

The room, now strewn with glass and upturned chairs, presented a very modern display. The tiger on the floor was motionless. Professor Draper held his now quiet assistant against him.

What George said next was transmitted to Harry Cook's listeners.

“Look at this beautiful creature – I wish I had the words to describe how regal the animal remains even in death. I have not seen anything like it before – and it is still warm.” He sat next to the animal and ran his hand along part of its back.

“The fur… each hair is as thick as a fine needle… that huge jaw and those eyes, big enough to engulf a person. I wonder what it would have been like to have tigers in Africa,” George said, but Neon Banks was too busy sorting out his camera equipment and packing up the excellent footage to answer.

George wondered if he might have the pelt, but in the distance, the swirling sound of emergency vehicles broke his reverie.

MICHELLE INNISS
WHATEVER LOLA WANTS

Jason Truman sat at the back of the café, at the same table they'd been sharing almost every day for the past six months. The same waitress, with the false blonde hair and too much make up, took his order. Double espresso. He'd thought about ordering for Lola but decided against it. She hardly ever arrived on time. She'd stroll in late and heads would turn. At least the men's would; the women would shoot her dead with their looks.

It was a shame but he had to end it. He had told her from the start: work and home, him and her were separate. But she had started to text him at work and now she had rung him at home. Luckily Katie had been in the bath when she'd called. Next time he mightn't be so lucky. No, this madness had to stop. He had to bring it to an end, but it wasn't going to be easy.

In his office he was known as the level-headed one. If you were looking for calm appraisal and integrity, then Truman was your man. None of that applied to her. She had slithered beneath his skin. He remembered the first time they kissed. “Your lips,” he whispered. “They're so nice, so big.”

“What you tryna say?” she asked. “How are my lips so big?”

He felt his face redden.
Well they aren't anything like Katie's.

“It's nothing,” he said, pulling her closer. “You just taste so good.”

Driving home later he found himself thinking that it was the first time he had ever kissed a black woman. When he was younger you just didn't see white guys with black women; it just didn't happen. It wasn't that he hadn't found some black women attractive, but he wouldn't have made a play for one… not back then. But wasn't everyone “in the mix” now?

He'd asked her if they could meet up for lunch the following day. But she couldn't do days. She was studying. Jason knew then that he was probably twice her age, but if he could hit on an eighteen year old woman who looked like her and pull it off, then even at fifty, he must still have it. Most married men his age had let themselves go – too much wine and rich food. He swam every morning in the pond on Hampstead Heath and the colder the water the more energised he felt.

The next time they met, to his surprise, he began to blabber. “I want to kiss you all night.”

She had smiled and said, “Shuuut up! No-one's ever said nothin' like that to me before.”

He couldn't help thinking:
God, this woman is so beautiful but when she opens her mouth she sounds so… rough.

He soon got used to her deep London accent. It became a part of her charm. Some of the things that fell from her mouth really did make him laugh, though. He couldn't ever imagine Katie calling him “Babe”, or “J”, or “Sweet Pea”.

Jason looked around the café. He slid his hand through the growth of silver that lit up the sides of his hair. He pulled down the sleeves of his silk suit despite the heat.

He was just about to ask for a glass of water when the door opened and Lola came in. As she sauntered towards him, his eyes clung to the rise and fall of her short skirt as it hugged her hips and slim legs. The conversations around him trailed away. He saw the heads turn in Lola's direction. He couldn't stop himself smiling.

All these men can only imagine what they'd like to do to her. I'm actually doing it.

There was only one word he could use to describe Lola… ‘Hot'. It was a cliché and he should have done better, especially since he was in advertising and original thought was his trademark, but there was no other word for her. Lola was hot. He'd tried once to persuade her to ditch studying and go into modelling; her type was in real demand.

“An' what exactly do you mean by my type?” she asked looking puzzled.

The red had risen to his cheeks again. They were the words he used at work. There were types. There was the size 0 – flat-chested, cropped hair, pass-for-a-boy type. Then there was the collagen enhanced, tall, long-haired type and there was her type. Curly hair, naturally thin, with lips that all those collagen-induced women longed for. Her colour, how would he describe it? Coffee – no, too dark; coffee with cream, but how much cream? Cappuccino? Latte? Halfway between a cappuccino and a latte? Shit! How could he tell her she looked like coffee with a lot of cream in it.

“Come on, Lola, chill. You're my type, beautiful and sexy.”

He'd slid his hand along her inner thigh and she'd laughed.

“Oh, I get you, that type.”

Jason observed her now. She looked a little thinner. Her skin had broken out in spots. He hadn't meant to, but he found his hand stretching over the table to take her hand.

“You look like shit,” he said.

“Feel like shit,” she said, staring down at her chewed nails. “I've been tryna contact you, J. How come you never texted me back?”

He tried not to look at her. His eyes hovered over the silver rope bracelet twisted round her wrist like a sleeping snake. The waitress came to take her order. She asked for a glass of milk.

Milk? It was usually a diet coke.

He ordered another double espresso. They sat in silence until the waitress returned with their drinks. Jason watched Lola drink her milk with a pink straw. He wanted to reach over and kiss her; she looked so young. She looked up at him.

“You know, don't you, J? That's how come you didn't text me back.”

“Know what?” he asked.

“About… about the baby.”

Jason felt the cup slip from his fingers.

She's phoned home again. She's spoken to Katie
.
Oh shit! How else could she know about the baby?

The cup bounced off the saucer, tumbling onto the table. Jason's eyes fell on the waitress, who was staring at him. He tried to smile. He looked away and put the cup back onto the saucer, ignoring the dark stain seeping into the white table cloth.

“What are you talking about, Lola?” he said. “What baby?”

“Our baby, J.” Lola was stirring the rest of the milk with her straw. “I'm gunna have our baby. I'm pregnant, J.”

They had been using an apartment that belonged to a friend of his who was working in America. Jason would meet up with her after work and they would go back to the apartment, spend two or three hours there, then he would shower and drop her home. It was the perfect set up. Her mother was a midwife and worked nights at the Royal Free Hospital and her father had gone
AWOL
when she was a baby, so she was never missed. They had started going to the apartment twice a week, but two nights soon became five. Jason knew then that he was losing control but he couldn't stop.

It must have been that last time
.

He'd forgotten all about that evening. They hadn't even made it to the bedroom. He lay on top of her, on the floor in the living room. He was just about to come.

“Shit!” he said.

“What is it?” Lola asked, opening her eyes.

“I don't have any condoms. I left them in my other bag at work.”

“Don't worry,” she said, giggling. “There's always the pill.”

He beamed down at her.

“In that I case I won't.”

Afterwards, he'd led Lola to the bedroom where they fell asleep. When he awoke, he hauled himself out of bed and dragged Lola to the bathroom and they had sex again in the shower.

It was close to 5:00am when Jason finally got home, the latest he'd ever been. He slipped into bed next to Katie, who he thought was sound asleep. The next morning Katie told him that she'd waited up for him. He told her that the company was involved in a big contract, so coming home early just wasn't an option. It seemed as though had Katie believed him because she didn't dig too deep. Jason tried to get out of the house as soon as possible saying he'd grab breakfast on the way to work, but Katie said she had something important to tell him.

She was going to have a baby.

He'd almost asked her how. He hardly slept with her. He had tried to have sex with her in the same way he had sex with Lola, but, afterwards, she just lay there next to him in silence. He knew that she hadn't enjoyed it. But none of that mattered now. Maybe the baby would bring them closer. Maybe he could start to feel the way he used to feel about her. He didn't have a choice; he had to return to reality. From that day he stopped ringing Lola.

He had wanted to tell Lola that it was over between them but he just couldn't face her. If he met up with her, if he gazed into her dark, fuck-me eyes, it would start all over again. The smell of her perfume on another woman had brought back the sensation of his mouth buried in her flesh. Three weeks had passed and Lola continued to text him at work. Yesterday she'd rung him at home.

Jason eyed her now, studying her dark eyes.

What the fuck is she playing at? She's set me up.
He felt like slapping her.

“You're a liar,” he said, raising his voice.

The pink straw Lola was chewing slipped from her lips.

“What?”

“You heard. Lola, you're a liar.”

She leant forwards and tried to grab hold of Jason's hand.

“I'm not, J.” She began to cry. “Please J, don't shout at me.”

Jason looked away and realised the waitress was looking at them. He lowered his voice.

“You said that you were on the pill.”

“No, I didn't, J.”

“You did, I remember you saying it.”

“What I said, J, was… was there's always the pill.”

“What the fuck does that mean, Lola? Stop fucking me around.”

“I'm not fuckin' you around J, honest I'm not. What I meant was, I could go to the clinic, y'know, an' get the mornin' after pill.”

“Jesus Christ, I can't believe this shit. I thought you said you were on the pill.”

Lola shook her head. Her hands trembled as she picked up a serviette to wipe her eyes.

“So what happened, Lola? Are you trying to say that the fucking pill didn't work?”

“No,” she said, looking down. “I told my friend, cuz I know her older sister done it.”

“Done what?”

“Gone to a clinic, you know, for the mornin' after pill… But then…”

“But what, Lola?”

“She asked me if it was for me. Of course I said, no. Then she said somethin' about how you had to be like, sixteen or the clinic would want your parent's consent.”

“But what the fuck has that got to do with you? You don't need your mum's consent.” Jason stared into Lola's eyes. “Do you?”

“I'm sorry J, honest I am,” she sobbed. “I'm gunna be sixteen in two weeks. I just couldn't do it, J. I couldn't tell my mum. I'm so sorry, J, I just thought I'd be alright, d'you know what I mean?”

He had met her in a night club. She was the only woman he saw as he descended the stairs. Lola was standing next to the bar, her head thrown back, laughing. She was wearing the shortest of shorts and a skimpy top. He had crossed the dance floor and offered to buy her a drink. She was wearing too much make up but the suppleness of her body couldn't be hidden. He had danced with her. He remembered feeling fantastic, every nerve-ending in his body buzzing. It was a long time since he'd felt so alive.

Jason watched Lola now as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. He observed how she drained the rest of the milk in the bottom of the glass with her pink straw, slurping as she reached the bottom. He felt he was seeing Lola for the first time.
Does eighteen year old skin and fifteen year old skin look that different? Does it feel that different?

He considered the womanly way in which she moved when they were together but acknowledged that even though her body moved like a woman's she lacked a certain…
sophistication
. He recalled the tantrums she sometimes had, which he thought a bit odd to begin with, but had decided were kind of cute, something particular to her. She thought of herself as a bit of a princess and he had indulged her. He had even turned it into a sexual game: if I give you what you want, then what will you give me in return? She would pout, move closer and run her hand along his trouser leg until she reached his zip. He felt his cheeks burn as he thought of the times she had gone down on him whilst he was still at the wheel of the car. He'd had sex with her one night in an alleyway. Katie would only have sex with him in the bedroom, on the bed. Once, when he had tried to pull her down onto the floor, she'd been horrified.

“Jason! Not on the floor! The carpet can burn, you know.”

It was not all Katie had withheld from him. But everything he had wanted to do with Lola, she had allowed. She'd done things to him no other woman had ever done.

Woman
,
but Lola's not a woman is she? My God. She's fifteen!

Jason felt as though the table had moved away from him.

I could lose everything, my job, my home, my baby. Everything!
He felt a surge in his stomach.
I could even go to prison.

He was going to vomit. He needed to think. Having sex with a minor and, as if that wasn't bad enough she was… he threw his hand up to his mouth. His chair fell backwards as he pushed his body upwards, using the table to steady his shaking legs.

In the bathroom Jason bent his head over the sink and threw cold water onto his face. The urge to vomit subsided. He stared at himself in the mirror.

“Think, Truman!” he muttered at his reflection. “Think!”

The door to the bathroom opened. Lola stood behind him crying.

“What is it, J? What's the matta?”

Jason turned round to face her.
She was a mess. She'll be sixteen in two weeks' time
.
Two weeks. Surely I could ride it out.

“Does anyone know about the baby?” he asked.

Lola shook her head.

“Well, you mustn't tell anyone, okay?”

“Why not?”

He took hold of her hands. “Do you love me?”

“Course I do, J, you know that.”