Closure by Jacob Ross Page B

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.
    â€œLook 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.
    â€œThe 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.”
    â€œWhat you tryna say?” she asked. “How are my lips so big?”
    He felt his face redden. Well they aren’t anything like Katie’s.
    â€œIt’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