The Mothers' Group (37 page)

‘Sorry for the mess,' he said.

Cara shrugged. The state of his room was inconsequential.

And then suddenly he was in front of her, their faces almost touching.

‘You
are
beautiful, Cara.'

She stared at him, speechless. It had been nine months since that moment on the station platform.

He lifted her hand to his cheek.

They kissed first with curiosity, then with increasing intensity. He pulled her onto the unmade bed and lowered himself next to her. They writhed fully clothed until, finally, Cara sat up and unbuttoned her shirt.

Sometime later they were startled by a knock at the door. Cara pulled a sheet over her chest and Ravi leaped from the bed.

‘Who is it?'

‘It's Paul, mate. Sorry.'

Cara frowned. Paul must have been downstairs for a while. Cara hadn't heard anything except Ravi's breathing.

‘Your mum's on the phone from India,' he called through the door. ‘She's rung twice and I put her off. I knew you were . . . busy. But she sounds a bit pissed off. She's still on the line.'

Ravi sighed. ‘I'll be down in a moment.'

Cara listened to Paul's retreating footsteps. Did Ravi
really
have to take the call from his mother?

‘My mother rarely rings,' he explained, sensing her disquiet.

‘Okay.' She leaned across the bed and began groping about for her underwear, holding the sheet to her chest.

‘A passion killer,' he said, with a wry smile.

‘A little, but that's okay.' She pulled on her blouse. ‘I'll go. Thank you for a lovely night.' She stood up from the bed, feeling rather foolish.

‘Cara.'

Ravi stood shirtless in front of her. He put a smooth hand under her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. ‘It's been the night of my life.'

She smiled, relieved. ‘I'll show myself out.'

She floated all the way to the railway station, her heart full of Ravi.

The next day, an ordinary Saturday in November, Cara's world looked completely different. Colours seemed brighter, the weekend papers more entertaining, a phone call from her brother—as usual, asking for money— more tolerable. Everything, from the junk mail in her letterbox to the unopened television guide, seemed full of promise. Ravi didn't telephone, but he would call on Sunday afternoon, she was sure.

By Sunday night, there'd still been no call from Ravi. She settled in front of the television with a bowl of macaroni cheese. He was probably just giving her a respectable amount of space, she reasoned. She drank half a bottle of red wine, watched a war documentary, then went to bed.

He didn't ring on Monday, or Tuesday. She couldn't make any sense of it. Didn't he feel the same way she did? Had she put him off somehow, without even knowing it? He didn't attend their usual Wednesday night trivia session at Manning Bar and no one in the group knew where he was. By Friday afternoon, her confusion had been replaced by anger.
What sort
of bastard is he, not calling for a week?

On Saturday morning, she picked up the telephone. Paul answered within three rings.

‘Hi Paul, it's Cara. Is Ravi there?'

‘No,' said Paul, monosyllabic as ever.

‘Do you know when he'll be back?'

‘No.'

‘Well, tell him I rang, will you?' She put down the telephone.

Another week passed without Ravi returning her call. Cara's anger began to dissipate, replaced by gnawing regret. How had she misjudged the situation between them so badly? And if he didn't want a relationship, why couldn't he tell her to her face?

The following weekend, Cara tried telephoning again. She dialled Ravi's number, a cold pit in her stomach.

‘Paul,' she said quietly, when Ravi's flatmate picked up the phone, ‘it's Cara. I'm having trouble getting in touch with Ravi. Is he there?'

‘No.'

‘Paul,' she urged, ‘please, can you help me?'

Paul was silent for a moment. ‘He's disappeared. And he's left me to cover the rent.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘He just packed up his things and bloody nicked off, that's what I mean.'

‘When?'

‘The morning after his graduation. I got up and saw the taxi drive off.'

Cara was stunned. ‘Why?'

‘No idea—you tell me. You were the last person to see him.'

Cara attempted to digest Paul's words. Her mind reeled. Gone? Without saying where or why? It made no sense.

‘I can't imagine what's happened,' she said. Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘I hope he's okay.'

Paul was silent.

‘Um, well, if you hear from him, tell him that I'm trying to contact him, please?'

Paul grunted an acknowledgement.

Cara replaced the handset and stared into space. Was Ravi in some kind of trouble?

Three weeks later, the telephone rang. It was Paul.

‘Have you heard from Ravi?' she asked, breathless.

‘No,' said Paul. ‘Nothing.'

‘Oh.'

She bit her lip, fighting back tears.

‘Do you want to see a movie?'

Cara paused. ‘What for?'

‘Because uni's finished,' he replied. ‘
Witching Hour
is supposed to be good.'

And then it dawned on her. Paul had called to ask her out on a
date
.

‘No, thanks.' Her tone was curt. ‘It's just that Ravi and me, we're . . . well, we were . . . Anyway, no, thanks.' She didn't need to explain herself. ‘Goodbye, Paul.' She put down the phone.

Weeks became months and, slowly, the first insult of loss began to loosen its grip. Cara called over to Ravi's house and, with Paul loitering behind her, looked over Ravi's room. There was nothing to suggest anything except an orderly departure. Most of his personal effects had been taken, with a few large items left behind, like the wardrobe and the bed. He'd even stripped the sheets. There had been no calls from India, Paul said, nothing to suggest that Ravi had been missed by his family. Cara nodded mechanically as Paul informed her that a new tenant would be moving into the room the following week.

‘Do you want Ravi's bed?' he asked. ‘Since you two were . . .'

She shook her head.

‘Good. I'll sell it on eBay.'

She'd sent a dozen emails to Ravi, all of which went unanswered. In a last-ditch attempt to find him, Cara visited the university student centre and explained her situation to a grey-haired bureaucrat who peered over his spectacles with a disapproving air.

‘I can't give out that sort of personal information about students unless you're next of kin,' he said. ‘Privacy laws.'

Cara's lips began to tremble.

The bureaucrat looked uncomfortable. He pushed his spectacles over the bridge of his nose, then began tapping at his keyboard. After several minutes of silence, he squinted at his screen. Then he turned to Cara.

‘All I can say,' he said, kinder now, ‘is that if you're his friend, he'll find a way of contacting you.'

Cara felt like she'd been slapped.

She stumbled out of the student centre and down the sandstone steps, mute with disbelief. The university knew where Ravi was. She could only conclude that he was deliberately avoiding her.

She walked out of the university and did not return. She had satisfied all the requirements for her diploma. There was no need to linger in student life any longer.

As summer turned to autumn, she threw herself into the task of finding a job. Within three months, she'd landed an internship at a women's magazine. It was a coup for a recent graduate, and although the magazine's fashion focus was not Cara's natural fit, the intensity of her working life prevented her from thinking too much.

Eight months after Ravi's disappearance, Cara began seeing a photographer, Jason. She'd met him on a shoot and, unlike many others in the fashion business, he was genuinely interested in the world beyond magazines. He was a dreamy, caring character, who showered her with quirky gifts. They laughed together and she was happy, if not in love. After four months of spending every weekend at his house, Jason asked her to move in with him. She'd never lived with a boyfriend before and, at twenty-five, she was ready to try. Within a fortnight, she'd packed up her things and moved into Jason's large, converted warehouse in Erskineville.

Five months later, more than a year after Ravi's disappearance, an email appeared in her inbox:
Cara, I am back in Australia. I only just received your
emails. Can we meet? Ravi.

She typed a long, vitriolic response. She called him names, asked why she should meet him, and then concluded the email with:
PS I am with
someone else now.

She never sent it.

Instead, she composed a short reply:
Ravi, I am surprised to hear
from you. Meet me at Café Pronto, corner of Alfred Street, 11 am Monday.
Cara.

*

All of her intended aloofness dissolved the moment she saw him.

‘Where in God's name have you been, Ravi?'

His eyes were wretched.

‘I had to go to India,' he said. ‘My mother rang me the night we . . . after my graduation. I caught the first flight out. I left a note for you with Paul. My sister died in a kitchen fire.' His voice was flat.

‘What?'

‘Lina, my little sister. Dead.' Ravi shrugged.

Cara's stomach churned.

‘But why?'

‘You
know
why,' said Ravi, his tone terse. ‘Because bride-burning happens all the time in India. Because men don't respect women. Because mothers-in-law can be evil. Because the rule of law doesn't always apply.' He raked his fingers through his hair. ‘I'm sorry.' He swallowed. ‘Lina married an older man, Anant, from my village—remember? A good match, everyone thought.'

Cara nodded. She recalled Ravi agonising about the fact that he couldn't afford to fly home for the nuptials. She had offered to lend him the money, but he'd refused.

‘A month after the ceremony, Anant asked my parents to pay more dowry money, but my parents couldn't afford it. They'd already given him everything they could. So on the morning of my graduation, Anant's mother doused Lina in kerosene and set her alight.'

Cara gasped.

‘She didn't die straight away. It took three months. She had internal injuries. I tried to do what I could. I got a burn specialist in from Delhi, but . . .' He shook his head, unable to speak.

Cara reached across the table.

‘Oh, Ravi, I'm so sorry. I had no idea.'

He pulled his hand away. ‘The note I left with Paul had my contact details in Rajasthan.' He looked at her accusingly. ‘I was waiting for a phone call from you, a letter maybe. There is no internet in Gudda, but at least there are telephones. You didn't call. I thought you had forgotten me.' He looked wounded.

‘But I spoke to Paul several times, Ravi,' she objected. ‘I even went to your house. Paul didn't say anything about a note.'

‘I left it on the kitchen bench,' he insisted. ‘He couldn't have missed it.'

Cara searched his face; she could see he was telling the truth. Suddenly she remembered how Paul had called several weeks after Ravi's disappearance to ask her out. Surely he hadn't kept Ravi's note from her
deliberately
?

‘This is awful, Ravi.' She didn't know what else to say.

His hands trembled as he brought the coffee cup to his lips.

‘My father died a month after Lina,' he continued. ‘A heart attack. Only my mother is left now.'

‘Oh, Ravi.' Now she understood why he'd been away so long. ‘Has a case been brought against the mother-in-law?'

‘No, nothing can be proved. Most cases of bride-burning in India are not prosecuted. But that is my country. Such beauty, such barbarity.'

Cara didn't know what to say. ‘How is your mother coping?' she asked after a minute or two.

‘She moved to another village, where my aunt lives. She is a widow too. My mother cannot live in Gudda anymore.'

Cara nodded. ‘But why didn't you . . .' She stopped short. She wanted to ask if Ravi had left Gudda in the year he'd been away, if he'd ever travelled to a larger centre to check his emails. And why he hadn't taken any action at all to contact
her
.

She looked at his face, thinner and older.

Ravi broke the silence. ‘This is all new to you, I can see that. I thought you had changed your mind about me. It was a stupid assumption. You really didn't get my note?'

She shook her head, her eyes smarting.

‘I should have found out why you hadn't contacted me. But I was alone in the village, helping my mother. I am sorry.'

They sat in silence, looking at each other.

‘What will you do now?' she asked. ‘Will you go home again?'

He shook his head. ‘No. My mother wants me to succeed, now more than ever. I'll complete my advanced training here. Perhaps I can bring her to Australia one day.'

Cara reached over the table and clasped his hand.

‘I admire you, Ravi. And I'm so sorry.' She blinked away tears. ‘If I can help you in any way, please tell me how.'

One Sunday morning about a month later, Cara was doing the weekend crossword when the telephone rang.

‘It's for you,' Jason called from the kitchen, waving the cordless phone at her with a quizzical look.

She took the handset. ‘Hello?'

‘It's Ravi.'

Cara's breath caught in her throat. ‘Hello,' she said, businesslike. She shrugged at Jason, then walked into the bedroom and shut the door.

‘Cara, I am going to Western Australia. I've been offered a general surgery role in the Pilbara, at an Aboriginal health centre. It's a real chance to help the indigenous community.'

How typical of Ravi to want to help the disadvantaged, Cara thought.