Wedding

Jeremy Turk

776 words

Veronica fantasised about weddings. She had never contemplated having one, believing she wasn’t cut out for that sort of thing. She was determined to be a free, independent spirit, unshackled by anachronistic rituals and prospects of lifelong devotion to one individual. Many friends had had marriages which had collapsed disastrously, and her thoughts about these were sufficient to deter her from making the same mistake.

She pondered these issues lying on her bed in the Tel Aviv hotel, trying to banish from her mind the surreal happenings of the past few months. She had marvelled and been appalled in equal measures over Jethro’s determination to maintain contact, identifying her movements and travel arrangements even down to details of likely activities moment by moment, day by day. Nonetheless, she irrationally and unhelpfully had a soft spot for her ex-patient. In the hospital grounds they had often sat together shooting the breeze, under the pretext she was allowing him the mental space and time to externalise and share his troubling, pernicious emotions. Veronica couldn’t help but develop feelings for Jethro and had struggled to maintain her insistence to herself that this was and should always be a doctor-patient relationship, nothing more. On more than one occasion Jethro, sitting next to her on the garden bench, had laid his hand on the back of hers and squeezed it gently. Veronica had been profoundly troubled by this, and every time had moved her hand away rapidly, chiding Jethro, reminding him of boundaries that couldn’t, and shouldn’t, be crossed. She hated herself for becoming emotionally aroused by these events, would experience racing thumping heart, hand tremor, gasping for breath and facial flushing. She had done the right thing, had explained to Jethro that their relationship had already gone way beyond acceptability. She had notified her supervisors. They had expressed deep concern and reached a consensus with Veronica that she move away physically and emotionally from Jethro and try to engineer transfer of care to another specialist. It seemed to work. Jethro backed off with sadness though remained respectful of Veronica whenever they passed each other on the unit. Soon after, Jethro was released from detention followed by discharge on a suitable medication regime with a view to a course of community-based psychotherapy, albeit with a waiting list for it extending beyond a year.

Veronica knew she had done wrong letting Jethro’s and her relationship extend beyond acceptability and tried to suppress her emotions, hating herself for having slipped into this predicament. She would wake in the middle of the night, appalled by dreams of Jethro and her hugging and kissing.

Veronica’s girlfriend was equally appalled if not more so. Their physical affection for each other had cooled of late and while they continued to occupy the double bed, more often than not they slept back-to-back with maximum distance between them. Kibble was probably the more romantic of the two and had even broached with Veronica the possibility of marriage. This had freaked out Veronica. She was confused enough about her gender identity and preferences and while having probably genuinely loved Kibble (the sentiment having probably been reciprocated) her negative response to the proposal had resulted in quiet and sulky disharmony.

Which is why against her better instincts and expectation of kindling the wrath of her friends and colleagues, Veronica had decided to visit the Holy Land, if only to assuage her long held wish to reconcile her atheistic humanistic views with her semitic roots. Kibble was dismissive, proclaiming that while pride in one’s heritage was important, might even merit being mandatory, Veronica’s adventure was self-indulgent and ill-judged.

The Bohemian looking restaurant in Jaffa was informal, almost cafeteria-like, relaxed and populated by young twenty- and thirty-year-old customers and staff. Her freshly squeezed fruit juice arrived and soon after her schnitzel with sautéed potatoes and a side salad.

“Hello Veronica,” said Jethro. Veronica had one of those “it can’t be happening; it really can’t be happening” moments. “I just happened to be passing”. Veronica’s jaw went slack. “May I?” continued Jethro, installing himself at the table on the chair opposite Veronica without waiting for her response. “Great set up here. I understand the home-made vanilla ice cream with date syrup is to die for.” Veronica was speechless.

“What the hell are you doing here? This amounts to stalking and harassment.”

Joshua smiled at her, poured himself a glass of water, took out his medication tablets and swallowed them, seeming to enjoy the silence that ensued.

In London, Kibble had trashed their flat, spray-painted invectives on the walls, departed leaving the front door ajar, and joined up with her dysfunctional friends in their squat.