The Aftermath, Gail Schimmel [sneezy the snowman read aloud .txt] 📗

examined her,’ he says. ‘And when they asked her what she thought had happened, she said that she’d been in a coma but now she was ready to wake up. Can you believe it? It’s just like you said – they know exactly what’s going on.’

‘Wow,’ I say, because I don’t know what else to say. ‘And you’ve seen her?’

‘Yes,’ said Eddie. ‘Oh, Helen, it’s amazing. She’s exactly like she was. It’s like nothing happened.’

‘Oh.’

‘And they say they just want to observe her for a week, but if she stays like this, she can go home.’ He laughs. ‘My Miri will be home in a week.’

I realise I have tears running down my cheeks, and I’m not really sure why. But I give myself the benefit of the doubt.

‘Edward,’ I say, ‘I am so happy for you that I’m crying.’

‘I can’t wait for you to meet her properly,’ he says. ‘You two are going to be the best of friends, I just know it.’

‘Well, I can’t wait.’ I think of all the things I want to ask Miriam – finally someone will be able to tell me what it has been like for Mike.

‘Did she say what it felt like?’ I ask.

‘She says it was like she was in a deep sleep, and sometimes she knew what was happening,’ he says. ‘But it’s like you said, she didn’t really know how much time had passed. She thought it was about three weeks.’

‘Three weeks?’ I echo.

Edward laughs. ‘Mad, huh? I’ve been alone for almost two years, and she thinks it’s three weeks.’

I wonder what twenty-six years has felt like to Mike. I wonder if he thinks it’s been three weeks. Maybe he’s not feeling trapped at all . . . He’s just thinking he’ll rest for a few more days, and has lost track of time. Maybe while I’ve lived a lifetime in hell, he’s been resting for three weeks. Maybe he just doesn’t want to wake up to a reality where Jack is dead. Maybe he’s the lucky one.

Edward is talking and I have no idea what he is saying, so I tune back in. ‘. . . maybe this afternoon?’ he is saying.

‘Sorry, I spaced out for a moment there. Maybe what this afternoon?’

‘You can come and meet Miri.’

‘Tomorrow’s Wednesday,’ I say. ‘That’s my visiting day. I’ll come meet her then.’

‘Oh,’ says Edward. ‘Okay.’ I can hear how disappointed he is. He wanted me to rush to the hospital right now.

‘Edward,’ I say, and I decide to be honest, because I know Edward is a kind man and he will get it. ‘I am so happy for you, but I am also desperately, agonisingly jealous. I just need time to digest this.’

Edward is silent for a moment. ‘Oh, Helen,’ he says. ‘I hadn’t thought. How selfish of me. Me of all people. Of course this is weird for you.’

I feel my eyes fill up again. ‘It really is,’ I say. ‘But I look forward to meeting Miri properly tomorrow. I really do.’

‘Okay,’ says Edward. I can tell that I have spoilt his joy a bit, but I can’t help it.

‘And I’ll bring some champagne,’ I say, trying to make it better. ‘This deserves a celebration.’

‘Thanks, Helen – you’re the best.’

We say our goodbyes. And then I cry for real.

WEDNESDAY

Julia

My mother was invited to the strange baby shower lunch on Monday, but she didn’t come. ‘I didn’t think it would be appropriate,’ she said. Instead, she organised to go for lunch with Steve and me yesterday.

I had questioned the whole arrangement.

‘Well,’ said Steve, ‘you really like lunch, and you’ll be bored on your first day, and I, well, I don’t mind.’

‘You also really like lunch, right?’ I said.

‘I really do,’ he answered.

My mum and I got to lunch before Steve. At first, she was all jumpy and prickly – snapping answers at me as if I had no right to ask her simple things like how she was. But then, after she’d had a sip of wine and I’d had a glass of water, she said, ‘Sorry I’m so jumpy’ – which was already a huge shock because normally she has no insight into how peculiar her behaviour can be. But then she said the next part: that the reason she was so jumpy was because Edward’s wife had woken up. And I couldn’t get my head around that.

‘From her coma?’ I said. ‘But she’s only been in it for a couple of years.’ Like there’s some sort of time that has to be served in a coma.

‘I know,’ said my mother. ‘I guess that’s how it was for her.’

‘But Dad’s been in a coma far longer,’ I said. ‘It’s not fair. It’s like she’s skipped the queue.’

‘I know what you mean, Julia,’ said my mother. ‘I feel like that too. But we’re not being rational. It doesn’t work like that.’

‘I know.’ I paused. ‘But it’s unfair, right?’

Mum sighed. ‘No, it’s not fair. But you and I know life’s not fair.’

I felt sad and angry, but I also felt kind of happy – my mother recognised that it was her and me against the world. She’s never made me feel like that before.

‘Maybe Dad will wake up soon too?’ I said.

‘I don’t think it works like that,’ she said. ‘Like it’s catchy, and they all wake up together. As much as I wish it did.’

‘Mum,’ I ventured, ‘he’s going to wake up one day, right?’

‘I don’t know any more,’ said my mum. ‘I don’t actually know.’

‘But he hears us, right?’

‘Of course,’ said my mother. ‘I mean, Miriam was on a ventilator. Mike breathes on his own. So he must be at least as conscious as she was.’

‘Right,’ I said.

‘Right,’ she said.

But neither of us are actually sure, I don’t think. And then Steve arrived and we had to act normal – well, what passes for normal in our family. But I think we were both only thinking about that one thing.

But when we both came