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

The room is slightly off-white – ‘Battered Stone’ I think was the name. Julia spent hours choosing it.

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘What colour are you painting it now?’ I’ve wanted a nice light green all along, and I feel quite hopeful that she is finally taking my advice.

‘Distressed Cream,’ answers Julia, without any apparent irony.

‘Be careful, darling,’ I say. ‘You’re very pregnant. Maybe you shouldn’t be painting.’

‘Honestly, Mum. I can’t possibly leave this like it is.’ And she hangs up before I can answer.

She really has been very strange today.

Claire

My morning run with the car park mothers proves unexpectedly wonderful. Not so much because of the run – I am hopelessly unfit and can barely keep up as we pound the suburban blocks. But my body feels good, and I remember how much I loved running when I was at school. By the end of the route, despite a sharp pain in my calf and me breathing like I’m in the final stages of emphysema, I’m secretly wondering if I should sign up for some glamorous marathon. When we all stop for coffee and chocolate croissants, it turns out that everyone’s on the same page, because they tell me they’re planning on running the New York Marathon next year. And they say they would love me to join, even though they’ve just met me. And nobody suggests I come up with a theme, or plan an event, or even research something – they just want me to come along, and I feel a little bit of what I felt when I first met Julia.

Almost as though summoned, my phone starts pinging. I look down, and there are a series of messages from her.

How do I work the camper cot you gave me? Xx

Never mind, figured it out. Xx

Do I need a bottle steriliser if I’m breastfeeding? Xx

What if I can’t breastfeed?

Then the phone rings, but when I answer, it’s just fuzz in the background. I get another message from Julia: Sorry. Bum dial. And ignore last message. Inappropriate. My therapist can deal with that.

The texts keep coming:

Which colour is better? accompanied by a photograph of two almost identical shades of off-white.

Do you need me to fetch Mackenzie today? Xx

Ignore last offer. Cannot possibly. Have to rewash all baby’s clothes.

‘Everything okay?’ asks Evelyn, one of the runners.

‘Fine.’ I smile. ‘My ex-best friend is having a baby with my ex-husband, and she seems to be in a bit of a state.’ The other mothers all gawp at me.

‘Gosh,’ Evelyn eventually says. ‘That sounds very modern.’

‘And you seem very calm about it,’ says Mpho. ‘No offence’ – she looks around the table – ‘but usually you whites freak out about this kind of thing.’

I try to shrug and look enigmatic and Zen, as if the whole thing has been easy from the word go.

‘Oh,’ I say, ‘these things happen.’ I pause. ‘Okay, not to everyone. And not often. And it was pretty unbearable. But here I am.’

‘Well,’ says Evelyn, and for a moment I think she’s going to throw me out of the group, so serious is the look on her face, ‘the immensely good thing about it is that they can look after your daughter when you come with us to New York.’

I decide now is not the time to mention that Daniel and Julia are no longer together – that’s just going to make us sound more debauched.

‘They certainly can.’ I hope this doesn’t count as a lie – I mean, I’m sure one of them will. Just not together.

When the others are distracted, I quickly tap out a reply to Julia:

You’ll be great at breastfeeding. Stop worrying.

Thank you, she replies almost immediately. And I feel good.

Helen

It feels like the morning takes forever. I am so jittery over meeting Miriam that I can’t sit still, and I find myself rearranging the filing system – which makes me think of Julia and the spices. But finally it is lunch-time, and I hand over to the two afternoon receptionists. At the last minute I try to delay things. I find myself explaining the filing and trying to finish up some random chores.

‘Leave us something to do, Helen,’ says Liwa, the older afternoon receptionist. ‘Go. Enjoy your afternoon.’

I don’t think I can enjoy the afternoon, but I can’t put it off any more.

As I drive to the home, I start thinking about Mike. I have been trying hard not to see Miriam waking up as a sign that Mike might too – but now I can’t help it. What would it actually be like if Mike woke up? What if he started asking about Jack, and doesn’t understand why nobody even knows who Jack is? How would I explain that to him, when I barely understand how it happened myself?

And worrying about this gives me a new, terrible insight: do I not really want Mike to wake up any more? Am I worried about the complications it would cause? Does Mike somehow know that? When he was conscious, he always knew exactly how I was feeling – why should that have changed?

Is Mike staying in a coma because he knows that is easier for me?

And how would he feel about how old we are, if he woke up thinking it had just been three weeks?

What would he think about my wrinkles?

And our pregnant daughter, stuck in our house like a large balloon, who he last saw as a toddler? Would he love her? Would he understand?

Would he be excited about the baby?

Would he even know who Julia was if I didn’t tell him?

By the time I arrive, I am beside myself. My hands are shaking and tears are running down my cheeks. I can’t let Eddie and Miriam see me like this – so I stay in the car, breathing deeply, trying to find my calm. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath in, and then slowly release it. The yoga lessons I