After the Rain

by Natália Gomes

  ‘Morning, Mrs Addington.’

  She glances at the house then turns back to me. ‘I just wanted to make sure everything is going okay with Jack. Does he seem … better?’

  Better?

  ‘Uh, he definitely seems more chatty?’

  She smiles. ‘I think these little trips will really help.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘And you’re doing well yourself?’

  I swallow hard. ‘Very well, thank you.’

  ‘Good. I made some phone calls and today should be no problem at all. Sounds like a lovely day.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘How did the other day go? Did you both manage to make your way round the train station okay?’

  ‘Um …’

  ‘Went great, Mum.’ We turn and see Jack in the doorframe. He’s wearing a pale blue collared shirt and navy chinos. He shimmies himself out the door and down the ramp. ‘Crowds make it a bit difficult to get around with this chair, which is why we’ll stick with the van. But Alice handled it all like a pro. Isn’t that right?’

  I nod, without looking at either of them. My cheeks warm and I hope I’m not going red. I seem to be lying a lot today.

  ‘Well, Martin says he’s happy to drive you into the city and help out when needed,’ his mom smiles.

  Martin coming with us actually makes me feel a little safer, assuming he’s not just the Addingtons’ pastry chef. Is he?

  ‘So where to today, Captain America?’ Jack asks me.

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ I say, as Martin starts easing Jack’s chair into the vehicle. Then he slides into the driver’s side. He drives faster than me, swerving confidently between lanes. Occasionally he glances back to check we’re okay. The van is silent, other than the churning of wheels on gravel, and the tapping of Jack’s chair against the metal panel that mostly holds him in place when we turn a corner. I consider asking Martin to switch on the radio, but wonder if that would distract him from the road or from his observations – he is looking out for security threats, right? I hope this isn’t just a jaunt into London with the family and car for him.

  We pull in to a darkened car park and he eases the large vehicle in a yellow marked space close to the elevator. When I look at Jack I notice he’s also seeing the large DISABLED sign beside our parking space, but when he catches my eye I look away and feign disinterest.

  When the elevator doors open, we’re in and soon ascending to the top floor. The lift rattles and dull overhead lighting casts shadows across the ground. Martin is stoic behind him, his jaw tense and his shoulders pulled back. A soft ping lets us know we’ve arrived at our floor. When the doors slide open, a young brunette in a gray pencil skirt and white shirt greets us.

  ‘Good morning. My name is Sara and I’ll be assisting you on your tour of the Shard today.’ She pulls out paperwork and we start signing our names, along with answers to survey questions such as, Why are you visiting us today? and What do you hope to gain from your visit? This is more taxing than a school exam. Martin fills out his then takes Jack’s, without asking him if that’s okay. This isn’t what I had in mind. This was supposed to be for us, a fun way to spend our morning, a way to get away from all this formality and fear. Now we’re standing here listening to Martin and Sara iron out security risks which includes going over the stair access and the privacy policy for the cameras.

  ‘Um, Martin?’

  He turns and looks at me, almost surprised, as if seeing me for the first time.

  ‘This isn’t exactly how I planned it,’ I say. ‘I know you’re helping us today but is it okay if Jack and I just walk around for a bit and enjoy the sights?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll just be a minute—’

  ‘Alone.’

  Sara nods and glances up at Martin. She gets it.

  ‘I’m not sure how Mrs Addington would feel about that,’ he says, his eyes scrunching.

  ‘You know her better than me, but I think she’d want her son to enjoy a bit of normality for a change. Please?’

  He nods and slides his phone out of his back pocket. ‘Call me if you need anything.’

  ‘Number’s already on speed dial,’ I say, tapping my phone into the air. I take Jack’s handles in my hands and gently guide him back into the lift. I punch the button for level 72 that’s next to a small shiny silver plaque inscribed SKYDECK. The lift shudders slightly then ascends at a speed that almost knocks me off my feet. ‘I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes.’ After a few seconds we bounce in place and the doors slide open. ‘Is there a slower lift for the return journey, by any chance?’

  ‘Thanks for that, by the way,’ Jack says.

  ‘Getting rid of Martin? He’s great and all, but we don’t need a babysitter.’

  He rolls his eyes and mutters, ‘Agreed.’ His wheels click over the threshold as we enter a wide, bare lobby with glass walls and tall doors that lead out to the Skydeck lounge.

  The automatic doors slide open and immediately the view takes my breath away. ‘Wow.’ I pull out my camera again and take two perfect shots – one of the view itself and one of Jack watching it.

  ‘Camera away. You can’t experience this behind a lens.’

  ‘This view must be nothing compared to what you’ve seen before.’

  ‘You know, I’ve been all over the world, but I’ve never been here. I’ve never seen London like this. Can you push me up closer?’

  I nudge Jack right up to the barrier until we can’t go any further and breathe in the freshest air I’ve ever tasted in London. ‘I couldn’t get us both up a mountain, so this is the closest I could find to a summit.’

  ‘It’s perfect,’ he smiles, gazing out, his eyes widening.

  Sky-high buildings surround us on all sides and angles, but none of them reach close to the Shard. We tower above the whole city, every single person within it. We’re standing on top of roofs, of businesses, of people. We’re standing on top of anything and everything that could hurt us. No one can reach us here. The wind tangles in my hair, whipping it all around my face and neck. I grab what I can and stuff it back inside the bun on the crown of my head and return to the view before me. I close my eyes, the breeze tickling my lids, and feel the sheer sensation of height – and freedom – on my skin.

  When I was younger, my parents took me hiking on the East Coast during a rare deployment break. I complained the entire way up – my legs were tired, my shoes were scraping my heels, I had a blister under my big toe, my back hurt. All I wanted was to return to our tiny rented apartment, read my books and order pizza. The outdoors didn’t suit me, never has. But when we reached the summit even I was out of words. Standing at the highest peak of what I’d just climbed, looking down at the blanket of oranges, reds and yellows around us, I got it. I began to understand why people did things like that. All of a sudden my feet didn’t hurt anymore. On that day, with my parents standing either side of me, I vowed to not let myself become buried in textbooks and after-school activities like Mandarin tutorials. I promised myself I’d stop and look up once in a while. We moved the next week to another part of the world. Strange, I haven’t thought about that day again, until now.

  When I finally open my eyes, I don’t know how many minutes have passed but I become aware I haven’t said anything to Jack in a while. I turn to him and see his eyes are closed too, so I drag a cushion from the lounge chair to his side and sit down. We stay here, not saying anything to each other, for the whole morning. Just staring at the city, undisturbed by its shadows, by its terrors. From here, in this very moment, London is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. And for the first time since the attacks, I’m not scared of it.

  Jack

  ‘So, Jack. What do you think?’

  I slowly turn over the plastic model in my hands. My fingers graze the knees where sockets hold the prosthetic legs in place. It looks so easy like this, on a plastic doll. No pain, no risk. ‘What if it isn’t successful? Can more damage be done to me?’

 
‘To your legs?’ Dr McKenzie asks.

  My mum told me she’s the best Consultant in Prosthetics Medicine. She drove in from the Oxford Centre for Enablement (OCE) just for this meeting. I wonder what she charges an hour. I nod and suddenly feel a phantom pain in my left shin, like when I was younger and I used to get shin splints at the beginning of my training.

  ‘Well, of course, as with anything, there’s always a small risk. In this case, post-amputation complications can include neuroma formation, stump pain and phantom limb pain and related skin conditions. But based on your evaluation for suitability, I don’t foresee that. I think there’s a very good chance you’ll be up on your feet with these in no time.’

  My mum makes a choking sound beside me, and when I turn I see she’s crying. I put my hand on her shoulder. My dad sits beside her, smiling and nodding at me. He’s thinking it too – with these, I can run again, I can hike, I can find my way back to the old me, the old Jack. I’ll take whatever risk comes with it, because these prostheses are worth it.

  We complete whatever paperwork is needed from us at the meeting, sign forms, accept risks, take leaflets for further reading. My dad and I sit in the waiting room, as my mum negotiates with the receptionist the first available date for trialling the prostheses. My dad thumbs a Men’s Health magazine. He stops at an article entitled, ‘Strength Training for Distance Runners’. Before, I’d sit beside him, reading over his shoulder, analysing the tips, the nutritional advice. We’d reminisce about past runs we’d done together, events we entered together, places we saw together. We’d maybe take out our phones and start scrolling through photos. Laughing, sharing stories. But today we sit at opposite sides of the waiting room. It’s a small space but today it feels like an amphitheatre. We may as well be in different countries.

  ‘… that soon? That’s fantastic,’ my mum says, looking back at me, a huge smile on her face.

  I feel it, the shift. This is it. Everything changes from here, and I’ve never been more ready.

  I wheel myself over to my dad, who looks up slowly. Then I manoeuvre in at the side, and like we used to do, I start reading over his shoulder. And like before, he dips the magazine to let me see better.

  Alice

  ‘You really have to go already?’

  I lean against the hallway cupboard door, watching my dad lace up his boots. The camouflage uniform stands out against the bright white walls of the house.

  He stands, towering over me. ‘Sorry, I’ve pushed back deployment as much as I can. But I have requested a much shorter stint this time so I won’t be away for long.’

  ‘Sure I can’t come with you both to the airport?’

  ‘No, I’m flying out of the military base today. Your mom will take me.’ He walks over to the foot of the stairs. ‘Although if she’s not down in the next five minutes I might miss my flight,’ he calls up, winking and smiling at me.

  ‘That wouldn’t be so bad,’ I mutter.

  He rests a hand on my shoulder and smiles softly. ‘I’ll be back soon.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But I always go with you to the airport.’

  ‘It’s fine, really. You stay here, get ready for your day with Jack. Your mom says you have to leave soon. Where is it today?’

  ‘I thought I’d give him the all-American day out – arcade games and burgers.’

  ‘That’s my girl.’

  ‘Yeah, I called ahead and there’s a ramp to get in and some of the arcades boxes can be lowered for wheelchair accessibility.’

  He nods approvingly. ‘You’re really doing a lot for him.’

  ‘What will communication be like this time?’

  ‘I’ll be stationed a little further out so we won’t be able to Skype as often as we have done but whenever I can check in I will.’

  ‘Yeah, okay.’ There’s so much to say to him right now, so much I want to tell him, to ask him. But whatever I say will only frighten him, make him stay, and he can’t keep jeopardizing his career for me. We need the money. We’re barely keeping afloat with the expense of staying in London. No, I need to deal with this myself. It’s the only way.

  Before I can spoil it by saying anything more, Mom rushes down the stairs, car keys in hand. ‘Sorry, sorry. I didn’t know what to wear.’ She slams her feet into sandals and hops around trying to clasp the strap with one hand.

  ‘You’re just going to the airport,’ I laugh. Then I realize what she means. She stands at the bottom of the stairs, looking at Dad. She’s dressed in a long floral dress with a pale yellow pashmina. The necklace he gave her last time he was home for their twentieth anniversary swings delicately from her slender neck. She’s wearing makeup for the first time in a while – pale pink lips to match her dyed hair, rosy cheeks, a swish of mascara on her top lashes. She always dresses like this for him when he leaves. I never really understood it until now. She does it in case she never sees him again, so that it’s his last image of her. She doesn’t see what I see, how he looks at her regardless of what clothes she has on or what chemicals she puts on her face. One day I hope someone looks at me that way.

  ‘I’ll get the car started and meet you out there,’ she says, squeezing my dad’s arm. She turns and waves her phone at me. ‘Alice, text me when you’ll be home later?’

  ‘Will do.’

  The door shuts behind her, a sad silence filling the hallway between us. What if this is the last time I’ll ever see my dad? I rush into his arms again, my cheek against his chest like when I first greeted him at the airport. He gives my back a pat, as if to signal ‘it’s time’ then bends down and heaves his bag over his shoulder. ‘You’ll let me know if you’re not okay, right, Alice?’

  I nod, biting my lip.

  Then he kisses me on the forehead, and leaves.

  Jack

  Sweat starts dripping onto the grass. I lean forward a bit more. Almost there. Pressure builds in my hips and a dull ache quickly turns to throbbing pain. Just a little more. My fingertips stretch outwards, straining from my hand so much that it quivers. I clench my jaw and keep reaching.

  I came out for a ‘wheel’ around the garden paths almost an hour ago but while trying to take a photo of a new family of geese on the pond for Instagram I’d dropped my phone on the bank. Now I can’t reach the thing. I could call Martin or my mum for help, but I don’t want to have to do that. I hate asking for help. I already feel helpless, but calling for help to pick up a phone seems pathetic. No, I’m almost there. I edge out the chair an inch more until my middle finger finally touches the corner of the phone.

  Suddenly, I feel unstable and I pitch forward. I hit the ground, my right arm plunging into the pond. Water splashes up on my face. It startles the geese and they scatter, splashing up the water more. Now I’m sinking into the bank, going deeper into the water. Heat builds inside me as panic rises to the surface. What if I can’t get out? What if I drown?

  I flap my arms and dig my hands into the soft earth around the pond, clawing my way up from the bank. Collapsing onto my back on the grass, I start screaming at the sky, throwing every swear word I have in my vocabulary. Words I’ve never said out loud. But I swear and scream then swear some more. Then I start thumping the ground with my fists, my left hand holding the phone.

  All this for a phone. I’m so pathetic. I’m so weak. I can’t do anything. I hate this. And I hate myself.

  I close my eyes and try counting back from ten like I did with Alice that day in the train station.

  10 … 9 … 8 … 8 … 8 …

  I crush my phone screen in my hand, wanting to hear the glass crack, wanting it to dig deep into my skin, make me bleed. My phone vibrates in my palm. I open my eyes and suddenly become aware of how still the air is, how quiet it really is here.

  When I look down, I see a message from Alice which consists of a Howdy followed by an array of emojis including two American flags, a burger, a milkshake, something that looks like a TV screen and a trophy. The tension starts to fade, my body relaxin
g into the ground, and I release a shaky laugh. Never thought I’d think this, but I’m actually happy to hear from her.

  Alice

  The sound of gunfire fills the street as the door swings open. I immediately freeze.

  A red neon ARCADE sign hangs above our heads and the smell of chicken wings and burgers tell me this is okay, this is safe.

  ‘You alright?’ he asks.

  It’s just a video game.

  It’s not real gunfire.

  It’s clever graphics and a sound box.

  Not real.

  ‘Yeah. I was just making sure this is the right place.’

  ‘What, there’s more than one cheesy American arcade with greasy food and cheap flat beer?’

  ‘In London, yes. You’d actually be surprised by how many.’ I thrust his wheels over the metal ramp into the arcade and let the automatic door close quietly behind me. ‘Welcome to the world of video games.’

  ‘Wow,’ he mumbles.

  ‘What’s first? Donkey Kong? Mario? Big Buck Hunter? Pac-Man?’

  ‘I don’t know. You choose. I’ve never played any of those.’

  ‘You’ve never played the classics? You’re so missing out!’ I wheel him over to Pac-Man because it’s the first wheelchair-accessible one I see and start rifling in my money bag.

  ‘No, never played the classics, or any video game actually.’

  I let the bag of 50ps drop from my hand onto the top of the monitor. ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve never played a video game,’ he says again, holding his hands up. ‘Is that so bad?’

  I pull a chair over and sit in front of him so we’re facing each other. ‘You’re a seventeen-year-old boy, how does that happen?’

  ‘Well, quite easily, actually. My mum absolutely hates them. Banned them from the house before they even entered.’ He picks up the bag and pretends to do a bicep curl with it. ‘Why do you have this many 50ps?’

  ‘I had to go to two banks to get that much change. You’re welcome, by the way.’ I snatch the bag off him and drop two coins into the coin slot. The familiar blue maze and yellow Pac-Man pops up on the screen, followed by the yellow dots and colored ghosts. ‘So really – you haven’t played one game, even for five minutes?’