After the Rain

by Natália Gomes

  A scream erupts from my throat and I throw the rock as hard as I can at the window. The glass cracks and pieces flake off and fall by my wheels. A cold wind trickles slowly into the room and tickles the papers on my desk. I can hear my mum screaming my name as she rushes down the hall. The rock lies on the floor beside a couple of jagged slivers of glass. I feel my mum tugging at the handles of my chair, pulling me away. I gaze down at the rock. I can’t even break a window properly.

  Winter Darkness

  Part 4

  The bleakness of winter casts a shadow,

  Never quite escaping its depths we succumb to the dark,

  Endless nights and lost time,

  A vast sheet of white unfolds across the valleys,

  A landscape of snow and ice,

  Blanketing what spring birthed,

  What once was awakened now sleeps,

  All that remains is the gravestones of the dead,

  And the fading footsteps of the forgotten.

  Alice Winters

  Alice

  ‘… and I still wonder if I hadn’t been driving the car, if it hadn’t been raining, if I’d just been driving slightly slower, that he’d still be here today.’ Sara drops down onto her chair, and wipes tears from her face. Ian leans in and hands her the box of tissues that regularly circulates throughout the meetings. We’re almost out again. We nod and thank Sara for sharing. I gaze around the room, around the circle which gets bigger every month. Now there’s nine of us here, including Ian. All for different reasons but ultimately all for the same purpose.

  Jack should be here. I asked him again to come tonight. I do every week. Again, he didn’t respond. He hardly ever responds now. I tried going over there again yesterday but his mom said he was sleeping, but I don’t think that was true. Jack probably asked her to say that. He’s not seeing anyone just now. He just sits in his room, staring out the window. Everything I’ve tried hasn’t worked. I’m failing at helping him.

  ‘Does anyone else want to share tonight?’ Ian suddenly looks up, at something behind me. ‘Oh, hello, come on in. You’re welcome here anytime.’

  I turn around in my chair to see who’s a half-hour late to the session. It’s Jack. He hovers in the doorway. Ian and I wave at the same time, although Ian looks like he’s marshaling a plane down on the runway.

  ‘Come on. Join us,’ he says.

  Jack locks eyes with me and nods in acknowledgment. I push back and gesture to him to come beside me. He wheels himself towards the circle, his gaze down on the ground. When he pulls up to me, I feel a huge smile stretching on my face. I’m so glad he came. If this group can’t help him, I don’t know what can.

  ‘Welcome,’ says Ian. He addresses us, ‘Let’s go round and introduce ourselves and then our new member can tell us his name. I’m Ian.’

  ‘Wyatt.’

  ‘Clare.’

  ‘Alistair.’

  ‘Dan.’

  ‘Louise.’

  ‘Jane.’

  ‘Sara.’

  I clear my throat, ‘Um, Alice,’ and wave stupidly like he doesn’t know me.

  ‘I’m Jack.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Jack,’ the group mumbles.

  ‘Jack, no pressure to talk. Unless you want to share tonight?’ asks Ian.

  He shakes his head, no.

  ‘Okay. Well, just know when you do want to share, we’re here to listen.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he mutters.

  Wyatt raises his hand. ‘I’ll share again?’

  We all nod wearily. Wyatt shares about twice a week – and they’re long shares. All I want right now is to pause the group so I can speak to Jack, find out what’s going on and why he hasn’t been responding to my messages and calls. Now I have to wait another hour, and another Wyatt share.

  Wyatt leans forward in his chair, clapping his hands. ‘I had a dream last night …’

  And here we go.

  Twenty-five minutes later, I find myself stifling a yawn.

  Jack is just staring at the floor in front of him, eyes wide. I was hoping he wouldn’t have to be subjected to a ‘Wyatt Dream Analysis’ on his first time here.

  ‘Thank you for that, Wyatt.’ Ian takes a large gulp from his travel coffee thermos. ‘So, does anyone have anything else to share?’

  Wyatt raises his hand again.

  ‘Alice, you said at the start that you’d like to share. How about it? Only if you want to, of course.’

  ‘Oh, right. Okay.’ I did say that, I think. Great. I edge forward in my seat, still clutching a notepad and pen. This is harder with Jack here somehow. I would prefer to make this evening about him, about how we can help him, not be sharing my thoughts. But maybe if Jack sees me open up, he’ll do the same. So, here I go. ‘When I first started coming here, I was really in a dark place. I didn’t feel like I could talk to anyone about it because my injuries weren’t physical so I didn’t think I had the right to complain or talk about myself, or what I was feeling.’

  I choke a little, the words are tough to get out.

  ‘It’s okay. Take your time,’ Ian says.

  ‘I used to have bad nightmares. Still do sometimes but they’re not as regular as they once were. These nightmares, I’d see them during the day. I’d look at an object and visualize it exploding, blowing up, crushing under the weight of a thick dense cloud of debris and ash. It could be the TV, a chair, but if I was outside it’d be worse because the things I visualized – a car, a building, a person – those are things I did really see explode that morning of the bombing. So I stopped going outside. I stayed in my room where it’s safe, sometimes in bed, other times on the floor or huddled in the corner between my desk and wardrobe. Then I met someone who was going through the same thing as me, who knew exactly how I felt. And he helped me—’ I look at Jack but his gaze is fixed down towards the ground ‘—and I started coming here, and learning strategies to cope when panic attacks surface, which they still do and maybe always will. But what’s important now is that I feel better. I feel more in control than I ever have before. I feel happier, stronger. I feel—’

  Is Jack leaving?

  He wheels towards the door, not glancing back. Did I say something to upset him?

  ‘Um, excuse me,’ I mutter to the group, grabbing my bag off the floor and swinging my coat over my arm. I hurry after him as he makes his way towards the access elevator. ‘Jack!’

  He slows down, his back still to me.

  ‘Are you leaving? Or do you just really need the bathroom?’

  He sighs and turns to face me. His face is red, his eyes puffy and watering.

  ‘I’m so sorry. Did I say something that upset you?’ I stammer.

  He shakes his head and takes a deep breath, trying to find the words. ‘I … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to walk out while you were talking. I just couldn’t sit there any longer.’

  ‘Was it something I said?’

  ‘No. I’m glad you’re doing better. I’m glad you’re feeling happier and stronger.’ He sighs and looks away. ‘I’m sorry, Alice. I shouldn’t have come tonight. I’ve ruined it for you.’

  ‘No, you haven’t at all. I’m glad you came. Please come back in. Just give it to the end of the session and then see how you feel.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I just want to go home.’ His hands are trembling. His shoulders shake softly. I take a step towards him but he just pulls back. Then he turns and leaves, and all I do is watch.

  Jack

  My fingers hover above the laptop. I know I shouldn’t but I just want to look for a moment. I want to be reminded of a year that feels like a lifetime ago. So I open it up, type in my password (the last Munro I climbed + 01) and wait for the screen to light up. I’m immediately hit with my whole life in digital format. Folders of schoolwork, scanned-in awards, PDFs of trail maps from old hikes with my dad, and photos. Hundreds and hundreds of photos, mostly of travel, some with Lauren and others with our old chocolate Labrador Harley.

  I click
on last year’s ‘Race Events’ and start scrolling through. From the junior triathlon in February to New York in November and ending at the Victoria Park Christmas Half Marathon in December, I count twenty-two events in total. That’s almost two a month. I drag that folder aside and start scrolling through last year’s ski trip. Here’s me skiing backwards with Alex, just for fun. Here’s one I took of myself standing at the top of a black run. I sent that one to Lauren, told her I missed her and wished she was there with us. I don’t know if I meant it at the time. I liked her, a lot, but all I cared about was myself back then. All I wanted to do was travel, race, ski, climb. I didn’t care with who. Sometimes I preferred doing that stuff alone, no one to worry about or to hold me back. I was always the fastest, the strongest, the most experienced in every group. Now I’d hold everyone else back. Now I’m the weakest.

  I didn’t know how good I had it back then. I took everything for granted. I was selfish and self-absorbed. And now it’s all gone. I don’t even remember stopping to enjoy it for what it was. Savouring the moment at the top of a mountain I’d just climbed, closing my eyes and feeling the cold breeze slap my cheeks as I flew down a ski run, revelling in the applause when crossing a finish line. All the while I did those things I was thinking of my next race, my next destination of travel, my next big achievement in life. I collected memories and accomplishments, but did I ever truly experience them?

  Now I’ll never get the chance again.

  I’ve lost it.

  I’ve lost everything. Of course I want to see Alice, but I just don’t know how to articulate how I’m feeling. I don’t want to see her better. I know that sounds selfish and I hate that I’m thinking it, but I am. I’m envious that she’s moved past this and I can’t. I feel like I’m stuck, and it’s rotting away inside me. And I don’t want her to see me like this either, like how I was on Monday night. Broken. I’m scared if she keeps pushing me to open up, to share, that I’ll end up saying what I really feel. That deep, deep down, I do blame her for that day in Leicester Square. And that I’m scared I’ll always blame her. I don’t want to hate her and I don’t want to resent her for getting better. Everything in my head is just so confusing and hurts me so much. I just feel on the edge all the time. And I’m scared I’ll fall.

  Alice

  My palms are clammy. I’m dragging them down my winter coat every few minutes but I can’t stop them sweating. Did Martin turn up the heat in the van?

  Jack didn’t text me but he responded to mine at least. He agreed to meet me, to go on a car ride somewhere but he doesn’t know where we’re going. I didn’t tell him because I was scared he wouldn’t come. I feel guilty tricking him into this, but honestly I don’t know what else to do. I can’t reach him. He’s so far gone from me, from his parents, from his friends, from who he was before. He’s a shell of the Jack I met. He’s just been slowly slipping away since the prostheses were removed. But I hope I can bring him back by bringing him here – the Jack from the summer, the one who smiled, who laughed, who joked.

  I gaze out the window, at the passing traffic, the increasing numbers of commuters and tourists, and know we’re almost there. I glance back at him. He’s not noticed where we are yet. He’s just looking at his phone, staring at old photos of himself on Facebook and Instagram. He’s obsessed with who he was before, and who he thinks he’ll never be again. He’s still that Jack. I just need to show him that. He needs closure, like I needed. The van pulls to a stop in a yellow-marked disabled parking space opposite Leicester Square. Martin flicks the hazard lights on and glances nervously at me. I turn around and face Jack who’s finally looked up. His face whitens as he takes in his surroundings. ‘Why are we here?’

  I slide out the passenger seat and shut the door behind me, then I slide open his. The winter air hits him as he sits there, mouth agape. I have my back to Leicester Square, to what remains damaged months later. ‘I know it’ll be difficult. But when I finally came back here, it helped me,’ I say.

  ‘Alice, no—’

  ‘Just come out for a few minutes and see. Please. We’re already here.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’

  ‘Please, for me. Please.’ He takes a shaky breath and bends down to unclip his wheels. I catch him at the edge, lower the ramp and help him down slowly. When his wheels touch the pavement, he stops. He’s trembling.

  ‘Just come into the square,’ I plead.

  He follows me as I lead us both past the Shakespeare fountain, onto the street where we collided. He gets slower the closer we get. I think I have the spot now. We gaze down at the empty pavement, but I see scattered books, an umbrella and a spilled coffee cup. I see Jack running. I see him at the other side of the street looking back at me. I see a cloud of smoke and a surge of fire. I don’t see him anymore.

  When I look down at him in the chair, wondering what he sees, he’s crying.

  I reach my hand out and touch his shoulder but he shirks me away. He rubs his eyes roughly with the back of his hand and glares at me. ‘Why would you bring me here?’

  ‘I thought it would help,’ I stammer, the corners of my eyes watering.

  ‘Does it look like it’s helping?’ He’s so angry. I’ve never seen him this angry before.

  ‘It helped me.’

  ‘I’m not you!’ His voice bellows around us, and a few passers-by stop to stare. ‘Look at me! I’m in a wheelchair! All this is doing is reminding me of that, of everything I lost that day!’

  ‘When I came here, it brought everything back too – the rain, the walk here from the library, us bumping into each other, the explosions … but then I felt better afterwards. It was like closure.’ I open my arms wide like I’m embracing the street, the square, everything around us, everything that happened to us. Being back here just strengthens my resolve to keep moving forward, to put the past in the past and not let it control me. Why doesn’t he feel the same? I don’t understand why this didn’t work for him.

  ‘I want to go home,’ he whispers, jaw clenched.

  ‘Maybe if we walk around for a bit, you’ll start to feel something,’ I suggest.

  ‘I feel something, trust me. Now I just want to go home.’

  ‘Jack, just stay a little longer—’

  ‘I want to go home!’

  His voice carries through the air, through the crowds. People stop to watch, to listen to us. Jack looks around, his cheeks reddening. Then he thrusts himself towards me. I step back and let him go, watching him go back to the van, back to where’s safe.

  It didn’t work.

  I made everything worse.

  Jack

  I didn’t sleep at all last night. After I came back from Leicester Square, I shut myself away for the rest of the day and the night. Being back there with her, back to that same street, it was just too much. I don’t know how she managed it but I couldn’t bear it, to be back there. I get what she’s trying to do. I know I’m not really living now. I’m just orbiting the life I once had. And I know I can’t do this forever, but I don’t know how to stop thinking about my old life, thinking about that day. Losing the prostheses has destroyed me. I’ll never get my old self back.

  A loud knock brings me back to the room, away from my thoughts.

  ‘Can I come in?’ asks my dad from behind the closed door.

  I mumble acknowledgement and push myself up. He slowly enters and sits by the desk. He’s still in his work clothes, but his tie hangs loose around the collar.

  ‘How was your work trip?’ I mutter, not entirely understanding where the time has gone.

  ‘Fine,’ he nods. ‘Your mum says you’ve not been out the bedroom since I left?’

  ‘That’s not true. I went to the kitchen once,’ I shrug.

  ‘Have you been outside? Have you seen your friends?’

  ‘Don’t really fancy the company right now. Prefer my own.’ My head is suddenly throbbing, my temples aching. I just want to be alone again.

  His face softens and he leans forward in t
he chair, closer to me. ‘Jack, I also want to say something about the London Marathon—’

  ‘Dad, you don’t have to—’

  ‘No, I want to just let you know that—’

  ‘Dad, please, I can’t talk about it,’ I say, my voice louder than I intended. I’m not angry, I just can’t bear more sympathetic words about the marathon from anyone, and my dad of all people, the one I was going to run it with, run it for. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mutter. ‘I just have a headache and I’m not feeling great.’

  ‘OK,’ he says quietly. ‘We can talk when you’re feeling a bit better. I’ve taken the next few days off so let me know if you need anything?’

  I nod weakly, and turn away. As the door closes, and the darkness of the air consumes me again, I realise I have no idea what day it is, what time it is, and when I last went outside.

  Another knock startles me again. Why won’t people just leave me alone?

  ‘I’m sleeping,’ I call out.

  The door creaks open and Alice pokes her head around. ‘Sorry, can I please come in? Just for a moment. You can pretend to be sleeping after that?’ I nod and she sits in the same spot my dad was just in. ‘Sorry to just show up again. I texted you after yesterday but you never responded.’ She suddenly squints and tilts her head slightly. ‘What happened to your window?’

  ‘I threw a rock at it.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She looks pained as she thinks about what to say next, then shrugs. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry again about bringing you back to Leicester Square. I should have asked you first.’