The Aftermath

by Gail Schimmel

  Of course, I realise – this isn’t actually about spending time with friends. It’s about doing something that makes her feel special.

  ‘I’m rather jealous,’ I say, suspecting that’s what she wants to hear. ‘I love Italy.’

  ‘You must give me a list of your best places,’ says Janice, her smile so wide I’m worried it will damage her. ‘And I’ll tag you when we go.’

  ‘Lovely,’ I say. ‘You’re a lucky girl.’

  ‘I know!’ She’s actually hugging herself with glee. ‘And it’s all thanks to you.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense.’ I want to say it’s all thanks to her overwhelming need for attention, but instead I say, ‘It’s thanks to your lovely husband. I can’t wait to see the pics.’

  Janice almost skips off, no doubt to find someone else to tell her news to, and I’m left feeling strangely empty. I might question Janice’s motivation, but it would be nice to be jetting off to Europe with a husband who wants to make me happy. I know Janice is excited for reasons I don’t really get, but she’s excited, and her husband did that for her. Maybe he even knew exactly what she needed to get out of the trip. Daniel used to be like that with me. He was always surprising me and whisking me off to interesting places. And it would always be fun because he’d be attentive and amusing and sexy and charming. Recently I’ve been thinking so much about the bad side of Daniel that I’ve forgotten the things I fell in love with – the humour, the spontaneity, the quirkiness. Life with Daniel was never boring. I can’t say the same about life alone.

  I’m so deep in thought I don’t see Laurel till she’s almost on top of me.

  ‘Dear Lord,’ she says. ‘I just bumped into Janice.’

  ‘Yes.’ I smile. ‘She’s going to make sure she bumps into everyone this morning.’

  Laurel laughs. ‘I wish I’d known that a week in Italy was a viable alternative to a girls’ night. I would’ve dumped you like a hot potato.’

  ‘Then I’m glad you didn’t know. I had fun. Even if the hangover and the fallout from Facebook have been terrible.’

  Laurel suddenly freezes. ‘Sandy’s coming,’ she hisses. ‘Do I look okay?’

  ‘You’re mad,’ I say, because I don’t really know what I think. It’s not that Sandy is a woman; it’s that Laurel is married, and my husband also left me for another woman.

  Laurel cocks her head. ‘You don’t approve?’ I’m not sure if her tone is amused or defensive.

  ‘It’s hard for me,’ I say. ‘Remember, I’m the cuckold in my situation. I think you need to make a decision.’ I’m smiling but I know I look sad. ‘I guess I don’t approve of the lies. I suppose that proves everything you always thought about me.’

  Laurel glances up to make sure Sandy is still far enough away. ‘I actually agree with you, Claire. I just don’t seem able to implement it.’

  ‘That’s always the bummer,’ I say. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’

  ‘Coffee later?’ says Laurel.

  ‘Lovely,’ I say, and I mean it. ‘Call me when you can.’

  We give each other a quick hug, and then Laurel walks towards Sandy, and I head back to my car. And just as I start to breathe a sigh of relief that I can get on with my day, I bump into Tiffany.

  ‘Hon,’ she says, ‘you’re just the person I needed to see.’

  My brain darts around – have I promised to do something for the fete that I’ve forgotten about? Have I promised to support some cause?

  ‘We’re having a little dinner party on the fifteenth,’ says Tiffany. ‘I’d love it if you and Daniel could join us.’

  Of course this isn’t the first social obstacle I’ve faced. In the last few months, I’ve been to two dinner parties, pretending that Daniel is busy at work or away. I’ve been to a lunch on the same pretence, and made excuses for a few other invitations. But suddenly I’m tired. I’ve never had much patience for people who lie, and yet here I am, living a lie every day. And why? Because I’m scared of what people will think? And then I have the gall to judge Janice. I’ve always thought I don’t really care what people think, that I’m secure enough in my own self. I guess that’s not really true after all, because why else have I kept such a big secret?

  I make a decision.

  ‘Tiffany,’ I say, ‘I would love to come to your dinner party – you always throw such a fabulous do. But Daniel and I have separated, so he won’t be able to join. I understand if that throws your plans and you don’t want me to come alone. So let me know.’ Tiffany’s mouth falls open, but I don’t let her speak.

  ‘Gotta go, chat soon,’ I say, almost running away.

  I know Tiffany will spread this news faster than I can say ‘Boo’, and some people are going to be upset that I haven’t told them personally. So I quickly type a message on my phone and send it to about ten people I consider reasonably close friends: Just to let you know, Daniel and I have split up. I haven’t wanted to talk about it, and still don’t really want to. But just so you know. Xx. I push send. And wait.

  Julia

  I wake up feeling that strange grogginess that comes, ironically, from too much sleep. My bladder is bursting – I don’t think I’ve slept through the night without a bathroom visit for the last four weeks. There’s a pain in my ribs. It feels like the baby has wedged his foot into my bones, which can’t be possible because, depending on which source you read, he’s only the size of a banana or a mango. I don’t know who regards bananas and mangos being a similar size – is my baby a fat mango or a skinny banana? I grab my phone as I run to the toilet, wanting to look up the baby’s developmental stage of the day. Could his banana feet be stretched out of his mango body and hooked in my ribs?

  But there’s a message from my mother that makes me sit down hard on the toilet seat.

  Thanks. I love you.

  I must have misread who the message is from – maybe it’s from Daniel, or a friend. But no. It’s from my mother.

  My mother has never in my life told me she loves me. I mean, I know she does, in so far as she is able, which isn’t very far. Alice says I don’t give her enough credit, that her whole life is a testament to her love for me, and that some people can’t express emotions. Which is crap, because she tells my dad she loves him every time she says goodbye. But even if we’re giving her the benefit of the doubt, she still never says it to me. Especially not as a throwaway response to a message. It’s just not something that happens. But it has.

  And then I realise: something must be wrong. Very wrong.

  I phone her, right there, sitting on the toilet.

  ‘Is Dad dead?’ I say as soon as she answers.

  ‘What?’ Her voice is sleepy. I’ve woken her. That’s never happened before either – my mother isn’t a big sleeper. ‘Is it you? Are you sick? Is it cancer?’

  ‘Julia,’ says my mother, her voice stronger. ‘Have you been drinking? Or have you taken something?’

  ‘Of course not – I’m pregnant and it’s 6.30 a.m..’

  ‘Then why are you sounding so crazy? Of course Dad is not dead. Of course I don’t have cancer.’

  ‘Then why did you send me that message?’

  And suddenly it’s quiet between us. Because I’ve bought truth into the spotlight – that a message from my mother telling me she loves me can only signify a crisis.

  ‘Oh,’ she says. ‘That.’

  Neither of us know what to say, obviously. Eventually I break what feels like several years of silence. ‘So, you’re okay?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says, ‘I’m fine. And so is Dad.’

  ‘Okay. Well, just checking. Bye then.’ There’s another short silence.

  ‘Bye,’ says my mum.

  Only after that do I look at my other messages. Claire has responded with her perfect blend of politeness and graciousness. I read her message several times, but I can’t fault her.

  When I get to the kitchen, Daniel is drinking a cup of coffee. I don’t want to be cross with him any more, but I find I still am. To try to
change that, I touch his shoulder and he reaches for my hand.

  ‘I told Claire the situation,’ I say. ‘She’s keeping Mackenzie this weekend.’

  Daniel lets go of my hand. ‘You spoke to Claire?’

  ‘Well, I messaged her and she messaged back. We all need to be civil if we’re going to put Mackenzie’s interests first.’ Which is a bit ironic, because of course it’s Claire and me who are putting Mackenzie’s interests first – Daniel’s just doing whatever pops into his head.

  ‘You think I’m a bad person,’ he says, looking at me in that intense way he has.

  I have to think about that. ‘I guess I’m just finding out you’re not quite the saint I thought you were,’ I say slowly. ‘I guess that’s part of getting to know someone.’

  Daniel stands up and I think he’s angry; I think he’s going to walk away. But then he puts his hands on my waist – or the place where I used to have a waist – and he says in a husky voice, ‘What did I do that made you think I was a saint?’ His one hand creeps round to my breast, and the other one pulls me against him so I can feel his erection. ‘I’m no saint,’ he whispers. ‘I am so bad.’

  I really, really don’t want to be turned on by him. I really want to be angry. But apparently, along with my new energy, I’ve finally hit the stage of pregnancy I’ve read about where you’re interested in sex again. Very interested.

  I resist for a moment, but I can’t. ‘Show me,’ I whisper. ‘Show me how bad you are.’

  So he does. And I’m late for work. On the good side, I’m in a better mood than I’ve been in for weeks and it’s taken my mind off my mother. On the bad side, I’m still cross with Daniel. Apparently great sex doesn’t make that go away.

  Claire

  When I sit down to work, I realise that I’m not as in control of my diary as I usually am. I haven’t written in some of Mackenzie’s school things, and I need to fill in the change to the childcare arrangements. When I open the diary, the first thing I see is that Mackenzie’s on holiday next week. I’d completely forgotten because it’s not the usual holiday time, but an extra week off because of some course the school is sending all the teachers on. So now, not only do I have to keep her entertained all weekend, I also have her at home all of next week. It suddenly seems too much – and for a moment I just want to give up. But it’s not my style, and I have no real choice.

  Mackenzie is on holiday next week. Want to take her for a few days? I text Daniel, even though this kind of thing isn’t in the agreement set out by my dad’s lawyer. This separation business should also work for me. And anyway, Daniel needs to make up the time he’s missing this weekend.

  Sorry, babe, he texts back almost immediately. Busy week.

  He’s still calling me ‘babe’. I look around my office as if there’s someone I can tell, but the downside of self-employment is that there never is. ‘Babe,’ I spit at the computer, which remains impassive.

  Between Janice going to Italy, and telling Tiffany and everyone else the truth, I’m exhausted. I wish I was going to Italy like Janice. I wish I was going anywhere. Me and Mackenzie, and forget the rest of the world.

  And then I have an idea. That’s exactly what we’ll do.

  I go online and scout around. A week in Mauritius, at a child-friendly resort – that’s exactly what the doctor ordered. Exactly.

  I phone my mum. ‘Mummy,’ I say, ‘I need a break.’

  ‘Well, of course you do, my love,’ she says. ‘I keep telling your father you’re working far too hard and that bastard putting you in this terrible position . . . I don’t know how you do it. I just don’t. What can we do? Should we take Mackenzie? Do you want to go to the farm?’

  My parents own part shares in a game farm, and for a moment I think maybe that’s a more sensible plan. But now I have a vision of myself sipping piña coladas on the beach while Mackenzie frolics in the sea – possibly with dolphins.

  ‘I was thinking Mackenzie and I might go to Mauritius for the school holiday next week,’ I say.

  ‘That’s an excellent idea,’ says my mother. ‘I should have thought of it myself. I’ll tell your father to put some money into your account immediately. And don’t skimp, darling. Go somewhere fabulous. Not a cheapo. Daddy will pay.’

  ‘Thanks, Mummy,’ I say, feeling guilty. My parents are predictable in their ability to throw money at a problem, and I’ve fallen into the lifelong habit of counting on it.

  ‘Which reminds me, darling,’ says my mother. ‘Daddy and I were talking about it, and Daddy says that if that bastard’s being difficult about money, you mustn’t stoop to fighting about it. We’ll look after you if he’s too cheap to do so.’

  Since the split, my mother’s referred to Daniel only as ‘that bastard’. It’s supportive and irritating at once, which is probably an apt summary of my entire relationship with my mother.

  ‘He’s being perfectly generous,’ I say. ‘And I actually earn money too. But not enough for a week in Mauritius on the spur of the moment.’ My mother, who’s never earned a cent of her own money, laughs. ‘And why should you spend your money on something like that?’ she demands, genuinely outraged. ‘Daddy would love to help you.’

  We talk a bit more, and when we finish I feel my usual mix of guilt and love and quiet horror at my parents’ lifestyle. Which I realise is hypocritical under the circumstances. Before I can have too many misgivings, I find the package I want and mail the agent. Mackenzie and I will leave for Mauritius on Saturday.

  I will, of course, need to tell Daniel and get him to sign the requisite affidavit so I can travel with Mackenzie alone. I know the law is good, that it’s there to help combat child trafficking, but it really is quite a pain when it comes to actually having to comply. I download the form from the government website, and fill in the details. Then I email it to him.

  ‘Please sign this,’ I say.

  He can piece the rest together himself.

  Julia

  I’d forgotten this was one of the days I’d be working with Steve. But Steve hasn’t forgotten that he’s working with me, because he arrives at the office with a pair of warm slippers, because he’s heard that pregnant women get cold extremities and swollen ankles. As he hands them over, we both look down at my feet. They are possibly the only part of my body that are still their original shape.

  ‘Ah well,’ says Steve, ‘maybe they’re cold?’

  He looks so hopeful that I assure him they are very cold, Arctic even, and desperately in need of slippers. To prove this, I immediately take off my smart high heels – which, to be honest, are pinching me.

  At this point, of course, Gerald walks in to the meeting room, carrying various files. He looks at my feet in their new sheepskin slippers, and then at the shoes lying next to them. ‘Um . . .’ he says.

  ‘Is there something you need, Gerald?’ I say.

  ‘I brought the files you’ll be working on.’

  ‘They’re on the computer, Gerald,’ I say. ‘But thank you. That was kind of you.’

  Gerald smiles and adjusts his rather incongruous tie. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘I’ll leave you to it then. You’re in good hands, Steve.’

  For some reason, both Steve and I find this very funny, and Steve laughs and pats Gerald on the back, and tells him he’s sure he’s in wonderful hands, and Gerald goes off smiling like he’s pulled off some major corporate coup.

  ‘He’s an odd chap, your boss,’ says Steve.

  ‘He is,’ I say. ‘But he’s awfully clever, you know. Just not quite of this century.’

  ‘Or this planet, really,’ says Steve with a smile.

  We both sit down and open our laptops, and I expect that we’ll start working. But apparently Steve’s in no hurry.

  ‘So, tell me about the baby,’ he says. ‘Tell me what’s been happening in your life. Clearly quite a lot.’

  And so I tell him. With all the complications, even though I know how bad it makes me look. And he’s interested and curious, and asks qu
estions and says nice things about how it’s not my fault, these things happen. For the first time in ages, I feel like I’m speaking to a friend who’s completely on my side. I’ve thought of trying to reconnect with my friends – especially Mandy, now that we have something in common again – but the whole living-with-a-married-man thing is a bit hard to explain, and I’d feel judged even if I’m not.

  Steve’s not even slightly bitter that he’s basically one of the victims of my relationship with Daniel. And he laughs when I’m funny, and I can’t remember when someone last did that. Daniel used to laugh with me a lot, and make me laugh. But now, I realise, we’re either fighting or having sex. And while we once might have laughed during sex, that doesn’t happen any more.

  The thought makes me feel disloyal to Daniel, so I pull the laptop towards me.

  ‘We’d better get to work,’ I say, interrupting Steve.

  Steve looks a bit baffled.

  ‘Sure,’ he says after a pause. ‘Let’s do that.’

  FRIDAY

  Claire

  Now that I’ve booked the holiday, I’m frantically trying to get on top of everything before we have to leave. I realise that I really didn’t think the whole thing through, and between work and the arrangements I’ve made for next week, I’m going to spend the whole day sorting things out, and cancelling appointments and play dates I set up literally hours before. People will think I’m losing it. Not to mention the packing.

  I try to get Mackenzie to school early – partly to have more of a morning, partly to avoid bumping into people and wasting time talking. It’s because I want to be quick that Mackenzie has other ideas.

  ‘It’s show-and-tell today,’ she announces as she eats her breakfast.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ I say from the kitchen, where I’m packing her lunchbox and school bag. ‘Show-and-tell is on Mondays. See.’ I point to the board where we’ve written all her school commitments.

  ‘It’s today,’ she says, nonplussed. ‘I must bring something from Egypt.’