The Aftermath

by Gail Schimmel

  But still, I hoped. I knew that help was our only chance.

  ‘Mummy,’ said Jack. ‘I’m really sore. And sleepy.’ I squeezed his hand.

  ‘Jackie, my baby, my love,’ I said. ‘I think it’s better if you try to stay awake.’

  So I talked to Jack and I tried to sing and I tried not to think about the fact that Mike hadn’t moved and the whole world was quiet. And after we had sung a few songs, Jack said, ‘Mummy, I want a hug.’

  I started to cry. ‘Me too, Jackie,’ I said. ‘But I’m stuck. Someone will help us soon. Just imagine Mummy is hugging you. Imagine my arms are around you.’

  But Jack started to cry too and I was crying, and he said, ‘I’m so sore, Mummy. I want to sleep.’

  But I knew that he mustn’t. I knew that I had to keep him awake. ‘No Jack,’ I said. ‘You mustn’t sleep. Tell Mummy about your dinosaurs. Come on. Talk to Mummy.’ But there was nothing I could do. His eyes were closing. ‘No Jack,’ I yelled, trying to pull on his hand to wake him. ‘Wake up. Wake up. Help is coming, you just have to stay awake.’ But he fell asleep, and his hand slipped from my grasp, and for a while I could hear him breathing.

  And then I couldn’t.

  And I screamed his name and I screamed and I screamed.

  It was another two hours before a car came to a screeching halt beside us and called to me, and then drove as fast as it could to the nearest house and phoned for help.

  The morning after Eddie’s lunch, I wake up, late, screaming.

  My body is drenched in sweat, the sheets are tangled tight around me, and my face is wet with tears.

  And I am screaming so loud that it hurts my throat. I’ve dreamt about The Accident. In the dream, everything happened exactly like it happened in real life – it was so vivid it could have been real. I tried to change things, to alter the outcome, but I can’t. The only difference between the dream and reality is that in the dream, just before the truck swerves, I see a rabbit in the road. And I don’t know if this is a dream thing, or a memory. Did my baby die to save a rabbit? I can’t bear it.

  I know that this has all been a terrible mistake, thinking I could ever be better. I want to die. Maybe if I die, I will be with Jack again, and hold him, and apologise. Or maybe I won’t, and there’ll be nothing but oblivion and I will never have to feel this pain again.

  I try to get my breathing under control and I make some decisions.

  It is time for me to go.

  Julia has Daniel and she is having a baby and she will eventually be okay. I wasn’t a great mother, but I made her self-sufficient. I always knew she would have to be one day.

  It is time for me to die, and take the memory of Jack with me.

  Because Julia doesn’t know about Jack.

  Of course, when it happened, when I fetched her from my parents eventually – me broken and grieving and raw – Julia asked about Jack. But I just said, ‘He’s gone,’ and then I wouldn’t talk about him again. To anyone. Not to my parents. Not to Julia. Not to friends. And after a while, everyone stopped trying. My parents stopped referring to him, because they knew it would just make me shut down completely, and my friends drifted away.

  I never decided that I would bring Julia up not knowing that she had ever had a brother. I just didn’t talk about him, and if she asked anything, I would change the subject, because I couldn’t bear to think about him, to talk about him, to see my grief reflected in Julia. I kept thinking that I would be ready soon, one day, and that then Julia and I would talk about our shared loss. But it never came. I would open my mouth to say something about Jack, and it was like the lights went off in my head and I couldn’t speak; I was deep in a dark hole and nobody could reach me.

  And we moved, of course, after Mike went into the home, and when we packed up the house, I sent most of Jack’s stuff to an orphanage. In the new house, there was no bedroom to remind Julia that there used to be a little boy that she adored. And she started to forget – she mentioned him less and less. And I never reminded her. And then my parents died too, soon after each other, and Mike’s parents died before I met him. And suddenly it was too late to remind Julia about Jack and it was easier for me not to talk about him, even though I thought about him all day, every day. And there was no one in our lives who would talk about Jack – my parents were dead, and Mike couldn’t speak, and the others were all gone. Even if we did bump into an old friend, as sometimes happened, they never said anything directly. ‘How are you?’ they would say, searching my face with their eyes. Because people don’t just blurt out your loss – they avoid it or use euphemisms, so they could have been speaking about Mike, from Julia’s point of view. And so Julia grew up thinking that she was an only child, and that the reason I mourned so deeply was because of Mike.

  But Mike isn’t dead. Jack is.

  And I am bereft. And I want to die. For twenty-six years, I have wanted to die.

  And now it is time.

  I reach under my bed to where I keep my box of photographs and the few mementos of Jack that I allowed myself. When Julia was a child, I kept them up high, at the back of a shelf. But now that there’s no danger she will stumble across them, I keep them near me again.

  I need to destroy the photographs and mementos. I have kept this from Julia for too long. Jack will have to die with me. It breaks my heart that no one will remember his little life. I scattered his ashes one terrible day, in the gardens at the zoo, where he was so happy, and there isn’t even a plaque to remind people of little Jack Michael Blake, who died, aged four. After that, I can kill Mike and then myself. This is what I have always wanted, and as I sit holding the box, I am still crying. I stroke the lid. I will not look at his photos now, or his tiny shoes or his first lock of hair or his birth certificate. I will do that for the last time just before I destroy them. I would do it now, but first I have to tell Mike.

  I take a deep breath. I will be okay; this will all end soon. And Julia will be okay. And Mike will be free.

  The time has come.

  And as I breathe in again, and wipe my tears, the doorbell rings. I’m not expecting anyone and I can’t see anyone like I am. So I ignore it, even when it rings again.

  And then my phone rings and it’s Julia.

  I answer.

  ‘Mummy,’ she says, and I can hear she’s crying. ‘Mummy, where are you? Mummy, I need you. Please open the door, Mummy – I need you.’

  Claire

  I look up at Daniel. He is standing over my breakfast table on the terrace in Mauritius. The sun is behind him, so I can’t see him properly, although I can make out Mackenzie just behind, looking at him with complete confusion.

  ‘I’m here, Claire,’ he says. ‘Just like you wanted. I’m back.’

  ‘Sorry, what?’ I stand up so that the sun isn’t blocking my view. Daniel has a smile on his face like he’s won the bloody lottery. ‘What are you doing here, Daniel?’

  ‘You told me to come, and I’m here,’ he says, the idiotic smile still in place.

  ‘Have you been drinking?’ I say. ‘I absolutely did not tell you to come. I’m completely, utterly appalled that you are here.’

  I am shouting, and people are looking, but I don’t care.

  ‘I know you didn’t tell me,’ says Daniel. ‘But you told me.’ He takes a step towards me. ‘I understand you, Claire. We don’t need words between us. I knew what I needed to do.’

  ‘You needed to sign the bloody affidavit and leave me in peace, that’s what you needed to do,’ I say. ‘Or we could take a step back and say that you needed to keep your cock in your pants and not get Julia pregnant, but you know what? I think it’s actually all for the best.’

  ‘You see,’ says Daniel. ‘I knew you’d understand that everything has turned out for the best.’

  Even Mackenzie starts to laugh at this. ‘That is not what she said, Daddy,’ she says, laughing. ‘You are so dumb at understanding people. She said you should have looked after your rooster better. I never even k
new you had a rooster.’

  Mackenzie’s comment reminds me that she is there, and that I am shouting about her father’s cock in front of her and about a hundred strangers.

  ‘Kenz,’ I say. ‘Why don’t you go join the other kids in the pool, while Mummy and Daddy talk?’ I indicate a group of children who are gathered around a staff member, ready to start the day’s activities. She’s about to object, but I give her my fiercest look, and she sighs, and goes to join the other kids.

  ‘I suppose you should sit down,’ I start to say, but Daniel has already pulled out a chair and ordered a cappuccino from the waiter.

  ‘Isn’t Mauritius lovely at this time of year?’ he says, with a happy sigh.

  ‘I don’t understand why you’re here, Daniel,’ I say. ‘I didn’t invite you.’

  ‘But you wanted me to come,’ he says, as if I’m not going to be able to argue with him. His coffee is put down in front of him, and he thanks the waiter as if the waiter has delivered a diamond. They have a little chat about the weather, while I watch Mackenzie in the pool, and gather my thoughts.

  ‘Daniel,’ I say, when his attention is back on me, ‘I’m sorry if you were under the impression that you were invited on this holiday. But you weren’t. I’d like you to leave.’

  ‘But we belong together,’ says Daniel. ‘I see that now.’

  ‘Oh really?’ I say. ‘How did Julia take that?’

  He is silent.

  ‘Daniel?’

  ‘I’m not really sure,’ he says.

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘What did you say to her when you left?’

  Silence.

  ‘Daniel?’

  ‘I sent a text,’ he says defensively. ‘And I was really nice to her yesterday.’

  ‘What did the text say?’ I ask. I’m trying to keep calm.

  ‘That I’m just doing what I need to do,’ says Daniel. He has the grace to mumble.

  ‘She has no idea where you are?’ I say, my voice rising again. ‘Your pregnant girlfriend has no effing clue that you are here? Are you insane?’

  ‘I don’t understand why you are angry all the time, Claire,’ says Daniel, as if he is being reasonable. ‘It’s very toxic.’

  Any doubts that I have are gone.

  ‘Daniel,’ I say, slowly. ‘Our marriage is over. My suggestion to you is that you go home and try to salvage something with Julia, because I am done.’

  ‘But we have Mackenzie,’ he says, gesturing at the pool. ‘She needs us to be together.’

  ‘And Julia’s baby?’ I say. ‘You’ve fucked up, Daniel. And now you need to act like an adult for once in your life. Just for once.’

  ‘Claire, I . . .’

  I hold up my hand. ‘We are done, Daniel,’ I say. ‘Go. Just go.’

  He stands up, and so do I.

  ‘My lawyer will call you when I get back,’ I say.

  ‘Claire . . .’

  ‘No. Enough. Just don’t speak. We are over.’

  Daniel looks around, as if maybe he’s on a prank TV show and he wants to find the cameras. Look, he seems to be saying to the curious spectators, look how unreasonable she is.

  He sighs, and turns to go. ‘We’ll speak later,’ he says, and I know he hasn’t heard a thing I’ve said.

  He’s about a metre away when he passes a table with a lone woman in a bikini. She has very big boobs, and the bikini is very small. Daniel gives her a quick, appreciative glance, and she catches his eye. I see him wink.

  Months of my suffering come together in that wink. Before I can second guess myself, I pick up the sugar bowl and throw it at his head. There is a satisfying crack as it connects. I always was rather good at ball sports.

  ‘Mackenzie,’ I call. ‘It’s time to go to the beach.’

  PART 3

  SEPTEMBER

  MONDAY

  Helen

  Today is Julia’s last day of work before her maternity leave. I suggested to her that it was a bit strange they were making her go in just for a Monday, but she said it is impossible to explain anything involving flexibility to her boss, and it was just easier to end on the date they had agreed. I hear Julia’s alarm go off and wait for the sounds of her getting up. I wait five minutes, but there is no noise from her room. Or the spare room, depending on how you look at it.

  Eventually I pull myself out of bed, and go down the passage to check.

  She’s fast asleep, on her back, her mouth slightly open. Her full-term pregnant stomach is enormous beneath the blankets, and her legs look incongruous where they peep out from the tangle.

  When Julia was a baby, before The Accident, I used to watch her and Jack sleep all the time. After The Accident, I stopped. The only child I wanted to watch sleep – to watch gently breathe – was Jack. And he was dead and would never breathe again. And then he was forgotten, by everyone except me.

  But now I watch Julia sleep, the giant mound of her unborn son rising and falling beneath the blankets, and I am again struck by her vulnerability.

  ‘Wake up, sweetie,’ I say, but I know I’m speaking too softly and she won’t hear me. I am tempted to climb into the bed and cuddle her – which I haven’t done since Jack died. But since she’s been back, as her vulnerability and her baby bump have grown together, I have found myself wanting to reach out to her in a way I never have before.

  ‘Julia,’ I say, louder this time, ‘Julia, time to get up. Last day of work before maternity leave.’ Across the decades, words echo back: last day of school before holidays; last day of holidays before school; last day before we leave you at Granny and Gramps’s, and take Jack on holiday. Last day.

  Julia moans and turns over, her back to me. ‘Just five more minutes,’ she mutters.

  ‘Julia.’ My voice is strong and strict. ‘Get. Up. Now.’

  This is talk my baby understands, that she knows, and she groans and sits up.

  She complains the whole time about how terrible she looks, so pregnant. But to me she has never been more beautiful. I feel sad for Daniel that he’s missed this, but that only lasts a minute before I feel angry at Daniel and his stupidity, and instead, I feel sad for Mike that he can’t see this, even though I tell him all about it.

  And Jack. Since the day Julia turned up on my doorstep, that day I had decided to die, I have thought about Jack almost constantly. Often I find myself about to say something before I remember that Julia still doesn’t know anything about him. Sometimes I open my mouth to tell her, but the words won’t come out.

  Julia rubs her face. ‘Maternity leave,’ she says.

  I smile. ‘From tomorrow. This party is going to get started pretty soon.’

  She takes a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘I can do this.’

  ‘You can do anything.’

  ‘Including have a baby on my own and totally screw up my life?’ She’s smiling, but I can see it is forced.

  ‘Julia,’ I say, ‘we are not doing this again. A baby is always a good thing and your life is not screwed up.’

  Losing a baby, that screws up a life – is what I want to tell her. Having a baby does not. The only problem I can see with having a baby is that you might lose it. But I can’t think like that.

  I turn to leave her room.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I couldn’t have survived this without you.’

  My heart swells with a feeling I have seldom felt: pride at being a good mother to Julia; pride at having done exactly the right thing. I want to tell her that it is my pleasure, my joy. But I don’t want to make her feel like she is weak.

  ‘You would have been fine, Julia,’ I say. ‘You’re a strong woman.’

  And then I go into the bathroom and I cry, and I don’t know if it is from joy or sadness or fear of what is to come.

  Julia

  As my mother leaves my room, I smile. Her answer is so typical – emotional outpourings don’t go very far with her: no hysterical declarations of love. But in the last
four months I’ve been back living here, I’ve learnt to read my mother better, and there is a shift in her. There’s a tiny bit of softness showing through her hard shell, and today I see it in the moment when she pauses before she answers me, the love showing in the way she holds her shoulders.

  I didn’t expect myself to be back living with my mother, twenty-eight years old and pregnant with a married man’s baby. That was not on my script. Even that morning when I arrived on her doorstep, I wasn’t expecting to stay. But Daniel was gone. Of course, I knew that he’d gone to Claire. I hadn’t realised that he’d actually followed her to Mauritius. And that he wasn’t invited. He’d just gone. But I knew I had lost him.

  I wasn’t going to stay with my mother. I arrived on her doorstep, expecting that she would, in her strange, unemotional way, comfort me and help me back onto the path of my life. I thought I would spend an hour or two with her telling me stiff-upper-lippish things, and then I would return to the business of Daniel leaving me in the same way I’ve had to handle all the other challenges of my life – essentially, but not entirely, alone.

  But there was something different about my mother that morning. For a start, she was in her pyjamas and she looked terrible. My mother never looks terrible. She never looks great either, but she always brushes her hair and teeth and dresses in neat, clean clothes. Recently, she’d started to look really good – she’d actually had her hair coloured and cut, and her clothes seemed to be a bit smarter. But that morning, she looked terrible – her face was splotchy and ravaged. If it was anyone but her, I would’ve thought they’d been up all night crying. But that obviously couldn’t have been the case, and I will admit that I was too distressed to think about it much more.

  But that wasn’t the really strange part. The really strange part was how she reacted to me. She opened her arms and let me throw myself into them, and then she led me into the house, stroking my back and making soothing sounds. And then she made me a cup of sweet tea, and one for herself, and we curled up on the sofa together and I told her everything. And she didn’t give me any practical advice. She just stroked my back and made supportive noises.