The Aftermath

by Gail Schimmel

  When I’d finally cried myself out, I looked at her and said, ‘So, what must I do?’

  And then instead of Helen’s Practical Step-by-Step Life Advice Guide, I got a shrug. ‘You’re really sad,’ she said. ‘I think maybe you should just stay here.’

  ‘With you?’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, with me.’

  ‘But you like being on your own,’ I said.

  ‘Do I?’ She looked confused, almost, and – I don’t say this lightly – almost vulnerable.

  ‘Well, that’s what you always tell me,’ I said. ‘And you never lie.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Well, then I guess it must be true. But for now I think it would be good for you to stay with me. And maybe it would be good for me too.’

  ‘How would it be good for you?’ I asked, dragged out of my problems despite myself.

  ‘Life is more complex and multi-layered than you think, Julia,’ said my mother, who never philosophises.

  ‘Everything happens for a reason?’ I hazarded.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said my mother, and even though she sounded really angry, I felt comforted. That was more like it. ‘Anyway, Daniel will come crawling back, and you will sort things out.’

  I sighed. ‘He’s gone back to Claire, Mum. Why would he want me when he can have her?’

  ‘I’d choose you any day,’ said my mother with a smile. And then she repeated it, like she was saying it to herself – ‘I’d choose you any day’ – and her eyes sort of turned inwards and I thought that maybe the shock of saying something so parental had made her feel peculiar, so I quickly started asking about the practicalities of me staying.

  So that is what I’ve done. Almost despite myself, as the last four months have played out, I’ve gone back to my girlhood room – which my mother insists on calling the spare room – and I’ve stayed with my mummy.

  Claire

  The alarm goes off when I am so deep in a dream that I react like someone has shot me. I sit straight up in the bed and yell, ‘What!’

  Mackenzie is curled up next to me, as usual. ‘You need to stop doing this, Mummy,’ she says without opening her eyes. ‘You can’t get a fright about waking up every day. Waking up just happens and happens and happens.’

  I don’t know what it is. I never used to sleep so deeply. And I certainly never used to greet each day with a shout of surprise – so predictable now that it bores my seven-year-old daughter.

  I try to claim back the parent role.

  ‘Up we get, Kenz. New week. Got to get you to school early for the special concert rehearsal.’

  ‘I know,’ says Mackenzie, her eyes still shut, her body unmoving.

  ‘Plus, it’s ballet after school.’

  ‘It is,’ she agrees.

  ‘And then a playdate with Lulu.’

  ‘Lulu’s so boring,’ says a still-sleepy Mackenzie, who spent most of last week begging me to invite Lulu to play.

  ‘And after that Daddy’s taking you out for supper,’ I add.

  Mackenzie opens her eyes and sits up. ‘But I am not going to sleep at him,’ she tells me.

  ‘That’s right,’ I agree. ‘Because—’

  ‘Because,’ she interrupts, ‘Julia could have that baby AT ANY MINUTE. And Daddy must be able to drive to her AS FAST AS HE CAN. And he can’t leave me alone. And I can’t go with him, because the baby being born will be GROSS.’

  I laugh. ‘That’s exactly how it is. You’ve got it.’

  ‘And none of us know when that damn baby is going to come,’ she adds.

  ‘Don’t say “damn”, Mackenzie.’

  ‘That’s what Daddy calls it. He says “that damn baby” every time.’

  I try not to laugh. ‘Listen, Kenz, just don’t. That damn baby is going to be your brother, whatever we all think of that. And that’s pretty exciting, so let’s not say “damn”.’

  ‘Can I take it for show-and-tell when it’s born?’

  ‘Let’s call it “he”. And you’ll have to ask Julia about show-and-tell.’

  ‘Can I phone her now?’

  I look at my watch. ‘Too early, baby,’ I say. ‘It’s her last day of work before her having-a-baby holiday. Let’s rather phone later.’

  ‘Okay,’ says Mackenzie, and without me having to say anything more, she gets up and goes to her room to get dressed.

  I get out of bed, and pull my diary towards me from where I left it on my bedside table last night. The day is jam-packed. The week is jam-packed. I smile – this is the way I like it. And this is the way it’s been since Laurel and I started our business last month. It’s not like my work has changed that much. But before I was just a person called Claire who did PR. Now I’m one half of CL Events. And I have a business partner. It was Laurel’s idea when she broke it off with Sandy.

  ‘My problem is that I’m bored,’ Laurel said. ‘I have an MBA from a top university, and instead of working a high-powered job, the main challenge of my day is figuring out what to make for supper. No wonder I’m having a sordid affair with the netball coach.’

  ‘I’m not convinced,’ I said. ‘Maybe if Sandy was a man. This thing with Sandy seems bigger than boredom.’

  ‘But that’s just it,’ says Laurel. ‘A man would have been boring. I’ve done men. I needed a new challenge. I should have started doing macramé. Instead I started doing Sandy.’

  When we’d both finished cackling, Laurel looked serious. ‘I want to show you something.’ She took out her laptop. ‘Look at this.’

  ‘This’ was a business plan with graphs and predictions and financials of how my business could grow.

  ‘Basically,’ said Laurel, ‘with your skills and connections, you could start an empire.’

  ‘An empire sounds a bit tiring,’ I said.

  ‘That’s why we’ll do it together,’ said Laurel.

  And after a bit of thinking and talking to other people, that’s exactly what we did. The only person who doesn’t think it’s a great idea is Sandy, who’s been thoroughly dumped. She phones Laurel all the time, and sends her flowers. Between the flowers I get from Daniel and the flowers Laurel gets from Sandy, our small offices in Parkhurst always look fabulous. We’re not sure what we’ll do when they both give up, as is inevitable. Laurel says I’ll have to get a new boyfriend to fill the gap. She doesn’t know what she’ll do.

  ‘Can’t Max fill the gap?’ I ask. ‘He is your husband, after all. He should be glad to have you back.’

  ‘Max never even knew I was missing,’ said Laurel a bit sadly. ‘I’m not entirely sure that Max realises I’m working again.’

  But that isn’t true. Laurel’s husband Max pops into our offices with lunch for her at least once a week, and he has referred two clients to us already.

  ‘Just appreciate the bloody man,’ I tell Laurel often. ‘Just appreciate what you have saved.’

  ‘Mummy,’ says Mackenzie, now in her school uniform, interrupting my thoughts as I start to get dressed.

  ‘Yes, baby?’

  ‘Tell me again why Daddy can’t live with Julia?’

  ‘Because Julia got really cross when Daddy met us in Mauritius. And she was quite right.’

  ‘Not as cross as you though.’ Mackenzie starts giggling. ‘You were so, so cross. You said all sorts of bad words. You threw the sugar bowl at Daddy’s head.’

  Mackenzie loves retelling the story. I realise that’s the only reason she’s asked about Julia again – for the chance to retell the story of the flying sugar bowl. Soon she’ll be listing all the words we said.

  ‘Enough, Kenz,’ I say. ‘Hurry up and get ready. Concert practice, remember?’

  ‘You called Daddy a—’

  ‘Enough, Kenz,’ I say sternly. ‘I don’t want to hear those words out of your mouth again. Get ready!’

  But I’m laughing as she leaves. Daniel’s face was priceless.

  Daniel

  I wake up and look at the ceiling. It’s still the same one. The wrong one. Or maybe it�
��s the right one, but with no one next to me in the bed, I don’t know any more.

  I’m hoping that the fact that Julia hasn’t thrown me out of her flat means she’s picturing coming back to me when the baby is born. I’m also hoping Claire will take me back.

  I reach for my phone and go onto the internet. My browser goes straight to the same-day gifting service, that’s how much I use it. I organise to send them both flowers. Sometimes I have the energy to send them different things. Not today. I send them both sweet peas. I know Claire loves sweet peas – she always says so. And surely Julia would too? I mean, who wouldn’t love sweet peas? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like they’re going to compare notes.

  I contemplate getting up. But it seems like a lot of hard work, so I roll over and close my eyes. As I drift back to sleep, I realise I have no idea what a sweet pea looks like. When I wake up, I think I’ll google it.

  When I wake up, I’ll google everything.

  Julia

  Steve phones me as I get to work.

  ‘I thought we finished three weeks ago?’ I say, smiling.

  Finishing the work for Steve’s company before my maternity leave became the biggest goal of my work life. Steve didn’t seem in any hurry, finding queries and wanting to double-check things, but I just ploughed right on. His boss was thrilled by our exceptional turnover time and service delivery. Gerald gaped at me like he’d never seen a person before – but that might relate to his utter discomfort with my enormous belly. Only Steve was less than thrilled. Hurt, almost. Until I told him he could still visit if he wanted to, and even take me out to lunch. What with me being hungry all the time.

  ‘It’s your last day,’ he says now. ‘And I knew our dear Gerald wouldn’t have done anything. So I’ve arranged a special farewell.’

  ‘Oh Steve, we’re not that sort of company,’ I say, appalled at the thought of a baby shower involving Gerald and his nervous secretary. ‘It will be ghastly.’

  ‘That’s why I’m taking you all out for lunch and Gerald is paying,’ says Steve. ‘There’ll be no jolly games or anything like that.’

  ‘Lunch?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Steve. ‘Because you really, really like lunch.’

  We both laugh – my appetite has become our standing joke.

  ‘I do,’ I say. ‘But it’s 8 a.m.. Surely we’re not going for lunch now?’

  ‘Nope,’ says Steve. ‘Just telling you in case Gerald forgets.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say.

  A thought strikes me. ‘You haven’t invited my mother to this lunch of yours, have you?’ I ask. Steve met my mother when she fetched me one day when my car was at the garage. They hit it off. He won’t believe me when I tell him that she isn’t a normal sort of mother and he mustn’t be fooled. ‘Steve?’

  ‘Listen, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have an actual job to go to.’

  ‘Oh, crap, you have.’

  Steve smiles. ‘I like your mum,’ he says, like that’s an answer. ‘See you later.’ And he’s gone.

  Before the door has even closed, the delivery guy steps into my office carrying a huge bouquet of sweet peas – I didn’t actually know you could fit so many in a bunch. He knows me so well by now he just hands them over without comment.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. There’s an awkward pause while he waits for a tip. If I tipped him every time, I’d be broke, but it’s my last day at work so I might not see this same delivery guy again. ‘Here—’ I give him fifty rand, ‘you’ve been great.’

  A smile transforms his face. ‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘And good luck. Maybe you can take flower-guy back when the baby comes.’

  ‘But then the flowers would stop,’ I point out.

  We both laugh, and I feel good. I can’t believe I can joke about Daniel, but then there’s a lot I can’t believe about how things have changed in the four months since he left.

  As if summoned by the thought, my phone beeps. It’s a text from Claire.

  Sweet peas, it says. You?

  Same, I type back.

  Lazy arse.

  The laziest, I reply.

  Mackenzie might call this afternoon about taking the baby to show-and-tell after he’s born. Okay? texts Claire.

  Hilarious, I answer.

  She’s excited.

  I suspect Claire’s lying, so I’m not really sure what to say. After a few moments I just type: xx.

  Claire

  I put down my phone.

  When Daniel showed up in Mauritius, I knew our marriage was over. Maybe if he’d come back to me in a different way, at a different time, he could have persuaded me. But following me to Mauritius was so invasive. So all about his needs and not about mine. And when I saw him, I felt nothing but irritation and anger. I realised that if I was still in love with him, I would have felt glad. It would have been the stuff of fantasy.

  But as it was, I threw the sugar bowl at him. To Mackenzie’s great amusement.

  When we got back, I actually thought that he had salvaged things with Julia, that Julia had taken him back.

  But then the flowers started to arrive. Truth to tell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d sent me flowers and notes begging forgiveness while still living with Julia. But one day my flowers arrived with a note addressed to her: ‘Julia, if not for me, for the baby. Xx Daniel’, said the card.

  So I phoned her.

  Julia sounded tentative when she answered. ‘Claire?’

  I cut to the chase. ‘I’ve just got some flowers addressed to you.’

  ‘Hang on,’ she said, and I heard rustling in the background. ‘Oh my God’ – she came back on the line – ‘my card is addressed to you. It says: “Don’t throw away what we had.”’

  ‘Why’s he sending you flowers?’ I asked. ‘Doesn’t he live with you?’

  ‘I moved out. He’s in my flat still, but we’re done. I’m not prepared to be second best.’

  I had to think about that. ‘So . . . he sends us both flowers, hoping one option or the other will work out for him.’

  Julia’s voice was subdued. ‘He doesn’t even care which one of us responds.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t even know why I am surprised.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  We were both silent for a few moments.

  ‘How’s the pregnancy going?’ I eventually asked.

  ‘Okay,’ said Julia. ‘Better now that Daniel isn’t around telling me how perfectly you handled every moment of your pregnancy.’

  For a moment I considered letting her believe it, letting her feel inferior and useless. This is the woman who slept with my husband behind my back. But this is also a woman who made a mistake; who used to be my friend; and who is part of Mackenzie’s life whether I like it or not. ‘My pregnancy was revolting,’ I confessed. ‘I got so swollen they had to cut my rings off my fingers. I vomited three times every day.’

  ‘Really?’ Julia sounded so vulnerable.

  ‘Really,’ I said. ‘And Daniel kept making remarks about how it couldn’t really be that bad if millions of women do it every day, and that I needed to man up.’

  ‘Man up?’ Julia laughed. ‘He told you to man up in the middle of a pregnancy?’

  ‘Yes. And I hadn’t realised how absolutely ridiculous that is until this very minute.’

  ‘It’s seriously ridiculous,’ said Julia. ‘Seriously.’

  We both laughed, and then felt awkward at the same moment and stopped.

  ‘Anyhow,’ I said. ‘Good luck and all that.’

  ‘You too,’ she said.

  I thought that would be the end of it, but then we started exchanging messages about the flowers. Sometimes we even sent pictures. And then, after an overnight visit to Daniel, Mackenzie asked to see Julia. Apparently, before when she stayed, she spent most of her time with Julia, and she missed her. It felt strange, but Julia will be the mother of Mackenzie’s brother. So I let her go. I took her over to visit Julia at her mum’s place, and met Helen, her mother.

  When Julia a
nd I were friends, Julia tried to explain Helen to me; that she was cold and distant. The woman that I met seemed fine, to be honest. I mean, she didn’t fling her arms around me or Mackenzie, but she was perfectly polite. I felt strangely safe leaving Mackenzie with them. Better, to be honest, than I feel when I leave her with Daniel. When I fetched her two hours later, Julia thanked me and hugged me.

  I smile. Without Daniel in my life, I have more time for my friends. And I like that. So today, like every day, my first task after the school run is to check for birthdays and send my wishes. Then I send a few warm messages to people like Janice, who has been quietly supportive to me, never judging, always willing to help. I feel like I lost sight of how good my friends are for a while there, and now I make sure that I spend a bit of time catching up, checking in, making time to value them. After that, because it’s Monday, I check my diary to make sure the week makes sense – that I know where Mackenzie has to be, where I have to be, what goals I have to achieve. I love Mondays. I love the feeling of a clean page in front of me.

  I hear the sound of Laurel arriving and putting on the kettle. I gather my diary and pen, and go to join her. We’ll have our daily strategy session before we get down to work.

  My phone beeps. I look at it expecting Julia again, but it’s Daniel.

  Why don’t you join me and Mackenzie for our dinner tonight?

  I think of the sweet peas. Identical bunches winging their way to both Julia and me this morning. Six months ago I would have said something rude, or made up a date. Instead, I tell him that he can take Mackenzie with pleasure, as arranged, but that I don’t want to see him. Ever.

  One day the message will stick.

  TUESDAY

  Julia

  My first day of maternity leave, and I sleep late.

  Thank goodness for maternity leave, really, because an unforeseen side effect of both being pregnant and moving in with my mother has been a busy social life. In the first place, I now have things in common with my old friends again. Mandy is happy to issue dire warnings and give too much advice. Mary-Anne is pregnant too, and we’ve spent hours talking about how we are feeling and what friends our babies will be. And things didn’t work out for Agnes in Jamaica, so she came back last month – so suddenly I have lots of friends again, not just Claire and the pottery widows.