The Aftermath by Gail Schimmel (books to read in a lifetime txt) 📗

her, she just turned away as if I’d been talking about the weather, and said something non-committal like ‘That’s nice then.’ I don’t know why I felt so disappointed – I should really know by now.

And then in the middle of all that’s going on – being pregnant, and feeling sick and inadequate all the time – the worst thing that can happen at work has happened: we have a new project with Steve’s company. And the last time I saw him was on that terrible date, and now I have to work with him again. Halfway through a pregnancy, with a baby bump twice the size the books say it should be, and spotty skin and greasy hair (because no matter how much I wash it, it somehow stays greasy) and swollen ankles. It’s not like I want him to be attracted to me or anything – I have Daniel, and things with Steve wouldn’t have worked anyway. Probably. But still, I don’t want him to look at me and wonder what he saw in me and want to vomit. That doesn’t mean I feel anything for him.

I even told Daniel I would be seeing him, because couples shouldn’t have secrets. My mum tells my dad everything, and he’s in a coma. I definitely don’t want to be one of those couples who skirt around issues. Except for the lying-about-therapy thing, but that’s different.

‘Just so you know, I’ve got to do some work with Steve again,’ I said, stroking my tummy as we were watching TV.

Daniel had his laptop balanced on his knees. ‘Who’s Steve?’

‘Oh, no one really. Just that guy I dated before I met you. Well, one date. One bad date. Nothing you should be jealous of.’

Daniel looked at me curiously. ‘Did you sleep with him?’

‘God, no,’ I said. ‘Of course not. What do you think I am?’

‘You’re a very sexual person, Julia. I can’t expect you to have no past.’

I suppressed a burp – reflux is a bitch. ‘Well, I didn’t sleep with him.’

But now Daniel had some idea in his head, and he put aside his laptop. ‘But you did sleep with other men before me,’ he said, slipping his hand into my shirt and squeezing my breast. Which was agonising because it was so tender. I concentrated on not swatting him.

His voice was husky. ‘You’re so hot and horny,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘Maybe you should tell me about those other men. Tell me what they did to you. Tell me how many there were. Tell me how much you loved it.’ He was nuzzling my neck and making me feel like I couldn’t breathe, and then he looked up. ‘Maybe there were women too?’ He eyed me and tweaked my swollen nipple.

‘No,’ I said. ‘No women.’

‘You’re a vixen,’ he said, as if my answer was somehow sexy, and started pulling at my clothes. While he got on with things, I planned the baby’s room in my head. I’ve been thinking shades of cream with green edging, not the stereotypical blue. I sighed and moaned at opportune moments, and he didn’t seem to be able to tell the difference.

‘Christ, you are so hot,’ he said afterwards.

I nodded, feeling like I’d lost something and I didn’t know what.

The next morning at breakfast, I say, ‘So you’re okay about me working with Steve?’

‘Who’s Steve?’

‘No one. Forget it.’ Although clearly he already has.

Claire

I’m late again dropping Mackenzie at school and it’s the worst day for this to happen. Straight after drop-off I’m meeting the other mums involved in planning the school fete, and they’re all waiting, sipping their lattes, and I feel like they can look through me and know that I’m falling apart. But I say nothing, and they all leap up when I arrive and there’s a lot of air kissing and hugging and moving around the table making space for me.

I wonder what everyone knows about me and Daniel. On one hand, I think I’m going to die of embarrassment when people find out not only that Daniel has left me, but that I haven’t told anyone. I just couldn’t talk about it at first – and anyway, it was Christmas and who talks to anyone around that time – and then time passed, and suddenly it was awkward to tell people because so much time had passed, and I was embarrassed and inexplicably ashamed. And now I’m even more embarrassed about having said nothing. But I know rumours must be out there. It’s impossible that nobody has said anything, that nobody has seen Daniel and his pregnant girlfriend out and about, that people aren’t speculating. Joburg can be a very small town. But nobody has said anything to me, and I almost feel hurt. These women are supposed to be my friends, but they haven’t even broached the subject of my failing marriage. Nobody’s asked if I’m okay, if I want to talk, except that bloody Mrs Wood.

But I smile as I sit down, and I order a skinny latte, and Janice comments that I hardly need it to be skinny and I briefly consider throwing her own skinny latte in her face, but instead I laugh and say, ‘Habit,’ and the others all laugh too, like I’ve said something genuinely funny.

A woman called Tiffany is the head of the fete committee. Her daughter’s in a higher grade – I can never remember what grade or what the daughter’s name is. Daniel knows Tiffany’s husband, and over the years we’ve been at the same dinner parties. I should know her daughter’s name. And she probably knows that my husband is living with another woman. I smile at Tiffany and she seems to take that as a sign that we’re ready to begin.

‘Ahem,’ she says, tapping her knife on her latte cup, ‘let’s start, ladies.’ She laughs, a strange snort, and says, ‘I feel like a CEO,’ and then does the snorty laugh again. I remember that I quite