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

Daniel’s charm no longer affects me.

Julia is SO welcome to you, you selfish prick, I type.

I imagine Daniel’s incredulity – he won’t understand what’s just happened. He’ll look at his phone with his mouth slightly open, like a wounded puppy. I laugh out loud.

‘You’re so happy, Mummy,’ observes Mackenzie, dipping toast into her soft-boiled egg.

‘Of course I am, Kenz,’ I say. ‘I get to take you to school today.’

Mackenzie nods, as if that does indeed explain everything. ‘Poor Dad,’ she says. ‘He’s really missing out these days.’

This time my laugh has a slightly hysterical edge. ‘He really is,’ I say, deciding to stop by the delicatessen after dropping Mackenzie to buy Ivy a casserole. There’s no rule that says helping has to be hard work. In fact, I’ll also get one for my next-door neighbour, who was complaining how much she hates to cook the other day. Maybe I’ll discreetly leave the shop’s card in the bag. Give her an idea. And I’ll put it all on the credit card that Daniel still pays. I don’t even think he knows he pays it, because it goes through the business accountant. In the beginning I felt bad and only used it for Mackenzie’s things. But stuff that. In fact, I might take myself shopping for new clothes before sports this afternoon.

And because I’m now in a good mood, I send Daniel one more message, reminding him about sports day. He won’t come, but it’s not my fault.

Julia

I dress carefully this morning, knowing I’ll be seeing Steve. It’s not like I actually look good in anything – even my maternity clothes don’t seem to fit me properly. If something fits my growing waist, then it’s too tight on my boobs, and if it fits my boobs, then it billows – but in a frumpy watermelon way, not in a boho-chic way. And the maternity fashions all seem focused on the wrong colours for me, so I look even more washed out than I actually am.

In an effort to hide my pregnancy acne and skin discoloration, I put on too much make-up and look like a clown. So I scrub it off, leaving my face glowing red and one of my many spots bleeding. I toy with the idea of becoming a religious Muslim for the duration of my pregnancy so that I can hide my face with a hijab.

Eventually I kind of give up. I put on comfortable pregnancy leggings, even though I think they smell vaguely of pee, and pair them with one of Daniel’s shirts and a string of fake pearls. I leave my glowing red face, but add lip gloss. Looking in the mirror, I accept that Steve is not going to break down in tears at the thought of what he’s missed. In fact, he might do a little happy dance. Who could blame him?

I arrive at work late and the meeting’s already started. Gerald looks flushed and agitated when I walk in. My unofficial role in the firm is the people pleaser – the one who makes the small talk and adds the corporate gloss. In his dun-coloured cardigans peppered with dandruff, Gerald is not going to win big contracts no matter how good he is at his job. And Steve’s company is the biggest contract we’ve ever landed. We need to keep it.

Gerald jumps up when I enter the meeting room – a dull room furnished with what seems to be someone’s old dining room table, and which is currently dark because it hasn’t occurred to Gerald or his secretary to open the blinds. I stroll over and try to make it look perfectly normal to start a meeting by letting in a bit of natural light.

‘Oh,’ says Gerald, delighted. ‘That’s what’s wrong.’

I turn to face the room. Steve and his boss, Malcolm, are staring at me. I try to summon efficient Julia from somewhere in my psyche, and walk over to shake hands. The two men stand up, and we do firm, business-like handshakes all round, saying things like ‘Good to see you again.’ And I can see that Steve, who is taller than I remember, is taking me in, in all my bloated pregnant glory. Suddenly I worry that he won’t even realise that I’m pregnant; he’ll just think that I’m really fat. Gerald soon sorts that out though.

‘Julia’s pregnant,’ he says.

We’re all a bit taken aback.

‘Congratulations,’ says Steve after what seems like hours.

‘Yes,’ says Malcolm. ‘How wonderful.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, ‘but please don’t think that it will in any way impact on our service to you. Has anyone offered you something to drink?’

Of course no one has, so I bustle about organising teas and coffees with Ann, the secretary, who looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language when I ask her to get them, and I end up writing down the order for her outside the door.

I come back in to the meeting room, where once again there’s an awkward silence – Gerald’s speciality.

‘So,’ I say, opening the file in front of me, ‘let’s talk.’

The meeting goes smoothly after that. Steve is mostly quiet, but Malcolm is obviously happy with what I’m saying. There’s a stutter when Malcolm closes the papers in front of him, and says, ‘We’re very happy with the work this firm has done so far – but it has been mostly Julia servicing our account. What’s going to happen when she’s on maternity leave?’ He directs this question at Gerald, who looks as if he’s never heard of such a thing.

‘Maternity leave?’ he echoes.

‘Yes,’ says Steve, in that dry voice I suddenly remember. ‘You know, that thing where you’re legally obliged to let people look after their newborn babies.’

I stifle a giggle – Gerald is looking appalled.

‘Maybe,’ continues Steve, ‘you’re planning to have Julia come in with the baby? Feed and change it between tax returns?’

Gerald looks at me hopefully, but I shake my head and turn to Malcolm.

‘As you