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

like a Zen monk. Maybe I should start telling people that my dad is a Zen monk. It would be closer to the truth, really.

But when I walk into his room, it’s about as un-Zen as can be. My mum is there, but she looks cheerful and a bit manic, so basically totally unlike herself. And there are two men that I have never seen before.

‘Who are these people?’ I say to my mum, who looks flustered by my appearance.

‘My friends,’ she says. ‘Ewan, Okkie, meet my daughter, Julia.’

I don’t know which one is which, and I don’t care.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask, not even looking at the strangers. ‘Why are they here?’

I take in the room. There’s a basket of food on the ground, and a bowl of crisps balanced on my dad’s knees. Not Zen then.

‘Are you having . . . a picnic . . . on Dad?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ says Mum, grabbing the bowl of crisps.

The caramel-coloured man steps forward, his hand outstretched so that I’m forced to shake it.

‘I’m Ewan Marigold,’ he says. ‘I work with Helen, and she mentioned that she wouldn’t be able to see your father today because she saw him on Monday. So I suggested we all come and have lunch with him.’

Mum turns to me and her eyes are shining. ‘And then I remembered, Julia, how much Dad loved having spontaneous lunches. Sometimes he’d wait outside the hospital with a basket of food, and we’d spend my lunch break in the park. He loved doing that.’

My mother never tells me anything about my father before The Accident. I have a tiny list of things that I’ve gleaned about him, and now I have this new thing: he loved spontaneous lunches. It makes me feel uncomfortable, even though it’s a nice thing.

Then the other man steps forward. ‘I’m Okwango,’ he says. ‘Ewan’s boyfriend. But people call me Okkie.’ He too sticks out his hand. ‘We are so excited about your baby.’

‘My baby?’ I echo, like it’s news to me.

‘Your mother told us,’ says Ewan. ‘It’s so lovely. She’s so excited.’

I look at my mother, incredulous, and she blushes. I can’t even process her right now. I search my mind for what’s bothering me and eventually realise: my mother is acting like a normal person. With emotions. And friends. Quite exotic friends at that.

‘Are you drunk?’ I ask her. It’s the only explanation.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she says, but her eyes stray to a bottle of wine sticking out of the food basket. And she sees me watching her, and she giggles. I need to sit down.

And just as I’m feeling like the world can’t get any weirder, a man’s head appears around the door.

‘Hi there, Helen,’ he says. ‘Heard the laughter – thought I’d say hi.’ The man is about my mum’s age. He’s good-looking, like an ageing rock star. But like an ageing rock star he looks tired and worn out. Maybe he is an ageing rock star, given how weird this is.

And then my mum walks over to him, and takes him by the arm, pulling him into the room. I’ve never seen my mother touch a stranger – not even my friends when I was at school – so my mouth falls open. And then she starts introducing this ageing rock star to the other two, and the room is full of people shaking hands and saying, ‘Nice to meet you,’ and ‘Heard so much about you,’ but I’ve never heard about any of them. It’s like I’ve stumbled into a cocktail party I wasn’t invited to. I wonder what the nurses think.

I sink into a chair and look at my dad. His face is restful. He’s lying there still and peaceful, like he always does. He’s not judging my mother for her outlandish behaviour; he is, in fact, Zen. I focus on him and let the room wash over me.

And then there’s a new flurry, and Ewan and Okkie are wiping the crumbs out of the crisp bowl, and the ageing rock star says something about going to see someone called Miriam, and my mum kisses my dad goodbye, and in the chaos gives me a kind of affectionate pat on the shoulder, and then they all start saying how late they are for work, and they leave en masse.

And I’m left, like the flotsam of the party, looking at my peaceful father.

‘What the hell was that, hey, Daddy?’

I can almost feel him laugh.

Helen

I had no intention of seeing Mike today. I saw him on Monday, and that had me staring into space thinking my own thoughts. I couldn’t take off another afternoon anyway, and I promised myself I would see him on Thursday evening. It’s tough knowing he’s awake inside, and that he waits for me and misses me, and I can’t always get there. I used to go every evening – even if it was sometimes only for a few minutes when Julia was little – but over the years that has lessened. But if I’m honest with myself, with all these worries about Julia, I’ve seen Mike less in the last few months than I ever have before.

But I know he understands. Even though we haven’t talked about it, he must know that I’m preparing for us to leave the world together. And to do that, I need to make sure that Julia is okay.

I was thinking these thoughts when Ewan came out of the consulting rooms mid-morning.

‘Wednesday, Helen,’ he said. ‘Off to see Mike this afternoon?’

‘Not today,’ I answered. ‘I took my half day on Monday so I’ll miss today.’

I must have sounded upset about it. Or maybe Ewan Marigold is just the sort of man who is always looking to help people.

‘Okkie and I are going out for lunch,’ he said. ‘Do you want to join us?’

‘Won’t I be intruding?’ I said. ‘Third wheel?’ I feel like this a lot – like I would be more socially acceptable if I had Mike alongside. I even