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

did I last laugh by myself? The sound echoes off my walls, looking for a place to hide. But I am really so happy that Julia has said something nice about my friends. Or maybe I’m just happy that she sent me a message that wasn’t about a practical arrangement. I’m not sure when that last happened either. And I still feel sort of amazed that I am a person with friends.

I type, They’re not friends, they’re just some people, but that feels ungracious and untrue, so I delete it. I type, They liked you too, but that sounds trite and a bit dishonest because Julia didn’t really interact with them. She just sat there all bug-eyed. I giggle again.

I try, Thanks, but that sounds too bland – I want to communicate how happy she has made me. I decide to wait till I know what to say.

The next message is from Okkie. This is the first time Okkie has contacted me directly. He says, Thanks for letting us meet Mike. Xx.

I feel so touched, and kind of awed by a life in which I have this gay Ugandan man as a friend.

Thanks for wanting to meet him, I message back.

Why is it easier to speak to Okkie than Julia? That can’t be right. I try for a moment to think what to say to Julia, but nothing comes, so I look at the last of my three messages.

This one is from Edward, inviting me to a family lunch on Saturday: I’m thinking that if they meet you, they’ll understand better about people in our situation, he explains.

I’m a bit thrown. What exactly is he asking me? To come to lunch and be miserable so his family can see that this is normal? To come to lunch and be sociable so they can see that I am normal? To come to lunch and speak with expertise about the dull, lonely life of a person married to a person in a coma? To give them hope?

I’ll phone you later, I type back to Edward. Maybe I’ll feel more comfortable if he can explain what he wants from me.

I turn back my attention to the challenge of Julia’s message. I ask myself what I really want to say. What I really want to say is that I love her. So I write it.

Thanks. I love you.

But this isn’t how Julia and I are. We don’t do ‘I love yous’ and hugs and things. I’m worried it sounds insincere. I’m about to delete it but my finger slips on the screen and the message is sent. I think about messaging her again, telling her to ignore the last message.

But on a balance, that would probably be weirder.

Claire

Thank God I’m feeling better today. I get Mackenzie and myself up well in time for school, and Mackenzie also seems easier than usual. There’s a moment when she can’t find her pink-striped knickers – the only pair she will currently wear – but by some miracle I convince her that the blue-striped knickers will do. This is an achievement I have never managed before.

I pack up the scones for Ivy and Liandri, and I pop one into Mackenzie’s lunchbox, together with her usual sandwich and snacks. I don’t know if she’ll like it, but it’s nice to give her something different.

I’m hoping that by getting to school a bit early, I won’t run into anyone I know, because I want to use this energy to get back on top of my work. But when we pull into the car park I see Janice’s car is already there. I wonder if I can dodge her, but the thing about Janice is that she always finds me.

I take Mackenzie up to her classroom, and Janice isn’t there, so I spend a few minutes catching up with the new art on the walls, letting Mackenzie show me hers. This she does with expansive arm movements and announcements of ‘This is my one. It’s the best.’ But eventually I have to leave, and as I’m walking down the path, I spot Janice lurking at the end.

I take a deep breath.

She feigns surprise when she sees me, and we air-kiss.

‘I’m so sorry I haven’t got back about the girls’ night,’ I start, but Janice interrupts me.

‘Oh, Claire,’ she says, touching my arm. ‘I’m so sorry but that’s off.’ I’m not really sure how to react but she barely gives me time to. ‘I was telling Dirk about it last night, and he got upset when I said I needed some excitement. So he’s taking me to Italy for a week without the kids.’

I’m about to comment that it really isn’t the same thing at all, and how typical of a man not to get that a night with friends fulfils a totally different need, but then I notice that Janice is beaming. ‘That’s lovely,’ I say. ‘I love Italy.’

‘It will be so glamorous and romantic and spontaneous,’ says Janice. ‘And I’ll post lots of photos on Facebook so you can all share it with me.’

Of course, I realise – this isn’t actually about spending time with friends. It’s about doing something that makes her feel special.

‘I’m rather jealous,’ I say, suspecting that’s what she wants to hear. ‘I love Italy.’

‘You must give me a list of your best places,’ says Janice, her smile so wide I’m worried it will damage her. ‘And I’ll tag you when we go.’

‘Lovely,’ I say. ‘You’re a lucky girl.’

‘I know!’ She’s actually hugging herself with glee. ‘And it’s all thanks to you.’

‘Oh, nonsense.’ I want to say it’s all thanks to her overwhelming need for attention, but instead I say, ‘It’s thanks to your lovely husband. I can’t wait to see the pics.’

Janice almost skips off, no doubt to find someone else to tell her news to, and I’m left feeling strangely empty. I might question Janice’s motivation, but it would be nice to be jetting off to Europe with a