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

feels good to be full of plans. I think about phoning Julia before the day starts, but then remember how I hated my mum nagging at me when I was a young adult. Obviously, after she died I would have given my right arm for a dose of her nagging, but you can’t tell them that, can you? It’s one of the things people must learn for themselves, when it’s too late. Anyhow, the last time I spoke to Julia she was fine, and she’d let me know if there was a problem. We don’t have one of those mother-daughter relationships where we need to yabber about nothing all day. It’s probably my fault. I haven’t been the small-talk type since The Accident.

For a moment I remember how I used to speak to my mother about everything, and I feel a pang of longing. It’s been years since I had space in my grief to miss my parents; it feels strange.

I dress carefully – I don’t want to look too smart for lunch, but I want to look good. I’m glad that I’ve finally started going to the hairdresser again, and my hair is glossy, with all the grey coloured away. I take the time to apply the make-up I spontaneously bought last week when I was in the shop getting shampoo and deodorant. I even threw in some ridiculously expensive perfume. It’s been years since I bothered with all that, and I’m surprised by the face that looks at me from the mirror. It looks like a person with an interesting life.

I find that I’m wanting Edward’s family to like me. I’m wanting them to see that even if you’re a broken half-person, you can still look okay. Maybe then they’ll have hope for Edward.

I explain all this to Mike when I get to the hospital, speaking easily and laughing as I hold his hand. When I run out of words, I just sit for a bit, stroking his hand, trying not to think too much. Mike and I have been through so much, and I owe him that final release from his prison, but right now I can’t get a grip on my plan for us to die, even though the drugs that I ordered are sitting in the cupboard at the surgery, waiting for me. When Julia first got pregnant, it felt so important. And it is important. I will be free when the baby is born, and I must free Mike. But for now I just want to sit, holding his hand, telling him about my day and absorbing his peace.

When I am done chatting to Mike, I go down the passage to Miriam, pausing to explain to the nurse on duty. I know for most people visiting Miriam would be strange, but I treat her like I would Mike, even though I know that it’s different because obviously she’s nothing like Mike. Nobody’s home, basically, but out of respect to Edward’s grief, I speak to her as if she’s as alert inside as Mike is.

First, I tell her who I am again, in case she is awake inside there and has forgotten me. I tell her a bit about Mike and about Julia and the baby she’s expecting. It feels quite cathartic speaking to her – I’m less self-aware than I am with Mike. Maybe because Miriam is a vegetable. I tell her about the lunch, and who will be there. I ask her what she thought of these people when she was up and about, and I wonder what they’ll make of me.

‘Edward’s cooking,’ I say. ‘He says he was always the one who cooked for company, but I bet you helped more than he realised. I bet he’s going to find it really hard without you.’ I laugh.

And as I laugh, Miriam’s hand flies up next to her and then drops, and her heart rate monitor goes up. An alarm must sound at the nurses’ station because they come racing through, and suddenly she’s surrounded by people. I tell them what happened, and one of the nurses painstakingly writes it up in her chart. But Miriam’s back to normal now, and the nurses decide that they’ll speak to the doctor on his rounds rather than calling him.

‘Should I tell her husband?’ I ask. ‘Should I get his hopes up?’

One of the nurses I know well shakes her head. ‘It happens, Helen,’ she says. ‘It was just muscular.’

I nod. I know that. But I can’t help thinking that even Mike has never done anything that dramatic. And if it had been Mike, I’d want someone to tell me. I decide to play it by ear – I can’t tell Edward in front of everyone, and I don’t want to tell him before his lunch because he’ll get all distracted and worked up, and will probably want to come see her immediately. That’s what I’d do.

On my way out, I pop my head back into Mike’s room.

‘Miriam just moved,’ I tell him. ‘Do you want to match that? See her and raise her?’ I wait a minute, and nothing happens. ‘Okay. Just thought I’d check.’

When I get to Edward’s place, Stan, his brother, and his wife, Lizette, are already there. Stan is like a shorter, washed-out version of Edward, but Lizette could never be described as washed out. She has big hair, blonde, and bright-red lipstick. When Edward introduces us, Stan stands up and shakes my hand. Lizette remains seated but pats the seat next to her.

‘I’m not the sort of person who beats around the bush,’ she says. ‘We’re very curious about you.’

I smile and sit down next to her. ‘I’m sure,’ I say. ‘But really, I’m not very interesting.’

‘It’s not like me to be blunt,’ she says, contradicting her first statement, ‘but Edward tells us your husband is also a vegetable, just like Miriam.’

I look at her to see if she’s being deliberately rude, but her pale-blue eyes are open very wide, and