As for my mother! When I arrived, she seemed to be avoiding her friends – those strange people who had crowded into the hospital room with my dad, and some new ones. It brought back hazy childhood memories of my mother giving any overture of friendship a gentle but assured brush off – she never stayed for tea when she fetched me, never invited people in, refused invitations, and never returned calls.
She was doing these things to her friends, but now it was making her angry and itchy, and her friends were having none of it. Ewan and Okkie phoned to chat, whether or not she was listening. And they turned up at the house, and scolded her for hiding. And that Eddie, the ageing rock star one, turns out to have a wife in the home with Daddy. He cornered her when they were both there visiting, crying about his wife and seemingly totally oblivious to the fact that my mother was brushing him off, until she gave in and said, ‘Come, Eddie, let’s go have some coffee.’
And then there’s a chap called Larry. He’s ancient, obviously, but kind of sexy in an ancient way. And he turns up and ignores her ignoring him, and talks and talks until she starts laughing. He’s even persuaded her to go to dinner with him twice, and a movie. ‘It’s not a date, Helen,’ he says, although it’s clear to anyone with eyes that it is. ‘Think of it as your charity work. Comforting a lonely old divorcee.’ And he’ll wink at me, and my mother laughs and agrees.
‘But it’s not a date,’ she keeps saying, and I just nod because I’m having a baby with a married man so what do I know.
But the weirdest of the lot is this couple Stan and Lizette. Stan is Eddie’s brother – they even look alike, only Stan never cries and Eddie cries most of the time. But Stan and Lizette love my mother. I don’t really know why, because she seems to actively dislike Lizette, and anyway, my mother isn’t very warm. But they love her. They’re constantly inviting her places, sometimes with that Larry and Eddie, sometimes not. She accepts about one in four invitations, and it doesn’t deter them.
‘I’m not the sort of person to take no for an answer,’ Lizette told me the first time I met her. ‘Your mother’s the sort of person who understands that.’ She dropped her voice like she was telling me a secret. ‘Your mother’s the sort of person who needs to get out more.’
I chuckled. ‘I would have said my mother was the sort of person who doesn’t need to go out at all,’ I told her. ‘But what do I know?’
According to my mother, Lizette apparently interpreted this as a plea for help and now we both get invited. Which is what happened last night.
Last night was particularly mad because Lizette was trying to set me up with someone. I’m actually nine months pregnant, and this woman is trying to set me up. I didn’t even realise. When we arrived, she sat me down next to an awkward young man and said, ‘This is Greg. He’s a doctor,’ and then walked away, which is very unlike Lizette.
‘This is so awkward,’ I said to Dr Greg.
‘Yes,’ he said, a blush engulfing his entire face. Like the whole thing. Even his nose. Even his eyebrows.
‘She’s put me next to you in case I go into labour,’ I said. ‘The ultimate in hostessing: a doctor for your pregnant guest. Will you be taking my blood pressure between courses? And shout at me if I drink wine?’ I laughed. ‘Not that I will,’ I added hastily, because I didn’t want even a stranger thinking I was irresponsible.
‘I don’t think that’s why she’s put us together,’ said Greg. ‘And there is lots of evidence that an occasional glass of wine does no harm to a baby, and may in fact be of benefit to the mother.’
‘Then why has she put us together?’ I asked. ‘And I’ve read all the stuff, but I’m taking the better-safe-than-sorry route. I mean, it’s not like I’m an alcoholic or something, so I might as well just not drink.’
‘Definitely.’
We seemed to be having two conversations at once.
‘She’s trying to set us up,’ said Greg, the blush happening again. He had very pale blond hair and I expected to actually see blood rushing up the hairs. ‘And yes, not drinking is probably the safest route at the end of the day.’
‘Set us up?’ I said, now distracted from the second conversation. ‘But I’m nine months pregnant! Is she insane?’
My mother, who was sitting nearby talking to Eddie, looked over at me, smiled and gave a wink. A wink? My mother?
‘Well, I admit it was a surprise when you walked in,’ said Greg. ‘She somehow forgot to tell me about that when she was telling me about you.’
Something about pregnancy, and the whole ridiculous situation I have found myself in, has made me outspoken. So I called across the room to Lizette: ‘Lizette, how the hell do you set someone up with someone and not tell the someone that the other someone is heavily pregnant? How is that even a thing?’
Most people would be embarrassed or apologise, but not our Lizette. ‘Well, I’m not the sort of person who wants people to pre-judge each other,’ she said calmly. ‘So I didn’t tell him you were pregnant, and I didn’t tell you he’s a recovering alcoholic.’
‘Lizette, you didn’t tell me anything about him. Because I would’ve told you that I. Am. About. To. Have. A. Baby!’ Then I turned to Greg. ‘Not that the alcohol thing would have been a problem, okay? It’s the fact that there’s another man’s child in my uterus that’s the problem.’ I directed this last part at Lizette, who was unflinching. Then I remembered what I’d said about not being an alcoholic and wanted the floor to just open up and my whole enormous self to disappear into it.
At that point, Lizette’s mild husband Stan stepped in. ‘You meant well, love,’ he said, ‘but I did tell you she might find it inappropriate.’
‘You did,’ confirmed Lizette with amazement, not at all upset. ‘And you were right. Isn’t it extraordinary? People are so strange!’ This was all directed at Stan.
‘Extraordinary,’ he echoed, and smiled at me. Life with Lizette has turned the man into the world’s most skilled diplomat – his talent is wasted in suburban Johannesburg.
So then I had to speak to Greg the rest of the night to prove that I wasn’t judging him for being an alcoholic, and he had to speak to me to prove he wasn’t upset that he’d been set up with a pregnant woman, and at the end of the night Lizette took our hands and said, ‘You see, I knew you’d get on. Inseparable.’ And we both smiled weakly and my mother started giggling.
Giggling. My mother.
Claire
Last night while Mackenzie was out having supper with Daniel, I made a few cottage pies. This morning I drop one off at Lynette next door, because she has pneumonia and I suspect she isn’t eating. One is for Liandri’s family, because Liandri has got such bad postpartum depression that she’s been hospitalised for a few days. And one is for Mackenzie and me tonight.
When I drop Mackenzie at school, Mrs Wood is waiting for me.
‘Is everything okay at home?’ she says, taking me aside.
‘It’s very well,’ I say. ‘Thank you for asking.’ I’m racking my brain for what might have triggered this. Homework done. Lunch packed. Mackenzie happy. Tick, tick, tick.
‘It’s just that Mackenzie’s told everyone she’s bringing a baby to show-and-tell. A baby brother.’
‘Well,’ I say, ‘probably not soon. But his due date is round the corner, so she might bring him when he’s old enough.’
Mrs Wood looks down at my stomach, and I laugh.
‘Oh, it’s not mine. It’s her father’s ex-girlfriend.’ I hold Mrs Wood’s eyes, keeping a smile on my face. I’m actually quite enjoying this.
‘Ah,’ says Mrs Wood. ‘Yes. And you’re okay with Mackenzie bringing him here?’
I draw myself up slightly. ‘Mrs Wood,’ I say, ‘the baby will be Mackenzie’s brother. I expect him to be greeted and talked about and celebrated as you would the birth of any other sibling in this school.’ I pause. ‘Now I know I can totally depend on you.’
‘Yes, completely. How totally sensible,’ says Mrs Wood, nodding enthusiastically, as if wh
at I’ve just said is the point she wanted to make all along.
As I turn to leave, I remember that when Liandri had her baby, the school sent an enormous bunch of flowers. So I turn back, and scrabble in my bag for my notebook and pen.
‘Here is Julia’s name,’ I say, scribbling it on a piece of paper. ‘She’ll be having the baby at the Park Lane. I’m sure the school would like to send flowers when Mackenzie’s brother is born.’
Mrs Wood looks mystified. ‘Of course,’ she eventually says. ‘I’ll tell the PA.’
‘You’re an absolute blessing,’ I say. ‘I don’t know how any of us will cope with a different teacher next year.’
‘Ah, well,’ says Mrs Wood. ‘I do my best.’
‘And we all appreciate it,’ I say, walking away as quickly as I can.
In the car park I see Janice, who rushes across to me, ponytail bouncing and gym clothes sparkling, a stranger to sweat.
We hug each other. ‘You haven’t been to gym, you faker,’ I say to her. ‘You smell of Chanel, not sweaty socks and chlorine.’
Janice laughs and indicates a car park full of women in exercise gear. ‘Do any of them really go?’ she says. ‘And anyway, I actually am going after this.’
‘Why don’t you join that lot?’ I indicate the group of mums who use the school as the starting point for their morning run. ‘They seem very social. In fact, I think I might join them.’
‘Okay, that sounds great. We can both do that. But first can we talk about the rhinos . . . ?’
I’ve been ambushed by a Janice charity appeal, and I didn’t even see it coming. I’m getting soft in my old age.
‘The rhinos?’ I say. ‘Terrible.’
‘I know how you feel about them,’ says Janice. ‘So I thought you and Laurel would like to handle the celebrity golf day we’re setting up.’ She pauses. ‘We’ll pay you.’
I see by the laugh in her eyes that she knew I was going to say no. But paid work is different.
I smile. ‘And we will obviously give you a hugely discounted rate.’ Laurel and I have been looking for a high-profile showcase – and this could be it. ‘Give me a call later and let’s set up an appointment.’
‘Fab. Somebody just has to do something about this scourge.’
‘Exactly,’ I say, making a mental note to read up on rhino-poaching statistics before the meeting. ‘And you are always so selfless, Janice. An inspiration to us all.’
‘Lovely,’ Janice preens. ‘I’ll give you a shout later this morning . . . after I go to gym.’
I actually quite like the idea of joining the running mothers, so I walk over to speak to them. I know a few, and they quickly introduce me to the others – and it turns out they are happy for me to join them.
‘The more the merrier,’ says a large woman who seems to be the incongruous unofficial leader of the runners. ‘Just be warned that we often reward ourselves with chocolate at the end.’
‘Even better,’ I say. ‘Can’t wait.’ And we agree that I’ll join them tomorrow.
As I walk back to the car, mentally running through a checklist of the morning’s work, my phone beeps.
Daniel.
I know you’re only pretending to be happy without me. We were meant to be together. We need each other.
I actually laugh out loud. I want to type, The only thing you need is a smack, but instead I just say, Nope. Genuinely happy. And I am.
Helen
I wake up with a slight hangover from Lizette’s dinner and I have to down two painkillers before I can even think of going to work.
But before I do that, I have a mental word with Jack. I’ve been doing this every few days since that terrible nightmare four months ago, when Julia arrived on my doorstep and put an end to my suicide plans.
‘Mummy remembers you every day, baby,’ I say. I wish I could take out a photo and keep it next to my bed. But it is too late to explain it to Julia. I pause, remembering how happy Jack was when Julia was born. It was only a two-year age gap – but Jack was completely delighted by the baby. He wanted to hold her the whole time and touch her and kiss her. When she cried at night and I went to her, Jack would sometimes wake up too.
‘Mummy, baby cry,’ he would call.
‘I’m going, sweetie,’ I would answer, and he’d go back to sleep.
People warned me that they would fight when they got older. But it never happened. Jack doted on Julia until the day he died. When we dropped her off at my parents’ that day, he’d said, ‘Is Julia okay here, Mummy? Won’t Julia be lonely?’ But we’d explained that she was too young, and that we’d take her on other holidays.
‘We have hundreds of holidays with Julia ahead of us, Jackie,’ Mike had said. ‘This one is for Jackie and Mummy and Daddy.’
I feel my eyes filling up with tears thinking about it. I never used to cry about Jack. I used to hold it all in. But now I cry the whole time. It should make me more depressed, but somehow, it doesn’t.
I wipe away my tears, and get ready for work. It’s strange not having to wake Julia. I glance into the room, and her head is back and she’s gently snoring. Her child will be born any day now. Julia will be okay when the baby is born, I tell myself.
When I get to work, Ewan is already there.
‘Have we had the baby yet?’ he says as I walk in.
I laugh. ‘We’ve been through this, you dummy. I will message you as soon as the baby is born. And there’s a good chance I won’t come into work the next day if the baby is born in the night.’
Because Julia has asked me to be at the birth. She has reluctantly agreed that Daniel can also be in the room. But she wants me there. I was blown away by her asking me that. I’d never have imagined it. In her teens, Julia spent a lot of time casually mentioning how cold and distant I was, and she was right. So I never thought of myself as the sort of mother who would see her grandchild being born. And be excited about it.
But now here I am, the sort of mother who gets invited to the birth of her grandchild. Julia and I have even been to classes together, where she learns to breathe and I learn to give her ice chips and hold her hand. I feel a bit sorry for Daniel, actually. He’s been more than happy to come to the classes to support Julia. She lets him come, but she makes him sit in a corner, and he’s not allowed to touch her or really speak to her. Sometimes he speaks to me in the tea breaks. He seems sad and confused.
But when I tell Julia that, she gets very cross.
‘Sad and confused is his thing,’ she said to me last week. ‘He’s so sad and confused that he doesn’t even care who he gets back, me or Claire. And he’s so delusional that he doesn’t even realise we know.’
When she put it like that, it was hard to argue. And I am angry at how he hurt her – I wanted to kill him when it happened. It’s just hard to maintain the anger when he looks up at me with those sad eyes of his, like I might have the answers.
‘Be careful of those eyes, Mum,’ Julia said when I told her this. ‘Look where those goddamn eyes got me.’
And then we both started giggling until Julia almost wet herself, and she looked at me and said, ‘That was the best. It was worth having an affair with a married man and getting pregnant with a half-wanted baby just to laugh with you like that.’
And my eyes filled with tears, and I turned away, because nobody has ever said anything that wonderful to me before.
It’s halfway through the morning that I get a call from Edward.
‘Hey, you,’ I answer. ‘How’s the hangover? Mine’s a shocker. Never thought I would feel like this again.’
‘Helen,’ says Eddie, and his voice is serious. ‘Helen, something’s happened.’
‘Is it Julia?’ I say, panicked. Although almost immediately I know that would make no sense. Why would Eddie know if something had happened to Julia?
‘No,’ he says, not particularly confused by the question. ‘It’s Miriam. She’s woken up.’
The words hang between us. I must have misheard.
‘No,’ he says. And I realise his voice isn’t serious. It’s something else. Flustered and excited and scared and happy. ‘She’s woken up. She woke up at six this morning, pulled the ventilator tube out of her nose and asked for a cup of tea.’
‘Tea,’ I echo, unable to believe what I’m hearing. ‘She woke up and asked for tea.’
‘Isn’t it amazing, Helen? Isn’t this the best thing that has ever happened?’
‘The best thing,’ I echo.
‘I knew you’d be happy for me. I knew you’d be the only one who understood.’
‘Yes,’ I say, because I don’t know what else to say, and we are silent for a moment. ‘Did they call you right away?’
I have always wondered about this: would they call me right away if Mike woke up?
‘Well, it seems they first examined her,’ he says. ‘And when they asked her what she thought had happened, she said that she’d been in a coma but now she was ready to wake up. Can you believe it? It’s just like you said – they know exactly what’s going on.’
‘Wow,’ I say, because I don’t know what else to say. ‘And you’ve seen her?’
‘Yes,’ said Eddie. ‘Oh, Helen, it’s amazing. She’s exactly like she was. It’s like nothing happened.’
‘Oh.’
‘And they say they just want to observe her for a week, but if she stays like this, she can go home.’ He laughs. ‘My Miri will be home in a week.’
I realise I have tears running down my cheeks, and I’m not really sure why. But I give myself the benefit of the doubt.
‘Edward,’ I say, ‘I am so happy for you that I’m crying.’
‘I can’t wait for you to meet her properly,’ he says. ‘You two are going to be the best of friends, I just know it.’
The Aftermath Page 20