The Aftermath Of You

Chapter Four

A few hours later Toni lay on her bed like a starfish, and stared at the ceiling in worry. She had already counted three hundred and fifty sheep, five sheepdogs and one stray cow, but she was still wide awake. What do I try now? Maybe I could count split ends.

Toni touched a lock of her hair, and felt exhausted at the prospect.  Maybe another night ...

She ran a tongue along her teeth; they felt so furry, like licking a bunny rabbit. When did I brush my teeth last? Do I still own a toothbrush? Something caught her eye. The photograph sitting on her bedside table, bathed in moonlight; a picture of her with long black hair and a haunted look in her eyes, cradling baby Jayden in her arms like she could never let him go. Beside her, Danny stood with his arm draped over her shoulders, and in the background there was a large waterfall. Toni squinted at it, her heart beating erratically. There! It had happened again. She was almost certain that Jack stood in the photo beside her instead of Danny; she closed her eyes tightly and tried to breathe normally. Toni absolutely hated this part of the day, the night stretching out before her. Filled with feelings of guilt and remorse she forced herself to look away from the photograph.

Why did this happen to me? She already knew the answer. If it weren't for her he would be lying in bed beside her now. Maybe he would be listing off what he loved about her on his fingers like he used to. And she would be curled around him like a koala bear clinging to a gum tree, making sure her icy cold feet were tucked under him for warmth. She had ruined that.

Silence stretched out. Toni tried to meditate clearing her mind of all thoughts, but she could hear a whisper somewhere in the distance, and the whisper was getting louder. Toni knew who it was, the large blonde woman at the local deli whispering obnoxiously to her friend.

Toni hummed, trying desperately to drown out the memory. But the woman was persistent, her voice growing stronger and stronger until finally Toni could hear her shouting: 'That Toni Hancock has more skeletons in her closet than you can shake a stick at'. Deep breaths, take deep breaths. The two women had examined her shopping basket from afar, shooting the lone cask of white wine a critical look. Toni was too dejected to even respond, 'Oh for the love of god! I'm making a bowl of punch for my granny's friends.' The phrase had haunted her; it had echoed in her mind continuously: skeletons in her closet knocking their grey bones. Her heart beat intermittently.

"It's all part of the insomnia" her well-meaning doctor had tried to tell her. "It will go soon." But it hadn't, instead Toni fought to fall asleep every night. She had begun to think that the large blonde woman was right; her closet was riddled with skeletons. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the wardrobe move, so she squeezed her eyelids closed, sucking in a deep breath to steady herself. It's the skeletons, they're moving around, elbowing each other in an attempt to get out! She knew it was shut, it was always shut, and she'd taken care to empty it out. Every item of clothing, battered handbag and last used cotton tip was unceremoniously emptied out.

Toni's insomnia usually brought on the most vivid hallucinations. The wardrobe was forever making a night time debut, as was the floor, and innocent items of furniture took on extraordinary identities. Edgar Allen Poe, eat your heart out! Whimpering in fear, she pulled her duvet tightly over her head.

Toni lay helplessly for some time, and then she heard it. "You can't say that you're living," the voice of reason said, in an unmistakable American drawl.

How right he was. She wasn't living, she had just existed for years. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so hard she'd snorted juice from one nostril, or eaten a whole packet of chocolate biscuits just because she could. Instead she subsisted on a smelly couch that she didn't have the heart to clean, and she was too scared to go out the front door and live.

Toni sat up abruptly and switched on her lamp, scrabbling around in her bedside drawer for a pen and paper. Six years of this is definitely enough! She stared at the paper until her eyes felt hot and sore, racking her brains. What did normal women do to get over their ex partners? She'd seen plenty of them stumbling around the hand dryers in the local pub, slurring to anyone who dared to stop and wash their hands, that their ex was a chauvinistic, cheating bastard. That was not really the kind of approach she was looking for.

She had to find herself again. Her goals didn't need to be award winning (fortunately someone had already split the atom). No, all she needed to do was write a list that she felt could change her life a little. Something that would get her mother off her back.

Her hand flew willingly across the paper, writer's block forgotten.

Lulu,

If you are reading this list then seek psychological help and stop invading my privacy! I can just picture you eagerly wanting to scribble over this in red ball point pen: "What do you want to do that for?"and "You know what you should do?"

I really don't care what you think I should do... so take your pen and stick it! I don't know what I did wrong in my past life to have someone like you as a mother, but I presume that it was DREADFUL. Sex with a minor, drive-by shooting, mug a pensioner... the options are endless.

It wouldn't have been so bad if I'd had a sibling; I could have run for the hills and never returned. But being an ONLY child means I get to experience the emotional roller coaster ride which is you, Lulu. Some days I don't exist, some days you feel obliged to remind me of all my shortcomings, other days I am worse than pond scum. So what am I going to do (read: BY MYSELF NO HELP FROM YOU, THANKS) to get over the pain and anguish that I'm feeling?

1. Buy a pet, and no, not a poodle. I don't care if they are 'hypo allergenic' or if they can carry trays of drinks on their heads, they are dogs and dogs have an affinity with my crotch. And every time they lunge at my crotch I go flying. No cats either, so don't even bother buying one for me, they are forever banging around my ankles trying to trip me up.

2. Paint the house. And not the colour that your next-door-neighbor painted hers. A color that I LIKE. An invigorating colour which helps to stimulate my creative juices.

3. Get a new hairdo – or at least chop dreadlock out. Heck, maybe I'll even colour it!

4. Learn to dance Rock'n'Roll.

5. Socialise – with big people, not just children and weirdoes like you.

6. Gain lots of weight to achieve sexy summer body.

7. Buy new clothes to cover said sexy summer body.

8. Find a job or a business opening. And no, I don't want to open a café. I don't know if you've realized but I can't cook to save myself and I hate serving food. So let it go already.

9. Start dating: preferably with men of an eligible age ... but beggars cannot be choosers. Sugar daddies are not completely out of the question.

10. Find myself/ explore my spirituality (but preferably not join any cults – but on positive side: will be encouraged to lose contact with family members like you so may seriously consider).

To go to sleep after such deep self observation seemed impossible to Toni. She wanted to begin conquering her list straight away. Grabbing a handful of novels which Granny Smith had overwhelmed her with, she shuffled through. 'Writing from the Bones'.

Toni re-read the title in shock. Her grandmother never read anything apart from articles about the late, great Princess Diana, and who might be behind her 'accidental' death. It wasn't often that her grandmother supported Toni's creativity; instead she liked to suggest tedious jobs like waitressing as productive career choices.

Furthermore, Toni never liked reading non-fiction books - she'd even found the Karma Sutra a little dull despite the outrageous illustrations - so after forcing herself to read the first paragraph she began skimming it quickly. 'Inspiring place to work.' Quick scan of room, affirmative nod, skim a few pages more. 'Costume.' The word caught her and Toni peered more firmly at the page, and she liked what she read.