143

by Jade Winters

  "Do I know you?" she asked.

  Rebecca looked completely dazed. "Genie, it's me, Rebecca."

  "I'm sorry, but I have never seen you before in my life."

  "Is this some kind of joke? Because if it is, it's not funny. I have been worried sick about you," Rebecca said in an accusing voice.

  "I can assure you that this is no joke, I think I would know if I knew you, and I don't. You've obviously mistaken me for someone else."

  It was the look in Genevieve's eyes that told Rebecca she was telling the truth. She really had no recollection of her. A fountain of fear rose steadily in Rebecca's body. Her heart started beating faster; she couldn't comprehend what this meant. She looked for a doctor or nurse, but they all seemed to be busy — and damn! Just at that moment, Genevieve's parents walked in.

  "Have you ever met this woman before?" Genevieve asked the woman who was supposedly her mother, pointing at Rebecca. Elsie's eyes swept Eddie's face, unsure of what to say. He responded by pursing his lips and folding his arms defensively.

  "No, I can't say I have," she said, taking the cue, the colours deepening in her cheeks. She wasn't lying as such because she hadn't actually "met" Rebecca before; she had only seen her that night at The Ivy House and had not been formally introduced to her.

  "She seems to think she knows me, but I've never seen her before."

  "Genie," Rebecca pleaded, "we've been living together for the past four years!" Genevieve looked confused.

  "I think it's best you leave," her father interjected. "You may well be her flat mate, but we've never met you, and she's too unwell to see anyone. Do you want me to call security?" he asked threateningly.

  Rebecca stood up to leave and caught the look of triumph in Paul's eyes, whose previous appearance of an unhealthy pallor had been replaced with clean-shaven cheeks and a healthy glowing face. She took one more look at Genevieve's confused face and started to walk towards the exit.

  She was just within earshot when she heard Paul saying, "Hello darling. I hope I look more appealing now." Rebecca felt as if someone had just brutally stabbed a large knife into the softest part of her back.

  * * *

  Peter was waiting outside the hospital. Rebecca had called him from the airport and asked him to pick her up as she'd wanted to go straight to the hospital. He was beside himself with excitement when he heard Genevieve was awake.

  "Now everything can return to normal," he'd said to himself, smiling. That thought was soon cut short when he saw Rebecca making her way towards the car. He could tell from her body language that things had not gone well. Instead of walking upright as she normally did, her shoulders were cowered over, her head was bent towards the floor, oblivious to the people that were moving quickly out of her way to avoid colliding with her.

  He got out of the car as quickly as his body would allow him and walked across the road to where Rebecca stood. She didn't see him and was startled when he put his hand on her arm.

  "Rebecca," he said gently. Her eyes were vacant and he felt panic rise within him. "Rebecca, talk to me. What's happened?" He braced himself for the worst. He had seen that look in people's eyes in the army when they had seen something traumatic.

  "She doesn't know me," she mumbled, still acting like she was possessed.

  "Of course she wants to know you," he said, having misheard what she said. His adrenaline rush subsided. Thinking that they'd possibly had a squabble, he increased his pace to walk beside Rebecca.

  "She doesn't know me," she repeated. He was confused. What does she mean, she doesn't know her? Then it struck him. She had suffered a head injury and she must have some sort of amnesia.

  He grabbed Rebecca's arm just as she was about to walk into oncoming traffic.

  "Rebecca," he said sharply, hoping to snap her out of her daze. She looked at him, childlike and vulnerable.

  "Rebecca, listen to me, this mess is going to be all right. Do you hear me? It's going to be alright." He didn't know which of them he was trying to convince more.

  * * *

  Rebecca let herself into her apartment and hung her keys up on the key rack in the passage. There should be another key there, she thought to herself. That was how she knew if Genevieve was home or not. When Genevieve worked from home she worked in silence, so the key would be the signal she was home. The flat no longer felt like a home. It was only a home when Genevieve was there, filling the place with love and laughter. Each room held vivid memories for Rebecca. Each room had a story. She desperately wanted to cry, but nothing came. She aimlessly wandered around the flat with her memories as her only companions.

  As darkness started to wrap itself around the city, Rebecca sat in her apartment looking through the window, staring blankly at the black water beneath Westminster Bridge. She couldn't take her eyes off it as the reflection from the lights on the bridge glistened on its glass-like surface. An empty bottle of wine stood on the table beside her, its contents having done nothing to numb her pain. She felt as though she was in one of those crass black-and-white movies where the women were overly emotional or fainted when the stress became too much.

  She knew she was strong and she knew she was going to have to snap out of this victim mentality she had allowed herself to wallow in. The candles flickered in the darkness of the room, making objects look larger than they really were. That's what she had allowed to happen. She had let the situation seem bigger than it was. She closed her eyes and let the tension release from her neck and shoulders. She took a deep breath and slowly released it, feeling stronger within herself.

  * * *

  The next morning she arrived at the hospital early. She was not going to cower in the face of adversity. As she made her way through the hospital corridors, she passed by one of the nurses who had been on duty in the ICU. They both smiled at each other and for one brief moment the nurse hesitated, as if she was going to say something, but then walked on. When Rebecca reached the unit she was informed that Genevieve had been moved to another ward as her injuries were no longer life-threatening. She had a private room, thanks to the health care plan both women had taken out after reading the horror stories in the national newspapers about NHS hospitals.

  Once Rebecca found the ward, the nurse showed her the way to Genevieve's room. Rebecca knocked hesitantly on the door, praying that Genevieve's parents were not present — if they were, there was definitely going to be a showdown.

  "Come in!" Genevieve called out. As Rebecca walked in, she caught the surprised look on Genevieve's face.

  "Hi."

  "Come in; I remember you from yesterday."

  "Thanks for not yelling for security," Rebecca joked. Genevieve smiled that smile Rebecca remembered so well. It took all the strength she had not to grab hold of her and tell her how she felt.

  "That's okay," Genevieve said. "I'm surprised you came back"

  "If anything, I'm persistent." She closed the door behind her, glad of the privacy the room afforded them. This room was bright and breezy — a far cry from the overcrowded wards she had seen on her way there. It didn't have that certain hospital smell of disinfectant that normally permeates the air. She sat down on the comfortable armchair that had been placed beside Genevieve's bed. Both women looked at each other. Genevieve still looked quite unwell and the bruising remained prominent on her face.

  "One of the nurses told me you haven't left the hospital since I arrived. We must have been good friends — were we flat mates?" she asked.

  "Yes, we were, I mean, are," Rebecca replied.

  "So I take it from yesterday's performance you didn't get on well with my parents?"

  "Well, it's true that I've never formally met them — they've never come to our flat. As for their opinion of me, well, you'd better ask them that," Rebecca said, still feeling an echo of humiliation.

  Sensing her unease, Genevieve changed the subject.

  "Would you like something to drink?" Genevieve asked, nodding toward the side table.

  Rebecca
looked at the array of soft drinks on display and then noticed the framed photos of Genevieve's family and a large picture of Genevieve and Paul in a romantic pose, which must have been taken during their courtship. Shock gave way to disbelief. Were they really trying to pass Paul off as Genevieve's partner? Surely they couldn't be that cruel and blatant that they would use an opportunity like this to try and convince Genevieve she was straight. Rebecca's heart sank. What other explanation could there be?

  "Oh yes, the photos," Genevieve said, mistaking Rebecca's interest in them for something else. "They're supposed to help me remember who I am. I've looked at them for hours and I just don't feel any kind of connection," she said sadly.

  "Maybe you're trying too hard," Rebecca offered. "Perhaps if you just let your mind think about what it wants to think about rather than force it to remember, something might come back to you naturally."

  "I suppose so, but it's just so frustrating. I mean not knowing what sort of a person I was — or should I say, am..."

  "Well, you can take it from me that you were — are — a really good person, kind, considerate —" Genevieve interrupted her.

  "Yes, that's all well and good, but they're just attributes. What I mean is — what was my passion? Did I even have a passion? Were my relationships with people good ones? Everything feels so contrived because I can't remember. For all I know, my parents who seem to love me very much could have been a nightmare to get on with, or my fiancé, Paul, could have been a cheating so-and-so and his love and concern for me could just be a big act," she said despondently.

  "Well, if it's any consolation, we were very close for four years and I can tell you that you were very passionate about art, and our relationship was a good one." She wondered if she should tell her the truth and just get it over with. Taking a deep breath, she was about to shatter Genevieve's illusion when the door swung open behind her.

  Rebecca swung her head round to see Paul walking in holding a large portfolio case in his hand. She was interested to see how he would act without the backup of Genevieve's parents. Would he really act out this sham in front of her? She stared hard at him as he walked over to Genevieve and kissed her on the cheek.

  "And how are you today?" he asked.

  "Better than yesterday," she replied. Looking at Rebecca, she said, "We were just catching up." He looked nervously at Rebecca now.

  "Oh, is that so?" was all he said.

  "Yes; it seems that I have a passion for art." He made no effort to disguise the relief that flooded his features.

  "Yes, well, I can show you just how passionate you are," he said as he unzipped the portfolio to reveal paintings and pictures that Rebecca had never seen before. Genevieve must have produced them while she was in a relationship with him and she hadn't taken them back when they broke up. They were amazing prints and paintings. The room remained silent while Genevieve took her time looking at her work. She was so engrossed in looking at the images she failed to notice the tension in the room or the dagger stares Rebecca and Paul were parrying.

  "Wow!" Genevieve said when she'd finished looking at each piece of her work. "That was intense." She rubbed her eyes, a habit she had when she was tired. "To think I created all that is amazing! Even I'm impressed with them." She zipped the case closed. "Thanks for that Paul; I really appreciate you bringing it."

  "It's my pleasure dar —" He stopped abruptly and put the case on the floor. "Is there anything I can get you?"

  "No. I don't mean to be rude, but I think I'd just like to sleep for a bit," she said, stifling a yawn. She looked apologetically at Rebecca. "Will you visit again? I'd really like to talk some more."

  "Try and stop me," Rebecca replied, smiling, and reluctantly stood up. Paul made no attempt to move and anger coursed through Rebecca's veins. What could she do but leave? She was not about to make a scene by declaring her undying love to Genevieve and informing her that she was not Paul's lover but hers; that he had no right being there; that it was her who should have been by her side coaxing her to remember who she really was. She vowed she would not let him or Genevieve's parents get away with their intended plan. If they wanted to play dirty, she was a more than willing opponent.

  As Rebecca was leaving the ward she bumped into Genevieve's parents. She tried to walk past them but Genevieve's father caught her arm. Rebecca jerked away.

  "I don't want you coming here anymore," Genevieve's father snarled, keeping his voice low to not draw attention.

  "That's not your choice," she replied.

  "Don't you think for a minute that we don't know what you're up to? We know exactly what you are trying to do!"

  "And what's that?" she asked incredulously.

  "Trying to turn her into a deviant. God has given her another chance to lead a good and respectful life and I will not let you corrupt her again. Do you hear me?" His words were filled with venom.

  Rebecca didn't respond. She knew there was nothing she could ever say to change this man's views so she wasn't going to waste any energy trying, but being banned from seeing Genevieve posed a serious problem. She didn't know whether he had the legal right to stop her from seeing her Genevieve. Genevieve was an adult and Rebecca could prove that they were more than friends — they owned an apartment together; they were named as each other's beneficiaries on their life insurances. Surely that must account for something?

  Rebecca's mobile phone started ringing, which was her cue to leave the ugly scene she was reluctantly embroiled in. She let it ring for a few seconds until she was well away from the ward.

  "Hello," she said, grateful to whoever it was that had saved her from spending another second in that man's company.

  "Hello darling," Clifford's voice boomed in her ear. "Glad to hear Genevieve is on the mend. I wonder if she would mind me taking you away for a few days? One of the artists you reviewed in Paris is going solo and his agent wants you to cover his first show."

  "I don't know, Cliff," she said hesitantly. She hadn't told him that Genevieve had amnesia. She'd had enough of the sympathy that people had been showering on her. She knew it was with good intentions, but it just made her feel weak. She debated in her mind whether or not to accept the assignment. She didn't know how long she could be at loggerheads with Genevieve's parents and Paul and maybe the break would do them all good — it would give Rebecca time to figure out what to do.

  "Okay, I'll go," she finally said.

  "You are a darling," he responded happily and rung off.

  I'm glad someone thinks so, she thought to herself and tried to bury the uneasiness she felt in the pit of her stomach.

  CHAPTER 7

  FOR THE SECOND TIME that week Rebecca was busy packing for a trip to Paris. She was interrupted by the sound of her intercom buzzing and impatiently walked over to it as she wasn't expecting anyone. She picked up the receiver to be told by the concierge that there was a DC Smith downstairs wishing to see her. Rebecca asked him to send her up.

  "Now what?" she muttered. She'd found herself being defensive with everyone lately. Under normal circumstances she got on very well with people, but since Genevieve's accident, she constantly felt irritated and anger was always hovering just under the surface. The doorbell sounded and she went to answer it. DC Smith stood there alone. Both women looked directly at each other, trying to size up the other's mood. After their last meeting, they were both unsure of how they would get on.

  "Ms Sheldon, sorry to bother you again," DC Smith began.

  "Please, call me Rebecca. Please come in," she said, determined to start their interaction on a pleasant note.

  "Thank you." DC Smith glanced around the flat as she walked in, thinking that her own flat would fit just in the living room alone.

  "Please sit down," Rebecca offered. "Can I get you something to drink?"

  "Tea would be great — if you have the time," she said, nodding her head toward the open suitcase, which was lying on the floor.

  "My flight isn't until this evening. I won't be
a minute."

  DC Smith looked around the room more intensely, admiring the choice of artwork that hung selectively on the walls. There were just enough pictures without the room being overwhelmed by them. Her eyes were drawn to the painting of Rebecca. It was extremely well done. It had captured not only the essence of the woman, but also her soul. Whoever had painted it had a rare gift.

  Rebecca walked back in holding a tray with cups on it. Even though she saw DC Smith looking at the painting, she made no comment to her about it.

  "So what can I do for you?" Rebecca asked when they were both seated.

  "You can start by calling me Isabel," she said, smiling. "Ms Simmons' case has been assigned to me, but I feel that we got off on the wrong foot the last time we met."

  "Yes, I'm sorry about that. I'm sure you can understand my behaviour under the circumstances. I'm not normally so temperamental," Rebecca replied.

  "Of course, it was only natural. I thought now that Genevieve was awake we could gather some more information from her, but... Unfortunately, due to her amnesia, we are unable to progress any further using her as a witness, which is why I am here." Isabel sipped her tea, then continued, "There were no witnesses to the attack, though people who were in the vicinity did recall hearing loud voices and just assumed it was a couple arguing. As far as you know, is there anyone Ms Simmons was having any kind of trouble with?"

  Rebecca didn't say anything for a few seconds, trying to think whom Genevieve could have been arguing with. She was not an argumentative person and it was only on very rare occasions that she ever raised her voice. Rebecca couldn't imagine for one minute Genevieve standing in the street arguing with someone.

  "I'm sorry, but no; there's no one I can think of. We have a very select group of friends and I'm sure I would have known if there was any bad blood between Genie and any of them."

  Rebecca's radar suddenly blipped. She looked at Isabel and something began to dawn in her mind.

  "Do you think Genevieve knew her attacker?" she asked, moving to the edge of her seat. "Is that what this is really about? Am I a suspect?"