The Man Who Forgot His Wife

by John O'Farrell

  The train-tannoy memory had come to me as I had woken up, with no logical associations or identifiable trigger. Except that I had been thinking about Maddy when I went to sleep and I was still thinking about her when I woke up. It was a few days after the court case and for once I had slept in late. I desperately wanted to have the story officially verified by Gary and Linda, but the two of them had already left for their appointment at the hospital. I think Linda may have booked an extra scan to prove to Gary that there really was a baby in there.

  I made myself a cup of tea and thought I would try it without sugar, the way the old Vaughan took it. If I was going to return to normal, I reasoned, I should try to do everything as I used to. I took one sip, winced, and reached for the sugar bowl. I wandered around the flat in my pyjamas. I looked at the spines of the books on the shelves, rows of celebrity life stories ghostwritten by someone else. I turned on the television and flicked through dozens of channels, old repeats of soap operas featuring families screaming at one another, punctuated with adverts of families laughing and getting along. I turned it off and stared at the blank screen for a while. Beyond the television stand were various entangled wires, cables and redundant VHS plugs. It could be as chaotic and knotted as you liked behind the scenes as long as the right plugs stayed in the right sockets. ‘Come on, come on!’ I said out loud, and smacked my forehead in frustration, as if the picture might revert to normal if I hit the top of the set.

  I resolved that I was going to go and talk to Maddy alone. She was probably still furious with me after my volte-face in the courtroom, but I felt I owed it to her to tell her, one to one, what had happened to me. If she was not at home, I had the address of ‘the studio’ where she worked. I had learned that Madeleine was not a painter, but an artist none the less, selling huge framed photos she had taken of London landmarks, which funded her more experimental photographic works displayed in galleries and exhibitions. It made me that little bit more proud of her. Maddy was a photographer, and a classy one by the sound of it. It was a relief that the woman I was divorcing did not spend every Saturday taking pictures of brides and grooms.

  An hour later I was finally ready to leave the flat to face her. I took a last look at myself in the hallway mirror. And then I went and changed my entire outfit again.

  ‘What the bloody hell are you doing here?’ said Maddy, opening her front door.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I wanted to meet – I mean, talk to you. Properly.’

  ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve.’

  Our first moments alone together. In my fantasy reunion I had imagined her being more pleased to see me.

  ‘I thought I owed you an explanation. Are you alone?’

  The dog was barking from the back garden.

  ‘What business is it of yours?’

  ‘It’s just – well, it’s complicated, and if the kids are in, then …’

  ‘No, they’re at school, obviously.’ I hovered there for a decade or so. ‘All right, well, you’d better come in,’ and she turned and headed inside. I stood in the doorway, looking at a huge black-and-white photo of Barleycove for far too long, until she came back out from the kitchen and said, ‘Well? Are you coming in or not?’

  ‘Sorry, yeah. Do I need to take my shoes off?’

  ‘What? When have we ever done that?’

  ‘I dunno – I forgot …’

  ‘Makes a change …’ she mumbled to herself.

  The dog came bounding down the hallway and nearly knocked me over with his enthusiasm. I tried to give him some attention as I gazed around in wonder. It was not one of those pristine and perfectly furnished homes you see in glossy property magazines. It would have been an unconventional interior décor consultant who suggested that the fruit bowl might also be the ideal place to keep that old phone charger and a ping-pong ball.

  I could feel myself shaking as we entered the kitchen. I didn’t know quite where to start with my news. I didn’t want it to spoil my first moments with her. A battered iPod was plugged into some speakers and I recognized the song.

  ‘Hey, you like Coldplay! I love Coldplay!’ I said.

  ‘No, you don’t. You hate Coldplay. You always made me turn it off when you were in the house.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I like it now …’

  ‘So, what’s going on, Vaughan? You ignore all my emails and texts and then you turn up to the court and pull a stunt like that.’ Her brow went all creased when she looked concerned.

  ‘Erm, well, the thing is, that a couple of weeks ago – the twenty-second of October to be precise, at some point in the late afternoon I think—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I was sort of … reborn.’

  She looked at me with suspicion.

  ‘You’ve become a Christian?’

  ‘No! No, although you saying that now tells me that I wasn’t a Christian before, which I didn’t know.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I was in hospital for a week or so, following a psychogenic fugue.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘It means that my mind completely wiped itself of all personal memories. I lost all knowledge of my own name, identity, family, friends. I still haven’t got my memories back. I’ve been told that we’ve been married for fifteen years and that I’ve known you for twenty. But standing here right now, it’s like I’m talking to you for the very first time.’

  There was a pause while she just regarded me suspiciously.

  ‘Fuck off!’

  ‘It’s true. You can ring the hospital—’

  ‘Bollocks. I don’t know what your scam is, but you’re not getting this house!’ Her accent was more pronounced when she swore; it was a soft Scouse, presumably diluted by a couple of decades spent down south.

  ‘Yeah, Gary told me that we were getting a divorce, although I don’t remember why. The doctor said the stress I experienced from the marriage break-up might be what triggered the fugue.’

  ‘The stress you experienced! You weren’t ever here to experience any stress; you were staying late at work, or going round to Gary’s to fart around on computers while I was being stressed all on my own, and I haven’t forgotten that, I can tell you.’

  ‘It’s a lovely kitchen. Really homey.’

  ‘Why are you being so weird, Vaughan? And why are you patting the dog like that, you know he doesn’t like it—’

  ‘No, I don’t know! I don’t know anything. For most of last week I had a hospital label on my wrist saying “UNKNOWN WHITE MALE”. Look, I’ve still got it. And see this metal tag around my neck? It has my name and contact numbers on it in case my brain wipes all over again and I’m left wandering the streets not knowing where to go or who to call.’

  She had made me a mug of tea and plonked it down unceremoniously in front of me.

  ‘Do you have any sugar?’ I asked.

  ‘You don’t take sugar.’

  ‘That’s what Gary said. He reckoned I used to smoke as well.’

  She leaned closer and smelt me. ‘That’s what’s different about you. You don’t stink of stale nicotine. I can’t believe you finally gave up.’

  ‘I didn’t give up. It’s like the addiction was wiped along with everything else.’

  She was leaning against the sink with her arms folded and seemed perplexed as to why I should make up such an extraordinary story. Then she pulled out her mobile phone and I heard one end of a conversation with Linda. She was looking at me as she talked, her eyes widening and her face draining of colour. When she had finished she just slumped down on a kitchen chair and stared at me.

  ‘That is so typical of you!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘All that crap I’m still dealing with and then you just wipe the slate clean and forget all about it …’

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’

  ‘My God, how are the kids going to take this? It’s bad enough that we’ve split up, but this means – well, now their own father doesn�
��t even know them!’

  She seemed close to tears, and part of me wanted to comfort her, but her body language did not suggest I should move in for a hug.

  ‘The doctors reckon there’s a chance I could return to normal – though I don’t think any of them really understand what’s happened.’

  ‘They’ll be home from school in a few hours. What do I tell them? You can’t be here – they’ll be scarred for life.’

  ‘Whatever you say. You know what’s best for them – I don’t.’

  ‘Yeah, well, no change there.’ And she glanced up and saw me looking a little lost in the middle of her kitchen, then softened slightly. ‘Sorry. It’s just …’

  ‘It’s okay. Where’s the bin for the tea bag?’

  ‘Same as always. Oh, I mean you pull out that cupboard there. This is too weird …’

  ‘Oh, that’s clever – the lid lifts up as you open the cupboard. It really is a lovely kitchen.’

  ‘I thought you were being a bit odd in court from the outset. All that trying to catch my eye and give me little waves.’

  ‘Sorry, it’s just that normally you get to meet your wife before you divorce her.’

  ‘God, you were under oath in that courtroom – you’d promised to tell the truth.’

  ‘I did tell the truth – I said I couldn’t remember.’

  ‘So … I still don’t understand – you literally cannot remember us? Or any of this?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Not really?’

  ‘All right – not at all. Although a couple of moments have come back. I remember the tent collapsing in Ireland and you using the guard’s tannoy on some long rail journey?’

  ‘Oh yeah, we got kicked off the train for that.’

  ‘Didcot Parkway.’

  ‘No, it was Ealing Broadway.’

  I didn’t contradict her, but it was definitely Didcot Parkway.

  ‘But that’s all, so far. Except the other night I had a powerful dream about someone nicknamed Bambi.’

  Maddy blushed slightly but said nothing.

  ‘What? You know, don’t you? Who’s Bambi?’

  ‘Bambi is what you used to call me. Years ago, when we were at university.’

  ‘Bambi?’

  ‘You said I had the same eyes. Can’t believe I fell for that.’ She mimed putting her fingers down her throat.

  ‘But Bambi was a boy, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah, and a deer as well. Apart from that, I looked just like him.’

  ‘Yeah, well – if it’s not too forward of me – you have got very nice eyes.’

  Maddy seemed momentarily lost for words and sipped her tea. ‘You really have forgotten everything, haven’t you? I have “nice eyes”? Where the hell does that come from? You said I was a selfish cow, you said I was ruining your life.’

  ‘Did I? I’m sorry if I said that. But I just don’t remember.’

  ‘Yeah, well, how nice for you.’

  ‘It’s not very nice really,’ I said slowly, staring at the floor. ‘It was incredibly distressing to start with.’

  ‘Sorry. It’s just a bit hard to get my head around it. So – like, you didn’t know your own name or anything?’

  ‘Not for the whole week I was in hospital. All I could think about was who I might have been before my amnesia. I began to worry whether my life had been a good one, whether I had been a good person, you know what I mean?’

  ‘I suppose you would …’

  ‘But now I discover my marriage failed and I’ve been sleeping on people’s sofas and have spent all my money on divorce lawyers.’

  She didn’t quite know what to say to that. Instead her eyes welled up and then she began quietly crying. I so wanted to kiss her at that point; just to put my arms around my wife and press my lips against her – that would have been the most wonderful thing in the whole world. I hovered there for a moment and finally leaned across and gently rubbed her arm.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Er – comforting you?’

  ‘Well, don’t!’

  Instead the dog went across and licked her hand, which was acceptable from Woody, but probably not from me.

  ‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,’ I mumbled eventually. ‘I just had to tell you face to face.’

  In the difficult silence I became aware of the low steady gurgle of the dishwasher. It sounded like my insides felt. It was then that I spotted a photo on the fridge. ‘Are these our children? Is this what they look like?’ The girl had a big, open-hearted smile for the camera, while the boy was doing his best to look cool. What was so striking was how the two children seemed like miniature versions of their parents. Dillie looked just like her mother and Jamie looked just like me.

  ‘Wow! They’re beautiful,’ I said. And she nodded and stood to share the moment with me.

  ‘That was in France. Dillie’s a bit taller than that now. Jamie hates having his photo taken.’

  It was a surreal moment. The mother couldn’t help but be proud of her children as she showed their father what they looked like. Maddy put her tongue out slightly as she lovingly straightened the photo on the fridge, and in that moment I wanted to float up to the ceiling. All the emptiness I had felt since 22 October was filled with an overwhelming certainty. Just that tiny gesture, that sweet movement of her mouth, made me feel whole, yet light-headed; vigorous and fully charged and, at last, completely alive.

  ‘Beautiful,’ I said again. ‘Really beautiful.’

  On the walk home the whole world seemed different. Those first few fireworks exploding in the sky were all for my benefit. I wanted to tell passing strangers that I had just met this wonderful girl; I held a newsagent’s door open for a young mother with a buggy. Then my walk broke into a jog, and in the end I ran all the way back to the flat and I was panting but still elated when I found Gary in his kitchen with the insides of a laptop spread across the table.

  ‘Gary! Something incredible has happened! I think I’ve fallen in love!’

  ‘Wow! That’s great news, man! What’s her name?’

  ‘Maddy. Madeleine. I’ve just met my wife and she is something else, isn’t she?’

  Gary groaned and tossed down his tiny screwdriver.

  ‘Yeah, she is something else, Vaughan – she is your ex-wife. You split up, remember?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You can’t have fallen in love with Maddy, you stupid nutter – you’re in the middle of divorcing her!’

  ‘I know – we already have that in common. She’s got this gorgeous little nose that turns up at the end and her eyes, they’re this beautiful hazel brown—’

  ‘Vaughan, listen, mate, this must be related to your condition.’ He indicated the computer circuit boards scattered on the pine table. ‘Your hard drive has wiped and this is like an emotional memory coming back or some shit, I don’t know. Just don’t do anything stupid – it’ll soon fade.’

  ‘No, it’s not going to fade, Gary. This is for ever, I’m absolutely certain of it! It feels as if all my life I’ve been waiting for that special someone and I’ve finally met Miss Right.’

  ‘Okay. Except that all your adult life you’ve been married to her and finally decided she was Miss Wrong.’

  ‘All right, I know we’re getting divorced and that. But every relationship has to overcome a few obstacles – look at Romeo and Juliet.’

  ‘Yeah, they both die … You don’t love her, you’re just going through a phase.’

  ‘No way. I know for an absolute certainty that this is for ever. I feel like I should get a tattoo. Like a big heart on my forearm, with “MADDY” on it.’

  ‘Yeah, right, great idea! Or you could tattoo “IDIOT!” across your forehead. You’re delirious. Come on, let’s get some food inside you. I’ll make you a sandwich.’

  Gary sat me down at the kitchen table while I told him about the train memory. He confirmed the story. ‘Oh yeah, she was always doing shit like that.’ He laughed. ‘Like when
that posh bloke blocked in her car at the pub and was really rude and refused to come out and move it for her.’

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘Well, when she finally did squeeze her car through, she stopped and got out and then scratched a huge message on his bonnet with her key.’

  ‘What did it say?’

  ‘Please be nicer.’

  I laughed out loud.

  ‘I think it’s important to say “please” in these situations,’ added Gary.

  ‘Absolutely. Maddy’s great, isn’t she?’

  Gary put down his plate. ‘Look, Vaughan, there are millions of girls out there. If you’re looking for someone who might be interested in making a future with you, I’d say the very last woman in the whole country you should go after is the woman who has tried being married to you for fifteen years and decided she can’t stand the sight of you.’

  ‘It’s not like that. You don’t know Maddy like I do—’

  ‘No – I know her better. It’s not going to happen, Vaughan. You’ve got to move on.’

  I sulkily pushed away my untouched sandwich. ‘So what exactly are you doing to this laptop?’ I asked after a while. I think he was grateful to me for finally changing the subject.

  ‘Oh, I’m just putting in more RAM.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘RAM? Well, that stands for, er … Random Access … well, it’s a technical term, I shouldn’t worry about it. Listen, I’ve had a brilliant idea for how you can find out more about your past …’

  Chapter 9

  Dear All,

  As you may be aware, I recently experienced an extreme form of amnesia that has completely wiped all my personal memories. This means that I cannot recall anything that happened to me before 22 October this year. However, with your help I am hoping I can reconstruct my own personal history from the fragments that you yourselves can remember.