Fractured

by Dani Atkins

  ‘Could I speak with Mrs Jessica Scott?... Good morning, Mrs Scott. My name is Jimmy Boyd and I’m a friend of Rachel Wiltshire. I was just phoning to let you know that unfortunately she’s been involved in a small accident and won’t be in for at least the rest of this week, possibly longer.’

  There was the longest pause.

  ‘In the Sales Department.’

  ‘…’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘…’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘…’

  ‘All right, yes. I see.’

  ‘…’

  ‘Thank you very much. Goodbye.’

  He pressed the red button to disconnect the call and turned slowly back to face us both. I fidgeted in my chair like an impatient five-year-old.

  ‘Well? Well? What did she say?’

  He hesitated, his face unreadable. I didn’t think I was going to like what was coming next. I was right.

  ‘Rachel, she said she’d never heard of you. You don’t work there.’

  OK, so it probably wasn’t very mature of me to burst into tears but I just couldn’t help it. Every time some small glimmer of hope was dangled in front of me, it was suddenly seized from my grasp. I leapt up from the table in a cyclone of tears and dismay, this time succeeding in knocking over my chair, and thundered up the stairs to my room where I threw myself face down upon the bed.

  And just like the angry teenager I appeared to have morphed back into, I ignored their entreaties to open the locked door, shouting at them both to ‘Go away’ until I was too hoarse to shout any more.

  It was beginning to get dark by the time I eventually emerged from my room. I must have cried myself to sleep, for I’d woken up several hours later, the dampness of the pillow sticking to my cheek. My father was in the lounge, pretending to watch the early evening news on the TV.

  I slid onto the settee beside him, ignored the cat who gave a muted hiss and swiftly vacated his lap, and laid my head against his shoulder.

  ‘Sorry, Dad.’ He squeezed my hand in response. ‘It’s just so difficult. Nothing makes sense. It’s all just topsy-turvy. Maybe you are all right. Maybe I am going crazy.’

  He turned to me then, an unexpected anger in his eyes. ‘Don’t you go saying anything of the sort. No one has ever said you’re crazy! You’ve had a nasty blow on the head and a terrible shock. It’s no wonder you’re just a little… muddled… That’s all, yes muddled. It’s all going to come right soon, love, you’ll see.’

  And this time I was too tired to argue.

  He must have really been worried about me though, because several times during the night, in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness, I caught the distinctive bouquet of his aftershave and I knew he had crept silently into my room to check up on me. He never said a word, and I never let on I knew he was there.

  The next day I rummaged purposefully through the box of clothes Matt had sent to find something to wear. I was hoping for jeans and a sweatshirt but it would appear my new lifestyle didn’t incorporate anything quite that casual. I had to settle instead on a pair of smart black trousers and an emerald green jumper. I checked out my reflection and couldn’t argue that the outfit suited me, and if the labels weren’t exactly designer, they were certainly from the top end of the high street. Either my new work paid incredibly well or Matt had been responsible for more than just the Gucci handbag. He always had been generous when we were teenagers. I guessed he still was.

  I hung up the remaining clothes in the small pine wardrobe and then picked up a warm sheepskin jacket and scarf. I hadn’t been out of the house for days, and I needed to test my stamina if I was going to get Dad to agree to the latest plan I had in mind. However, all intentions of broaching the idea gently were blown out of the water when I descended the stairs at the very moment he was coming through the front door. He must have just been returning from his daily walk to get the morning paper. He was quick, but so was I, and I still had time to see the small red carton that he hastily tried to stuff into his jacket. Diving into his deep pocket like a missile, my fingers closed about the small container and thrust it out.

  ‘What in the hell are these?’

  My dad looked shamefaced and said nothing; I could see various explanations trolling through his mind: each one failing to pass muster and be offered up.

  ‘What in God’s name are you smoking again for? Don’t you know these things will kill you? That they were killing you?’

  If either of us had stopped to consider the incongruity of the complete parent/child role reversal we were currently acting out, then we would probably have burst out laughing there and then. Only I was too angry to see it and he was too embarrassed.

  I crushed the packet in my hand, rendering at least this one pack unsalvageable, and with the breaking of the cigarettes within, my anger too began to crumple.

  ‘Dad, I know what you’re doing and why you’re doing it, but you have to promise me that you’ll stop.’

  He didn’t apologise but he did at least try to explain.

  ‘I’ve just been so worried about you, Rachel. You’ve been so lost and I feel so useless not being able to help you. It was just a little something to cope with the stress, that’s all.’

  ‘Don’t, Dad,’ I said, tears rolling down my cheeks at hearing my own father sound so broken down with concern. I brushed the salty flow away with the back of my hand – God, when had I become such a cry baby?

  I took both his hands in mine and tried to put into my words and eyes all that I had felt when he had first been diagnosed.

  ‘Dad, if you love me, if you really love me, please promise me you’ll never touch this poison again?’ His eyes too began to mist. Now I’d made my own father cry, but if it stopped this happening all over again, then it was worth it. ‘You half killed yourself with these from worrying over me once before; I won’t let you do it again.’

  I walked around for hours and although I had nowhere in particular to go, it still felt good to be back outside after the inactivity of the last week. I’d told Dad not to worry, and I phoned to check in with him after a couple of hours, just so he knew I was OK. It was mid-afternoon by then, and I realised that somehow along the way I had missed lunch. As I wasn’t far from the centre of town, I headed towards the small parade where there were a few restaurants and coffee shops.

  I was hesitating on the pavement, trying to decide which one to choose, when a voice behind me spoke softly in my ear.

  ‘The one on the end does the best cheesecake.’

  I turned around, telling myself the increase in my heartbeat was just because he had startled me.

  ‘And what if I don’t like cheesecake any more?’

  He stopped as though to consider this absurdity.

  ‘No. Never happen. Whatever else you’ve forgotten, it won’t be that. Some things just go too deep.’

  Somehow, by mutual agreement, we entered the small coffee house where Jimmy placed an order for coffees and two slices of cake. There was a table set for two towards the back of the shop beside an open log fire, and we headed over to claim it, both unconsciously rejecting several vacant ones by the front windows.

  ‘So how come you’re not at work today, Constable Boyd? It’s no wonder that crime is rife in this town – none of the policemen are ever on duty.’

  ‘It’s actually Inspector Boyd, and I am now officially off duty for the day.’

  ‘Inspector, eh, that sounds important. Do you enjoy it? You never said anything about wanting to become a policeman when we were younger.’

  The waitress arrived with our order and he waited until she had placed the cups and plates before us and left before replying.

  ‘Yes. I love the job. Joining the force was the best decision I ever made. And as for never saying anything about it… Well, I kept a lot of things to myself back then; things that perhaps I should have said out loud.’

  My stomach gave a flip. I felt like he was about to tell me something, something big. But so
mething deep inside me resisted. Not knowing how to proceed down that avenue; not even sure if I wanted to, I chose an abrupt change of topic.

  ‘Jimmy, I want to apologise to you for my behaviour the other day. My little outburst.’

  He brushed the apology away with a careless hand, but I continued.

  ‘No, really. I know it all seems extremely… oh, I don’t know… unlikely… unbalanced … unbelievable…’

  ‘Pretty much any word starting with “un” then?’

  I laughed. He had always been able to make me laugh.

  ‘It’s just that what I know to be completely and unequivocally true, keeps being proved to be false. It’s very unsettling.’

  He took a long sip of his coffee before replying. ‘I’m sure it must be. And frustrating too.’

  There was something in his voice, something I’d not heard from anyone else, and it made me drop the forkful of cake which was halfway to my mouth.

  ‘Do you believe me?’ I realised that in all my protestations, I had never asked that precise question of anyone.

  His deep blue eyes held mine in a gaze that a person could drown in, if they weren’t careful.

  ‘I believe that you believe it, wholeheartedly and completely. And I can see what trying to convince the rest of us is doing to you.’ He was quiet for a moment and I almost spoke then – thank God I didn’t, or I would never have heard him finish in a whisper, ‘And it’s heartbreaking to see you like this.’

  I hadn’t realised his words had made me cry until he lifted my face gently with his finger and dabbed at my eyes with the folded serviette. His voice was still soft and low. ‘And I’ve certainly never seen you cry this much, not even when you kept falling off your bike when you were about eight years old.’

  I gave a rather unladylike sniff, but his words had done the trick, he’d made me smile.

  ‘Oh, I’ve certainly cried plenty in the last five years, more than you’ll ever know.’

  ‘What about?’

  Here it was. The moment to either back right off or plunge in regardless.

  ‘About losing you. When you saved my life, and lost yours. You’ve no idea what that did to me. You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you.’

  And this was his chance to jump in with the head-injury-amnesia-soon-all-be-fixed platitude. But he did none of that. This was Jimmy; the boy who had loved me when we were children and the man he had now become. I could trust him with anything. I could trust him with the truth.

  ‘Tell me,’ he urged.

  And so, in the dwindling afternoon light and by the flickering flames of the fire, I started at the beginning, from the night of the accident, and didn’t stop until I had reached the end.

  8

  We were the last two customers to leave the coffee shop. We realised we had overstayed our welcome when the owner had stopped being subtle about it and had swept the floor, upended the chairs on the vacant tables and switched off almost all the lights.

  I apologised for keeping them, while Jimmy lifted my coat from the rack and held it out for me to slip on. He settled the jacket upon my shoulders, and somehow it just seemed natural for his arm to remain there as he guided me towards the door.

  ‘My car’s just around the corner, I’ll drop you back home before your father sends out a search party.’

  The cold December air bit sharply against us in a gust of wind as we walked along the quiet streets, but I didn’t seem to feel the cold, not with his body walking in sync so closely beside mine. I knew I was in dangerous territory here. A door had opened sometime that afternoon and I’d walked blithely through it without a backward glance. But now I could see that before adding any further complications to the equation, I first needed to resolve the thousand or so unanswered questions that were standing in my way. Although, damn it, it felt so good, so right to be walking like this by Jimmy’s side. How could I not have seen this before?

  The drive back to my house took only five minutes and when we pulled up to the kerb, I noticed the instant responding twitch of the curtain in the front room.

  I gave a small laugh in disbelief.

  ‘Can you believe my dad is actually peeking out through the curtains to check up on me? This is just like being a teenager all over again.’

  He ducked his head and leaned across me to view the front of my house through the passenger window. I caught the light fragrance of his aftershave, and the clean smell of shampoo, before he straightened back up. I breathed in the tantalising combination more deeply, as though to commit it to memory.

  What was I doing here? I had no right to be thinking these thoughts. Jimmy and I had never been romantically involved, not once, not ever, for there had always been Matt. And there still was Matt, I had to remind myself. I wasn’t free to be thinking this way.

  ‘I guess I should get inside.’

  ‘Before your dad comes out with a shotgun?’

  I gave a small giggle at the image.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. And also Matt will be calling soon from Germany, so…’ My voice trailed away. It was the worst thing I could have said. The warm air between us immediately froze at my words and the bristle that ran through Jimmy was almost palpable.

  ‘Of course.’ And with those two words, the fledgling thing that had fluttered to life between us was shot down dead.

  I asked him to join us for dinner but wasn’t surprised when he declined. He did walk me to the front door though, taking my arm as the path was even then beginning to ice over. But it was the guiding hand of a friend and nothing more. I couldn’t believe a mood could change so instantly and it made me question my own perception of the rest of the afternoon. Had there really been anything new there at all, or had I merely imagined I could feel something more than just an old and treasured friendship?

  He took the door key from my fingers and slid it into the lock, but before he rotated it, I placed my hand on his arm to stall him.

  ‘Are we still all right for tomorrow? Because I can go on my own, you know. No problem.’

  His eyes gave nothing away.

  ‘Of course it’s still OK. Why wouldn’t it be?’

  Because I’d gone and ruined the moment by conjuring up between us the one obstacle that had always been in our way. The obstacle that I was now engaged to.

  ‘No reason. It’s just… Well, it doesn’t seem a great way for you to spend your day off: escorting your newly deranged friend around London.’

  He pulled me against him then and enveloped me in a brief hard hug; all friendship – nothing else.

  ‘Not newly deranged,’ he contradicted and then, clearly unable to resist, ‘You’ve pretty much been this way ever since I’ve known you!’

  He released me then, and turned the key in the lock all in one smooth movement. Giving me a gentle nudge he propelled me into the warm hall.

  ‘And I told you before, I think it’s a really good idea. I’m sure it’s going to help. Now go inside in the warm and I’ll see you in the morning.’

  The arguments I thought I’d have to put forward to convince my dad it was a good idea for me to return to London the next day proved to be unnecessary once he knew that Jimmy would be accompanying me. It did make me wonder if he’d have held the same opinion if I had chosen a different travelling companion. Even so, as I waited for Jimmy to collect me the following morning, my father was still clucking around like the proverbial old mother hen.

  ‘You have got your medication with you?’

  I tapped the Gucci bag swung over my shoulder.

  ‘And you’ll call me if you feel sick or… anything? You have your phone, right, and money and…’

  ‘Relax, Dad. I’m only going for one night. I’ll be back tomorrow and hopefully I’ll have some answers at long last.’

  He still looked doubtful, so I reached up to hug him. ‘Don’t worry about me so much.’ I smelt his aftershave then, and it suddenly reminded me of something. ‘And stop checking up on me all night long. You must be exhau
sted by morning – I’ve lost count of the number of times you keep coming in.’

  Jimmy’s car pulled up outside, and I was bending to pick up the small soft bag I had at my feet, so I missed the initial look of confusion on my father’s face.

  ‘Rachel, I haven’t been in your room at night to check up on you. Not even once. You must have been dreaming.’

  The journey to London confirmed that Jimmy had also reached a decision in the intervening hours between last night and that morning. Back once more was the warm-hearted, teasing, platonic friend I had known all my life – or at least the bit that had led up to my eighteenth year. The man who had held my hand in the coffee shop, while I stumbled through the story of what my life had become since that time, had completely disappeared.

  And if I was disappointed at having let that person slip through my fingers, at least I still had my old friend Jimmy back in my life, and compared to a week or so earlier, that was a vast improvement.

  ‘So where do you want us to head to first? Have you given it any thought?’

  I pulled a folded piece of paper from my bag.

  ‘I guess it makes sense to go here first. The other places are all across on the other side of town.’

  The paper fluttered in my hand from a light draught from the open window.

  ‘I have the address, but I’ve no idea where it is exactly. Dad had to write it down for me.’

  Jimmy’s eyes flickered away from the road for an instant and glanced down at the scrap of lined paper.

  ‘And that would be…?’

  I gave a deep sigh and looked at the words on the sheet before me that meant absolutely nothing to me.

  ‘It’s where I live’ – I paused, as though in court – ‘allegedly.’

  I tried to appear relaxed, but as the motorway ate up mile after mile I began to get more and more nervous. Going into London, to where I lived and worked, was my last hope of reclaiming my real life. But it was only now that I stopped to contemplate what exactly I would find when I got there. There were keys in my bag which I didn’t recognise. Presumably they would fit the door of the address my father had given me that morning. But what of my other home, the flat I lived in above the launderette? What would everyone say when that too proved to be mine? Filled with belongings and paraphernalia from another life entirely. Could they both exist side by side? How could that even be possible?