by Dani Atkins
Three albums and several hours later I was no closer to remembering anything and I was totally bored with looking at pictures of me with people I never knew, in places I had never been. Although Matt could supply a large proportion of the missing data, a whole host of photographs taken during my university days remained a mystery.
‘Looks like I had a good time,’ I proclaimed, plucking a photograph from the pile, which captured me with my arms flung around the shoulders of several friends, beer bottles in hand, all smiling broadly, and somewhat drunkenly, at the camera.
‘Uni was good,’ Matt proclaimed, then breached my defences by leaning over and planting a kiss upon my lips. ‘But now is better.’
You couldn’t help but admire the man’s unshakeable confidence. Still, I didn’t want things to progress any further down that road, so I quickly stumbled down a conversational side-track.
‘And we managed to survive the long-distance relationship thing?’
Was there something that flashed quickly through his eyes, some small hesitation?
‘Well, we’re still together, so we must have done something right.’
There was something there in his voice that didn’t sound quite so sure, and this was confirmed when he tried to divert me with a little side-tracking of his own.
‘And now we are engaged,’ he declared, undeniable satisfaction in his voice.
‘And now we are engaged,’ I echoed, my own voice full of another emotion entirely.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to join us, Tony? You’re more than welcome.’
The words were polite enough, and I wondered if my dad could hear that the sentiment wasn’t entirely heartfelt. I saw the twinkle in my father’s eye and knew he understood perfectly.
‘No, no, you two run along and enjoy yourselves. You don’t want me tagging along and ruining your dinner. And besides, I have to make up the spare room for Matt.’
Touché, Dad, excellently done.
Matt said nothing until we were safely inside the leather cocoon of his car.
‘So I’m to be banished to the spare room again, am I?’
I tried not to smile but I could feel my quivering lips beginning to betray me.
‘I’m sure he thinks we’re still teenagers,’ he complained, softly gunning the engine with unnecessary vigour before pulling away from the kerb. ‘He’s still got that old “not under my roof” thing going on. What does he think we get up to in London?’
As I actually didn’t know what we got up to in London, I thought it best not to respond.
‘Anyway,’ said Matt, turning to me with an irreverent wink and a grin, ‘I still remember which of the floorboards in the hall creak, so just remember to leave your door unlatched.’
I laughed nervously, not sure if he was joking, but made a mental note to secure my door when we got back.
We had a surprisingly good time that evening, all things considered. Once away from the house and my father’s watchful eye, Matt seemed more himself, or the self I remembered from years gone by. He was attentive and charming, and it was impossible to ignore the envious glances directed towards me from several females in the pub-restaurant where we had chosen to eat.
‘That’s something I had happily forgotten,’ I informed him, after yet another very obvious what-does-he-see-in-her appraisal.
Matt must have seen the look the woman had given me but he dismissed it with a shrug.
‘Don’t let it worry you.’
‘It doesn’t worry me, it’s just annoying, that’s all. And rude.’
He got to his feet then. ‘I’m just going to see where they’ve got to with the bill.’ But before leaving he dropped a light kiss on my head. ‘Just remember, I’ve only got eyes for you.’
Less than two minutes later, something happened to make me wonder just how true that statement actually was.
I could still see him crossing the restaurant in the direction of the bar when a small humming sound erupted from the edge of the table. Matt’s mobile phone lay beside our empty plates, its slim shape vibrating persistently against the crockery to indicate an incoming call. I glanced up to summon him back but some instinct made me check the phone first. On the small square screen the caller’s identity was displayed in bold green neon like a billboard. I could read it quite clearly upside down, but nevertheless swivelled the phone with my index finger until it faced me the right way up. Cathy. Five harmless letters, but something about them rang a warning bell that had nothing to do with the incoming call.
What was Cathy doing calling Matt? The phone was still ringing with urgent insistence. Should I answer it? Undecided, I allowed my hand to creep towards the small device, but some instinct stayed me from taking the call. Several diners from nearby tables had turned around at the ringing, the sound clearly interrupting their evening. I met their gazes with an apologetic smile but still didn’t answer the phone. Eventually it stopped.
A minute or two later Matt returned, carrying my coat. Now was the time to tell him about the missed call. To ask why Cathy, who he claimed he hadn’t seen in years until the night of my accident, was phoning him on his mobile phone, the number of which I clearly recalled him saying was only given out to his closest friends and family.
It rang again on the way home. We were stationary at traffic lights and he smoothly extracted the phone from his pocket to check the display. An unreadable expression crossed his features as his fingers moved rapidly to disconnect the call without answering it. Intuition told me it was Cathy again, even before I heard the lie in his voice.
‘Who was that?’
‘Just someone from work. It can wait until tomorrow.’
The lights were still on downstairs when we returned, so Matt took advantage of our last moments of privacy on the doorstep as I hunted in my bag for my key.
‘I had a very nice time tonight, Miss Wiltshire.’
I tried to smile but all I could think about was the strange look that had been on his face when the phone had rung in the car.
‘Do you think your dad will come after me with a shotgun if I try for a goodnight kiss on the doorstep?’
And without waiting for my reply, he pulled me against him firmly and gave the sort of kiss that in other circumstances might have left me weak at the knees. His eyes were dark with desire when we drew apart and he didn’t appear to have noticed that my mind had been on other things during the embrace.
I reached into my bag and successfully extracted the key. Walking close behind me as we entered the hall to greet my father, Matt whispered mischievously in my ear. ‘Don’t forget what I said earlier about your bedroom door.’
I hadn’t realised the huge knot of tension I had been holding in check all day, until I was finally alone in my room. I kicked off my shoes and sank down heavily upon the old single bed. Then, alone for the first time, I could feel the edges of the seal begin to weaken, and knew the thoughts and feelings I had tried to bury so deeply in the vault of my mind now refused to be silenced. But there was so much to deal with; so many conflicting emotions, that I literally felt overwhelmed by the deluge. Having to launch straight from the pain and humiliation of Jimmy’s rejection, to fending off Matt, who was understandably bewildered at his fiancée’s tepid response, was too much for a mind to cope with. Let alone a mind, it had to be said, that still believed it owned a totally different past. It was little wonder I couldn’t cope with the present.
To quieten my chaotic thoughts, as though the source of all my problems was merely due to inactivity, I began to frenziedly straighten and tidy my room and belongings, finally bending to pick up the case I had taken to London the night before. I unzipped the holdall and allowed the contents to fall in an untidy heap upon the bed covers.
It took only moments to put away the smaller items, which left only the cotton nightdress I had worn at the hotel. I reached out to the garment, fully intending to wear it again that night, but the moment I touched the soft fabric, a violent and vivid snapshot fil
led my vision. I could no longer see my own bedroom and was suddenly transported back to the hotel. I could feel the heat of Jimmy’s lips on mine, feel them as strongly as if he were there beside me. I had never believed in psychometry – didn’t believe in anything psychic really – but the sensation of Jimmy removing the nightdress slowly from my body was replayed in excruciatingly exquisite detail. Convulsively my fingers held tightly onto the folds of cotton, reliving the moment when I had finally opened my heart to a truth I had denied for so long, and then the moment too which followed, when all hope was taken away.
I gave an angry cry and threw the nightdress away from me across the bed. It lay in a crumpled heap, an innocuous scrap of material, but I could almost see the heat of Jimmy’s fingerprints burned into the fabric. To me the garment would be for ever branded and I knew I could not wear it this night, not with my fiancé sleeping fifteen feet away down the corridor. In fact, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to wear it again.
I dreamt vividly again that night, my subconscious still in as much turmoil as my waking mind. In my dream I was bizarrely asleep – not here in my own bedroom, but somewhere strange I didn’t recognise. But I guessed I must live there, because my dad was there too, close enough for me to hear his voice, but not so near that I could make out the words. And in my dream I knew I had an important appointment to keep. The nature of the assignation wasn’t clear – it might have been with the amnesia specialist, or it could have been something else altogether – all I knew was that my dream was filled with a dire foreboding that I would oversleep and miss the very important meeting.
I had had similar dreams before, when something important was looming, like examinations, or a holiday, and while this dream was similar to those in the past, it felt altogether far more urgent and imperative that I did not oversleep. In my dream I knew there would be catastrophic consequences in missing the appointment; that this was not something that could merely be rescheduled for another date. It was crucial that I didn’t oversleep, and as if to further endorse this, I could hear my father whispering to my dreaming self.
‘Time to wake up, Rachel, it’s time to wake up now.’
I wanted to answer him, to let him know I was awake, but sleep held me down in its grip and I couldn’t shake off the manacles of slumber to reply. The impotence of not waking up and getting to the appointment on time was beginning to frighten me now, and I could feel my heart start to quicken in frustration.
The beeping began slowly, filtering into the dream like small sharp stabs from a needle. It pierced through the cloak of sleep, its sharp insistent tone commanding that it not be ignored. What was that sound? In my dream I could hear it really clearly, and as the tentacles of sleep began to weaken their hold, I realised it was an alarm. As I blinked myself awake I could still hear the beeping. Dazed, I reached out my hand to the bedside table. It must be an alarm clock, which I had inadvertently set before going to sleep. But my groping hand found no such clock beside the bed.
I lifted my head from the pillows. The fog of sleep lifted a little more and I realised the beeping was getting fainter and fainter and a moment later was gone. I blinked stupidly in the darkness, totally confused by the dream, and then, as though carried on a small eddy of breeze, I caught the familiar odour of my father’s favourite aftershave. That brought me more awake than even the imaginary alarm clock had done. This wasn’t the first time I had detected this fragrance in the night, and as my father was nowhere to be seen it clearly proved that he hadn’t been checking up on me when this had previously occurred. But what did it mean? Was it even possible to hallucinate a smell?
My jumbled thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a small noise coming from the direction of the corridor. I froze, straining my ears to catch the sound. After a moment I heard it again: the faint creak of old floorboards giving up the presence of an intruder. My first frantic thought was ‘burglar’. And I can only blame the fact I was still half asleep on the crazy illogicality that made this my initial conclusion.
Another creak, one further footstep on the betraying beams and then, in the filtered moonlight coming through the flimsy curtains, I saw the handle on my door begin to depress slowly. When the small arc had been completed, I heard the door groan softly as weight was gently applied to open it. The door resisted. The handle was released and depressed again, and this time enough force was applied to make the door grind against its hinges in protest. Still the lock held.
I waited, my breath stilling in my lungs. Scared to stir upon the mattress in case my movements could be heard from the hallway, I bit my lip nervously, wondering how many more times he would try and how sturdy the lock was. It was crazy to feel it might actually have been preferable if it really was a thief invading the house, instead of my fiancé.
‘Rachel?’ Matt’s voice was a low whisper, spoken close to the hinge of the door. ‘Rachel, are you awake? Rachel?’
Time seemed to be suspended for ever. I couldn’t hold my breath for much longer, and if he didn’t abandon his quest soon, he would surely hear the loud expulsion when I either drew breath or passed out from lack of oxygen. Fortunately, neither of those events occurred, for after another anxious minute I heard the retreat of his footsteps down the hallway back to the guest room.
He was dressed and seated at the kitchen table when I went down the following morning. An empty coffee cup and an open newspaper were both before him.
‘Good morning,’ I greeted him lightly, in what I hoped was the appropriate tone for a woman who had locked her fiancé out of her room the night before. For good measure, I bent to place a grazing kiss upon his cheek.
‘Sleep well?’ he enquired politely. My back was to him then, as I poured a large cup of coffee into a mug. I was glad he couldn’t see my face as I replied.
‘Yes. Really, really well, in fact. I went out like a light; dead to the world the minute my head touched the pillow.’
Stop, Rachel, a little voice inside me screamed; that was way too much overemphasis to sound believable.
Apparently he thought so too. ‘So you didn’t hear me at your door in the night?’
I didn’t meet his eyes, and concentrated on stirring my cup so vigorously I was in danger of removing the ceramic.
‘No. Why, was there something wrong?’
He was silent for so long, he forced me to look up. ‘I came to be with you.’
‘Oh.’ And when he seemed to want more from me than that, I added, ‘I thought you were only joking when you said that.’
Clearly not the right response. His look spoke volumes and his silence forced me into saying more.
‘But we couldn’t do anything. Not here. Not with my father just in the next room.’
‘That never stopped us before.’
He was right. I could recall several teenage forays down the corridor, the risk-taking and fear of getting caught only adding to our excitement.
‘Well, it’s different now. We’re older. And besides, you know things are still very mixed up for me right now. You said you understood. You said you’d be patient.’
If he’d looked just a little abashed then, I would probably have softened my tone. After all, he didn’t know for sure that I was awake when he came knocking at my door. He took up the paper, folding it neatly in half before continuing.
‘I think I’m being extremely patient, Rachel. But I’m only human. One minute we have a full and complete adult relationship and the next you don’t remember anything about us and you’re hiding in the dark from me behind a locked door.’
Damn. He had known I was awake. And he’d still let me walk right into his trap, letting me make a complete fool out of myself. I was suddenly angry.
‘Well, I’m very sorry that my getting mugged has been such a terrible inconvenience to your life plan. It certainly wasn’t my intention. Do you want me to apologise for the amnesia too, while I’m at it, or should I just say sorry for not wanting to have sex with someone it feels like I just re-met a few d
ays ago?’
He came to me then, and although I was still mad I let him put his arms around me, but I didn’t relax in his hold, and I’m sure he could feel the tension rippling through me in waves.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered into my hair. ‘It’s just so hard, seeing you, loving you and wanting you and knowing you just don’t feel the same way.’
He sounded so genuine that I felt most of my anger wash away on a tide of remorse. I didn’t remember loving him as a grown woman, but that wasn’t his fault. Quite unbidden, the image of the two of us taken at the Eiffel Tower flashed into my mind. I might not remember the feeling, but there could be no doubt that at the moment that photograph had been taken, I had been completely and utterly in love with the man I was now holding at arm’s length. I gave a small groan and allowed my body to relax completely against him, even putting my arms about his steely torso to hold him close.
‘I’m sorry, Matt. I will try harder. Really I will. Just give me a little longer. Just give me time to get… well again.’ My heart gave a little trip hammer. I had almost said to get over Jimmy!
His fingers lifted my chin, holding my face towards his in a long-ago remembered way.
‘Just don’t take too long, huh?’
And then he kissed me, long and passionately, as if to show me what I was missing out on. And I kissed him back, because I felt guilty; because I used to love him very much indeed and because… and because he was Matt.
He dropped his bombshell a few minutes after my father had walked into the kitchen, unsubtly interrupting our embrace by announcing his arrival at the threshold with a small ‘Hrrumph’.
‘I’m really sorry, Rachel, but I’m going to have to head back to London today instead of tomorrow.’
I was still feeling guilty about how I had reacted, so I sounded genuinely regretful when I replied, ‘Do you have to? I thought we were planning to spend the day together.’
His look was remorseful but his determination didn’t waver.
‘I’m sorry, something important has come up at work and I have to sort it out today.’