Once on the landing, he asked: ‘How long was I—’
‘Only a few minutes.’
‘Sorry. She wanted me to stay until she fell asleep.’
‘Don’t worry. Listen, I’m going to get changed. Fancy a drink before you go? If you’re not too tired.’
Pleasantly surprised, Dan stifled a yawn. ‘Um, sure.’
‘I’ve no beer, but there’s a bottle of white in the fridge.’
‘Great.’
‘Help yourself. I’m going to freshen up.’
‘No problem. Would you like a glass too?’
‘Are you kidding? I could down the bottle in one.’
‘I’ll make it a large, then.’
She joined him in the kitchen a few minutes later, make-up free, wearing jogging bottoms and a hoodie. It was quite a comedown from the outfit she’d been wearing before, which had been the most dressy he’d seen her in ages.
‘Comfy?’ he asked with a grin, fully awake again now.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
He was thinking back to when she used to dress up, not down, for him. But he stopped himself from saying so. Things between them right now were the most amicable they’d been in ages. Showing up at the hospital had earned him precious brownie points. No point ruining it.
‘The outfit you had on earlier was really nice,’ he added. ‘That’s all.’
She squinted at him over the kitchen table. ‘And now I look a mess.’
‘That’s not what I said. I was paying you a compliment.’
He stopped short of accusing her of twisting his words. That would definitely lead to an argument.
She stared at him for a moment. He imagined the cogs of her mind whirring behind her beautiful hazel eyes. They’d once beamed pure love at him. Now they were more often than not a tool of accusation; of anger and frustration. Maybe even hate, although he hoped not. He couldn’t bear to think that things between them had veered so far off course. They’d been so good together. Under normal circumstances, he was sure they’d still be happily married. But what they’d been through was enough to tear apart even the strongest of unions.
She sighed. ‘I’m tired. It’s been a long day.’
‘No problem,’ he replied, pleasantly surprised. He couldn’t recall the last time Maria had backed down like that.
They’d not discussed the accident in front of Ruby for fear of upsetting her. But now she was out of earshot, Dan was keen to know what had happened.
‘I didn’t see it,’ Maria explained. ‘She was playing on the stairs, which she knows she shouldn’t have been doing. I was in the kitchen.’
Dan knew that had their roles been reversed, Maria would have made a big issue of the whole “playing on the stairs” thing. He’d have been blamed for letting Ruby do it and accused of not paying enough attention. But he knew the reality: Ruby was eight and didn’t always do as she was told. You couldn’t watch children constantly at that age. You had to give them space to learn through making mistakes.
‘Which friend was she playing with?’ he asked. ‘Anyone I know?’
‘Um, no. A girl called Anna. She’s new in Ruby’s class. Recently moved to the area.’
‘Really? Great. What’s she like?’
‘Nice.’
‘Did she come by herself or with her mum?’
Maria looked to the floor and scratched her forehead in that way Dan knew she did when she was uncomfortable. ‘Um. With her dad, actually. Rick.’
‘Oh, right. I see.’
Dan did his best not to look surprised, irritated even. But he could see from Maria’s expression that he’d failed. He’d never had much of a poker face.
‘What?’ she asked defensively. ‘It’s not that unusual these days for a father to pick his kids up from school, you know.’
‘I never said it was. If you remember, I did it more than you when we were both working.’
‘You’re having a go at me for staying at home now?’
‘What are you on about?’
‘I heard the tone in your voice: derogatory, like I’m not as good as you, because I choose to be a full-time mum. You can jump off that high horse right now. Your earnings don’t come close to what mine used to be. And if it wasn’t for the money from my parents—’
‘Yes, yes, I know. Heard it all before. We wouldn’t be in this dream house of ours, if it wasn’t for them. Well, I’m not, am I? Not any more. I’m in my lovely damp flat instead. And as much as I hate it there, do you know what? It beats being here with you. You can shove your family money up your arse, Maria.’
He slammed his half-full glass of wine on to the table, somehow not breaking it, and got up to leave. But now he couldn’t stop himself. She’d popped his cork, like a shaken bottle of fizz; the words came out by themselves. ‘It’s not possible for us to have a normal conversation any more, is it? Whatever I say, you always find a way to turn it into a bloody argument. Why the hell do I bother? You’re not the woman I married. You’re not even a shadow of her. There’s no going back for us, I can see that now. We’re done. We might as well get on with the divorce. Get it out of the way. Then I can be free of you. Maybe you can run off with your new friend Rick. It makes sense now why you were so dressed up today. Trying to impress him, were you? Well, good luck with that. Best not let him see how twisted you are, or he’ll run a mile.’
Dan had expected Maria to fire back at him with a verbal assault of her own, but it didn’t come. Instead she burst into tears, which stopped him in his tracks, instantly cooling his anger and turning on the tap of regret. He took a deep breath, resisted the urge to apologise for his outburst, and left without another word.
‘Idiot,’ he said to himself, getting into his car and slamming the door. He couldn’t believe he’d let himself say all that stuff. No one knew the right buttons to press to upset her better than he did. She’d done the same to him on enough occasions, but he tried not to get sucked into that kind of thing. Epic fail this time, he thought. The worst bit was what he’d said about getting a divorce. In truth, that was the last thing he wanted, so why on earth had he said it? The one consolation was that he hadn’t gone further. He hadn’t mentioned her mental health, which would have been a tough one to come back from. And he’d not brought Sam into it, thank goodness.
He considered returning to apologise, but he knew what Maria’s reaction would be if he did. She’d throw it straight back at him. She hated it when people said sorry for things, especially just after they’d said or done them.
‘You can keep your apology. I don’t want it.’
How many times had she said that to him over the years? Countless, especially at the start of their relationship, before he got wise to it. She felt an apology was the easy option, favouring actions rather than words. Mind you, that opinion was forged in different times: days when she rarely got angry herself; when judging others for speaking in haste wouldn’t have been hypocritical. Things were different now. She was different.
All the same, going back to say sorry didn’t feel like the right move, so Dan drove home. Well, he went back to the flat, which was the closest thing he had at the moment. He’d never think of it as home, because it wasn’t. He hated it too much for that. It felt more like a prison. Ironically, the place he thought of as home was the house he’d just left, having done a good job of making sure he wouldn’t be invited back any time soon.
He opened a bottle of vodka and necked three shots in quick succession. He hoped the booze would raise rather than lower his spirits. Experience told him it could go either way. Looking for a distraction, he decided he ought to text Maurice to make sure everything had gone well with the papers.
He’d downed several more shots and two bottles of beer by the time Maurice’s reply eventually arrived.
All good. How’s Ruby? She was glad to see you, right?
Yes. Tucked up in best not, ATM on plate.
What? Bloody predictive text. Realising he was a
lready quite drunk, Dan deleted the message and started again, concentrating to make sure he got it right this time.
Yes. Tucked up in bed now, arm in plaster. Thanks again. See you tomorrow.
Maurice’s question got Dan thinking. Had Ruby been pleased to see him at the hospital? He’d thought so at the time, but maybe he’d seen what he wanted to see. Her reaction had actually been quite muted. He’d put that down to the pain she was in, but now he wasn’t so sure.
He could feel himself sinking into one of his moods, but it was too late to change anything now. He took another gulp of vodka, no longer bothering with the shot glass.
CHAPTER 8
I wake up to find I can’t move. It’s getting light outside and I’m looking up at the high ceiling of my room at Miles’s house. I know who I am: I’m Jack, and I have a head injury. But I can’t move. It’s like some invisible force is pinning me to the bed. I try again and again to raise myself up, but it’s no use.
What the hell’s happening? I try to stay calm and rational, but it’s no good. My breathing gets faster; I can feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat. Panic is here. I can feel his bony fingers pressing down on my chest. I can smell his rotten breath.
‘Miles,’ I call out. ‘Help me! I’m paralysed.’
I shout his name more times than I can remember. Louder and louder until my voice cracks, my throat like sandpaper. He doesn’t come.
What time is it? I wonder. Impossible to know for sure in this house without clocks, but I’d guess at five or six o’clock. Miles must still be asleep. That’s why he’s not coming. He will in an hour or two once he wakes up. I need to calm down. Wait it out.
Easier said than done. I’m paralysed! Of course I’m panicking.
At that moment I hear the creak of the bedroom door opening. I try to look in that direction, but my head’s having none of it and my eyes will only roll back so far.
‘Miles? What took you so long?’
But it’s not his voice that replies.
‘Hello, my love. Did you call me?’
When I answer, my voice is that of a child. I’m still around – still part of the action – but not in the driving seat and no longer paralysed. ‘Yes, Gangy. I had a bad dream. I woke up and—’
‘And what? You can tell me.’
‘I thought there was a bat in here.’
‘A bat? Where?’
I point to the corner of the room and she walks over to it. She has a good look around, even kneeling down and peeking under the chest of drawers. ‘No,’ she says, once her search is complete. ‘There’s definitely no bat here. None whatsoever. I think you still had one foot in the Land of Nod.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The Land of Nod is where we go when we’re asleep. It’s a tricky old place. When you’re there, you think it’s real life. When you’re fully awake, it doesn’t seem real at all. Sometimes, when you first wake up and one world blends into the other, you can get confused. Was there a bat in your dream?’
‘Yes.’
‘There you go. That explains it. I dreamt I was a rabbit the other night.’
I giggle as she twitches her nose at me.
‘I really believed it too,’ she continues. ‘I led a full life. It seemed like I was there forever, hopping in and out of my warren; eating carrots and so on.’
‘Mum says rabbits don’t really eat carrots.’
‘She’s right. Carrots aren’t what they naturally eat in the wild. But I bet they’d like the ones I grow in my garden, because they’re super delicious, aren’t they?’
I nod enthusiastically. She knows I love her home-grown veggies.
‘Anyway, I ate carrots in my dream. Like Bugs Bunny. Then I woke up and laughed at myself for believing I was a rabbit.’
‘What was it like?’
‘Being a rabbit? Good fun, from what I can remember. But that’s the other thing with dreams: the memory of them fades before you know it.’
‘What colour rabbit were you?’
‘Light brown with a bushy white tail.’
I smile. ‘Gangy?’
‘Yes, love.’
‘Do I have to go back to sleep?’
‘Not if you don’t want to. We’re both awake now. How about we go downstairs and make some breakfast?’
I jump up and throw on my dressing gown.
‘I’ll need a hug first,’ Gangy says, and I throw my arms around her.
‘I love staying here,’ I tell her.
‘And I love having you.’
‘Come on. Time to get up.’
My eyes snap open and Miles is leaning over the bed, opening the green curtains and letting the daylight stream in.
‘Morning, lad. How are you feeling today?’
‘I can’t—’ I realise I’ve just turned my head. I sit up without any effort. Everything’s working again. The whole paralysis thing must have been a dream.
‘You can’t what?’
‘Um, nothing. It’s fine.’
‘How’s the head?’
‘Good. It hardly hurts at all now.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Jack.’
‘And who am I?’
‘Miles. I’m your lodger. This is your house. I’m helping you fix it up.’
‘Excellent. Anything else come back to you?’
‘Maybe. I’m not entirely sure. I think I dreamt a memory. Is that possible?’
Miles shrugs. ‘I don’t see why not. What was it about?’
‘It was something from my childhood. Like last time, with the marmalade. It involved my grandmother again.’
I talk him through the scene that played out in my head. Miles sits on the wooden chair, listening to me with his head cocked to one side.
‘What do you think?’ I ask when I’ve finished.
‘Sounds like a memory to me. What do you think? How did it feel?’
I nod. ‘Like I’d been there before.’
‘What did your grandmother look like?’
‘Um, I don’t know. I should have paid more attention. Small, I think – for an adult. She wasn’t that much bigger than me. Short curly hair. Kind eyes. She was wearing a dressing gown. Light green, maybe.’
‘That’s good.’
‘But why her? Why’s she the one I remember again? Why my childhood? What about everything in between? When’s that going to return?’
Miles sits back in the chair and runs one hand through his short white hair. ‘Take it easy. That’s a lot of questions. Memory’s complicated.’
‘Yes, but you also said this kind of memory loss is rare. What did you call it again?’
‘Retrograde amnesia.’
‘That’s it. So what’s going on? Why hasn’t everything come back? Don’t take this the wrong way; I know you have lots of experience as a GP, but don’t you think I maybe ought to see a specialist or something? Go to a hospital?’
‘Sure, if you’re worried, we can do that. No problem. The nearest hospital is a good drive away, though. Plus the only doctor you’ll get to see on a weekend is at A&E – probably some youngster who qualified five minutes ago. There’s really no point going there until next week when someone senior is around.’
‘What day is it today?’
‘Saturday.’
‘Oh, right. I didn’t realise.’
He reassures me that he’s perfectly well qualified to keep an eye on me for the time being. I mention the paralysis, in case it’s important, although Miles is sure it was only a dream, most likely spawned by the frustration of my memory loss.
‘But you will take me to the hospital next week?’
‘Of course.’
‘It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, Miles. I’m just desperate to get my memories back. It’s so frustrating not knowing who I am. If there’s anything that can be done—’
‘Don’t worry, Jack. I understand.’
‘Are you sure it’s not worth going today? Isn’t there a chance th
ere might be someone who can help?’
‘No. It would be an utter waste of time. You’ll have to trust me on that.’
‘Could we go on Monday, then?’
‘Yes, Monday we can do.’
After a shower and breakfast, I find Miles busy laying floorboards.
‘Can I help?’ I offer.
‘No, I don’t think you’re ready to get back to work yet.’
‘But that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?’
‘It’s too soon.’
‘What shall I do, then? I need to get busy with something or I’ll go crazy.’
Miles shrugs.
‘Maybe I’ll get some fresh air. The weather looks decent: the sun’s out and there’s no sign of any rain.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea in your condition.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I insist. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t go near the edge of the cliff. I could really do with …’
Miles throws me an expectant stare.
‘Yeah, I was going to tell you that I need to clear my head,’ I say. ‘Then the irony of the expression struck me. What I really want to do is fill my head back up. But you know what I mean.’
‘I’d rather you put your feet up.’
‘Just a little walk. I’ll stay close to the house, I promise.’
‘Fine. You’re a grown man and you seem steady enough on your feet now. But please don’t go close to the edge, and don’t push yourself too hard.’
‘I won’t. Thanks, Doc.’
Outside, the fresh sea air feels great on my skin. Despite what I’ve told Miles, I can’t resist walking over to the rickety fence and peering down the jagged cliff face to the swirling sea, which looks chilly and agitated. I’m not sure what time of year it is, which is an odd feeling, yet I’m dressed for winter in a jumper and jacket. That must be right, I think. The sun might be out, but there’s no warmth, especially in the coastal breeze. I take in my surroundings, noting the bare branches of the few trees nearby and the lack of any flowers. Then I look back at the house: a last outpost of civilisation in this remote spot, as worn and neglected as it is imposing. There’s so much still to be done, I think, eyeing all the flaking paintwork, rotten wood and damaged roof tiles. No wonder Miles needs my help.
If Ever I Fall Page 6