I tune back in to his voice, which is asking me if I’m all right, probably for the umpteenth time.
‘What did we do over the last week?’ I ask, looking Miles in the eye, hoping to gauge whether or not he’s being honest. Aren’t people supposed to look up and to their right if they’re lying? Or is it their left? No, I’m fairly sure it’s the right: something to do with the use of the imagination. I wonder how on earth I can remember that when everything else is a void.
Miles doesn’t look to either side as he answers. He meets my gaze and holds it. ‘Well, we went to the hospital on Monday, like I said. We also called at the supermarket that day for provisions. Otherwise we’ve been here, mainly working on the floorboards.’
‘I’ve been helping?’
‘Yes. You seemed much better. I thought you were on the mend. There were no more of those funny turns you had previously.’
‘What about my memory? Did I recall anything more about having a daughter or about my background generally?’
He breaks my gaze and glances out of the window before replying. ‘Sorry. No breakthroughs, I’m afraid.’
‘Really? What did the doctor at the hospital say, then? Did he have any possible explanation?’
‘You really don’t remember, do you?’
‘Obviously not. Why do you say that?’
‘The doctor you saw was a woman.’
This latest revelation catches me unawares. ‘A woman? What was her name?’
‘Dr Quinn.’
‘Dr Quinn? Seriously?’
‘Yes,’ Miles replies, frowning. ‘Why?’
‘Well, it’s like that old TV show, isn’t it? With the famous actress in. What’s her name? I can’t remember. You know the one I mean.’
‘Sorry, I don’t. I’ve never been much of a television drama fan.’
‘Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman,’ I say, wondering again if he’s lying; if I caught him out and now he’s trying to cover his tracks.
Miles shakes his head. ‘Never heard of it. Good that you remember, though.’
‘Yeah, brilliant. Why’s there room for nonsense like that in my brain when all the important stuff has gone?’
‘That’s a good question, lad. Unfortunately, I don’t know.’
‘I can’t be the first person this has ever happened to. Aren’t there medical studies into this kind of thing?’
‘Of course. But what you’re experiencing is confusing, especially now your amnesia seems to have spread to more recent memories. It’s almost as if …’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Of course it matters. Say it. Please, Miles. I’d rather know.’
‘Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes memory loss can be caused by a psychological trigger rather than a physical injury. It’s known as psychogenic or dissociative amnesia.’
‘Hold on. What are you suggesting? That it’s all in my head? That I’m making it up?’
‘Not at all. Don’t forget that the scan may well say otherwise – that there is some clear physical cause. If not, then of course we have to look at other possibilities. Even so, what I’ve just described to you is still a very real disorder.’
‘You said this was caused by falling off a ladder, Miles. I took your word for it. You could have told me anything. I’m in your hands here. Now you spring this on me.’
‘Calm down, Jack. Please. This is why I was hesitant to say anything. I feared you’d react in such a way. Organic causes of amnesia can be hard to detect, so don’t think I’m ruling that out, even if nothing shows up on the scan. However, I wasn’t with you when you had your accident, remember. I found you unconscious in a pile of soil and put two and two together. Maybe I got it wrong.’
I run a hand through my hair, which is still damp with sweat. ‘What else could have happened?’
Miles doesn’t reply, so I carry on, determined to get a rise out of him. ‘Well, something made my head hurt like hell. Maybe a mermaid climbed up the cliff face, sneaked up on me and walloped me with her pet turtle. That could leave me mentally scarred, right?’
‘There’s no need to be facetious,’ Miles says, rising to his feet and heading for the door. ‘Get yourself a shower. I’ll make us some food. If you like, when you’ve had a chance to calm down, we can talk about this like adults.’
‘Sorry,’ I reply, feeling like an idiot.
‘I’ll see you in a few minutes.’
With that, he’s gone and I’m left alone in the bedroom.
‘Jane Seymour,’ I say out loud as it comes to me who the famous actress was that played Dr Quinn on TV. Surely Miles must have heard of her. If only all my memories would return so easily.
As I shower away the remnants of my nightmare, now little more than a hazy blot in my mind’s eye, I can’t escape the idea that Miles might be lying to me. I mean, how can I not have remembered anything more after all those flashbacks previously? What about my daughter? I’m still convinced she exists and that I should be with her rather than here in this place. And how can almost a week have passed without me realising? I need to know for sure what’s going on. So much hangs upon what Miles has told me. If I can’t trust this latest information, how can I count on anything he’s said?
I decide that I need to hear from the outside world. There might not be any computer or television in this place, thanks to Miles’s aversion to technology, but I do remember him mentioning a couple of radios. If I could listen to one of them, I’d at least be able to confirm what day of the week it is today. To me it still feels like Sunday; Miles says it’s Saturday, six days later, so confirming the actual day would be a step forward.
Rather than sneaking around trying to find one of these radios, which I’ve yet to come across, I decide to ask Miles. I may as well give him the benefit of the doubt in the first instance. If he’s nothing to hide, why would he mind?
I broach the subject at the kitchen table after a few forkfuls of the impressive fry-up Miles has made.
‘This is delicious,’ I say. ‘Thanks very much.’
‘No problem.’
‘Sorry about earlier. It’s a struggle trying to get my head around losing a week. I was expecting things to get better. Not worse. This whole memory loss thing is driving me mad. The idea of having a daughter and yet not knowing who or where she is: it’s so damn frustrating.’
‘I understand.’
Do you? I think, but I say something else. ‘Um, I remember you mentioned something about having a couple of radios about the house.’
‘That’s right.’ He isn’t looking at me. His eyes are focused on his plate.
‘Any chance I could borrow one for a bit? To have in my room. I won’t play it loud or anything. I just, er, you know, think it would be nice to have something to listen to.’
I expect him to say no and to come up with an excuse as to why not, but instead he smiles and says it’s fine. He points across the kitchen. ‘There’s a portable one in that drawer. Help yourself.’
‘Great. Thank you.’
We don’t speak any more about my memory loss and potential causes. Miles appears to be waiting on my lead, but I don’t have the energy. I can’t think of anything apart from listening to that radio. And yet surely the fact that Miles is happy for me to use it is an answer in itself. All the same, I need to hear it with my own ears. I need a taste of the outside world.
‘So what’s the plan for today?’ I ask, dipping my last chunk of sausage into a blob of brown sauce.
‘Well, it looks nice and dry outside, so I was thinking of having a poke around the guttering. There are leaks in several places and I need to work out whether it’s a patching and painting job or if it needs replacing. I suspect it might be a combination of the two.’
‘I’m happy to help.’
He squints at me across the table. ‘Are you sure, lad? I don’t mind giving you the day off in light of—’
‘No, I’d rather keep busy.
And I need to pay my way.’
‘Fine. But I want you at the bottom of the ladder. I’ll do the climbing.’
‘You’re the boss.’
After tidying away and filling the dishwasher, we arrange to meet outside in half an hour.
‘Can I grab that radio?’ I slip in, trying to make it sound like a casual afterthought.
‘Sure.’
I take it – a silver Sony about the size of my palm with a single speaker, extendable antenna and carry strap – and head back into the dilapidated core of the house. My heart’s pumping fast with excitement. My footsteps echo as I climb the dirty, bare wood of the staircase. Then I tread my way carefully along the wreck of the hall, my nose wrinkling at the now familiar mildew smell, until I reach our oasis of civilised living with its solid varnished floorboards and cream walls.
I stop outside the only door I’ve yet to open here: the one leading into Miles’s bedroom. Knowing he’s still downstairs in the kitchen, I’m tempted to have a peek inside. My hand hovers over the door handle. I lower it until I can feel the cool metal on my fingers, but then I glance at the radio in my other hand and stop. No further, I tell myself. One thing at a time. First let’s see if he’s telling the truth.
I continue along the short corridor to my bedroom, let myself in and close the door. Sitting down on my unmade bed, I flick up the volume control that doubles as an on-off switch and take a slow, deep breath.
Time for some answers.
CHAPTER 21
Sunday, 23 April 2017
Dear Sam,
Hello, love. I’ve hardly had a moment to myself this past week with Ruby being off school. Holidays are always pretty full on compared to term time, but when your child has one arm in plaster and can’t amuse herself in the usual ways, it’s even more intense.
I’ve been itching to write to you for days. After what’s happened this weekend, I can’t wait any longer. It’s been eventful. I’m feeling pretty confused right now. I hope that mulling things over with you might help me get them straight in my mind.
It’s after 10 p.m. Ruby’s been in bed for a while already, thank goodness. She’s been a nightmare today. Really grumpy. It’s because she didn’t get much shut-eye last night. Anna came round for a sleepover – and you know how that goes. It was like when you used to have friends over for the night: lots of chatting and giggling rather than napping. It was late when they fell asleep and they were up again at some ungodly hour this morning. Apparently they’d agreed that whoever woke up first would wake the other. Hence the early start.
Most of what came out of Ruby’s mouth today was whining and moaning. She didn’t want to finish her homework, of course, and when she did, nothing made any sense and everything I told her was wrong. Then it was unfair that she had to tidy up her room. You know, because it wasn’t like she’d made the mess or anything. The food I made for tea was all wrong. And finally we had a worse than usual row about the fact she had to have a bath rather than a shower because of her plaster cast.
‘I hate baths,’ she shouted over and over again. ‘They’re for babies. Why can’t I put a plastic bag over my arm and have a shower? That’s what Dad lets me do. He says it’s fine.’
I wasn’t having any of it. ‘We can try that tomorrow, Ruby, but not now. I’ve already run the bath.’
‘That’s not fair. I told you before that I didn’t want one.’
‘If this is what happens when you have a friend over to stay, I don’t think we’d better do it again. You’ve been a right madam all day and I’ve had enough. I’m going to count to ten and you won’t like what happens if you’re not in the bath by the end. One …’
She did as she was told, but there was thunder in her eyes. The first thing I did after tucking her up in bed was to pour myself a large glass of well-chilled white wine, which I’m still enjoying right now. I needed something to take the edge off, not only because of Ruby, but everything else that happened this weekend too.
I find myself in something of a predicament after being wooed twice yesterday – by two separate men – in the space of a couple of hours.
Wooed is a strange word. It sounds so old fashioned. Like something in a Shakespeare play or a Jane Austen novel. To be honest, I almost went with propositioned instead, but that sounds too much like a sordid sexual advance. Think somewhere in between the two words, Sam, and you’ll be closer to the truth.
I’ll tell you what happened in both cases and you can judge for yourself. I have to remind myself here that I’m writing to a future version of you – a confidante – to stop this from feeling strange. Also, you’ve probably guessed that one of these men is Dan, who I’ll keep referring to as such in a bid to avoid any weirdness. You’re surprised? I doubt it. I’m sure you can guess who the other person is too. I might have two men fighting for my affections – wow, I like the way that sounds – but let’s not get carried away.
I’m going to stop rambling now. (I blame the wine.)
So Ruby spent Friday night at Dan’s place. Usually she would have spent Saturday night too, but he had a work do to attend that evening. I was in a good mood when he brought her home at about 3 p.m. It’s amazing the positive effect a lie-in and a leisurely bath can have on you. I’d been taking Rosie’s advice to try to enjoy the quiet moments I had to myself, rather than letting my OCD commandeer them.
‘It’s easy to be vulnerable in those moments,’ she said during one of our sessions. ‘Can you think of any recent examples of when you’ve had time to yourself and how that’s made you feel?’
‘It happens a lot.’ I told her. ‘I have a free moment that I’ve been looking forward to; maybe I’m planning to watch a film I’ve recorded or read a few chapters of my book, but something comes up. Gets in the way.’
‘Like what?’
‘It usually starts as something little, like going to check that the door is locked. I tell myself it will only take a minute, but then it develops into something bigger and far more time-consuming. While I’m there, I might notice a chip in the door, for instance. Next thing I’ll be digging a paint pot out and touching it up, if not repainting the entire door.’
‘Why do you think that happens?’
‘It’s as if I’m punishing myself. Like part of me feels I don’t deserve that treat I was planning and swipes it away from me.’
‘So how do you beat it?’
‘By not giving in to that initial thought?’
‘Exactly. Relax when you get the chance. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’
It was good advice. Apparently even Dan could see it was working.
‘You look nice and chilled,’ he said to me at the front door.
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘You should. Relaxed suits you. You look really well.’
‘Are you staying for a drink, Dad?’ Ruby asked as she pushed past him with her bags from the car.
‘Um. I, er—’
‘You’re welcome to, if you like,’ I said. You could argue it was a bit cheeky of Ruby to put us on the spot like that. But at the same time, it’s not like she was inviting a strange man into the house. She promptly disappeared to her bedroom, leaving the two of us to talk. It made me wonder whether Dan had put her up to it.
‘I was hoping we’d get a chance to have a chat,’ he said, adding to my suspicions.
‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee, please. Instant’s fine.’
‘Are you looking after yourself?’ I asked as he took a seat at the kitchen table. ‘You look tired.’
He shrugged.
‘I can smell that you’re still smoking. We’re not young any more, Dan. You should knock it on the head. For Ruby’s sake, if not your own.’
‘What about for your sake?’
‘That too, if it helps.’
‘Careful. I might start thinking you still care.’
‘Don’t be silly. Of course I do.’ I do care about him, Sam. I always will. But it’s never as easy
as that, is it?
I changed the subject. ‘Actually, while I remember, Dan, there was something I wanted to ask you. Has Ruby said anything about that chat I had with her: you know, Father Christmas and so on?’
Dan shook his head. ‘No. Why?’
Glad he’d taken the bait and moved away from a potentially loaded conversation, I said it was odd that she’d not brought the subject up again with either of us.
‘I thought Easter might have sparked some mention of it again.’
‘I wouldn’t worry. It’s not like she believed in the Easter Bunny or anything. She’s probably digesting the information. It’s a lot to take in. She’ll ask us if she wants to know anything else. I mean, I can try and broach it next time she’s over, if you’re that bothered, but—’
‘No, you’re right. I shouldn’t have been so offhand with you about it when I told you on the phone. It was all rather unexpected – and she was more upset than I imagined.’
‘I wouldn’t read too much into it. You may find she’s accepted it now.’
‘You think?’ I looked at him. The bags under his eyes were far deeper than I remember them being.
‘Sure. Kids are much better at adapting to change than adults. They’re wired that way. They have to be. How would they ever cope with puberty otherwise?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Look how quickly Ruby’s got used to having her arm in plaster. She could hardly do anything by herself to start with. Now she’s coping well.’
‘I worry too much about her. I know I do, but—’
‘It’s only normal after what happened with Sam, Maria. I worry too. I just hide it better. She’s our little girl. The only one we have left. But we can’t wrap her up in cotton wool. That’s not the way to protect her. We have to let her grow into her own person. She’s not Sam and the same thing is not going to happen again.’
‘You can’t promise that.’ I turned away from Dan and busied myself with making the drinks as I gathered my emotions.
If Ever I Fall Page 18