by Bryce THOMAS
‘I really would have liked to have been able to do that,’ she said jovially, swivelling on the seat and standing up. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t suppose I could play before my accident?’ she asked looking at her mother.
‘Football. You played football. That’s the only thing you were interested in my love. Football, football, and oh, yes, football. Not so much watching it, although you did follow the local team’s progress a little. But you never missed a chance to kick a ball about or play a match. It always baffled me why you weren’t a boy really!’
‘Right,’ Lucy said, nodding her head and hoping that the events of this afternoon had somehow faded in their memories. ‘Better get the ball out then.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As her mother had packed the football as a necessity, the girls set up a goal with two empty green water butts from the side of the stables and Loanne ran to the gap while Lucy bounced the ball about with her hands before kicking it in the air. To her surprise it seemed to be under control. For several minutes she practiced her footwork, dribbling and manoeuvring until suddenly, thinking that Loanne had possibly had a minor lapse in concentration, she looked at the top corner of the goal post, which in this case was the neck of the barrel, and using all the force of her leg, kicked the ball at the goal.
To Lucy’s surprise, the ball didn’t go into the gap. Not that the kick wasn’t accurately aimed or propelled, however. It was just that Loanne seemed to have a nack for saving goals. With astonishing cat like reflexes, her slim, wiry frame reached out effortlessly. Holding her arms outstretched she simply caught the ball, and drop kicked it back to the player who once again took her best shot. And once again, effortlessly, Loanne blocked it, this time with her riding boot. ‘You’ve done this before,’ Lucy stated with a surprised tone in her voice.
Loanne just grinned triumphantly.
They played for a good hour and a half, taking it in turns at being the goalkeeper, but try as she may, when kicking the ball at the goal, Lucy couldn’t get it past Loanne. Lucy’s skill was impeccable, but Loanne seemed to be just in the right place at the right time, always guessing where the ball was going to be aimed; always being there to catch or block it. It puzzled Lucy. She’d soon realized how good she was at kicking and controlling the ball, and by the law of averages she should have turned up at least one goal. After all, Loanne had scored three or four times when Lucy had been goalie, and even she had admitted that she was nowhere as practiced at the game as Lucy.
The two girls kicking a football about seemed to set Mrs. Lockhart’s mind at rest as she watched them playing and laughing like old friends. But Loanne’s aptitude hadn’t gone un-noticed either. ‘I do believe you’ve got a budding goal keeper,’ Mrs. Lockhart said as she and Doctor Murray watched from the French windows that looked out onto the yard.
The doctor seemed to be thinking. ‘It’s just her gift,’ he said eventually and left it at that.
Time seemed to pass quickly, and when the girls had eventually sated their need to let off a bit of steam, wearily they packed up and went back to the house. Both parents were still watching; Mrs. Lockhart with dire interest, Doctor Murray with a detached professionalism. It was as if he were assessing each girl’s abilities, rather than just enjoying their antics.
For quite some time, Doctor Murray appeared to be distracted. He seemed to be trying to work something out. After a quarter of an hour or so of total silence, Mrs. Lockhart felt compelled to snap him out of whatever frame of mind he had got himself into.
‘See? I told you she was a footballer,’ she said to him, trying to bring him around.
‘That doesn’t explain her behaviour this afternoon, though. I really need to get Doctor Boulder to have a chat with her as soon as possible. See if we can’t get to the bottom of this.’
‘You mean the psychiatrist, don’t you?’
Still watching the girls, he put his hand on Mrs. Lockhart’s arm. ‘That doesn’t mean that she is mentally ill or anything. It just means we can perhaps get an idea just from where Lucy is dredging up all these memories. Like a lot of other things that don’t seem immediately obvious, there has to be a logical explanation.’ Then turning to her, he said lightly, ‘She doesn’t happen to have an identical twin anywhere, does she?’
‘Er, I think I might have noticed, somehow.’ Mrs Lockhart frowned. ‘Besides, I’m not sure they are memories. I mean, how on earth would she know some woman who is supposed to be a police officer out here in the countryside?’ She paused for what seemed like ages while they watched the girls replacing the water butts and heading for the door. ‘And all these other things,’ she said, almost in a whisper, as much to herself as to her companion. ‘They can’t be memories, none of them can.’ Doctor Murray shook his head. ‘She may have been making some of it up; not on purpose, but because it could be part of her condition.’ This time he paused for a moment, considering what he wanted to say next.
‘But she said that the woman wasn’t a police officer. The chances of that are pretty good; whereas the likelihood of the woman she talked about being anything connected to the police force is probably a few hundred to one against. It’s just so difficult to think why she should have said what she did.’
‘I think that she got the idea from Loanne when she said that the house was being used for some kind of surveillance. But we were all joking, John; just making conversation. I’m sure she must have realized none of us were serious.’
‘But that is the problem. She is picking up on what we say and in her mind it seems to be becoming reality to her.’
‘So what do you suggest?’ Their eyes met for a brief moment and then, breaking the spell, she looked away over his shoulder. ‘I’ll ask my colleague to see her as soon as possible,’ he said, and left it at that.
–––––––
No one said any more about what had happened that afternoon, and as the evening drew in, Lucy excused herself, and Loanne showed her to her bedroom.
Loanne followed her into the room and sat on the side of Lucy’s bed. ‘Do you think your mum and my father are going to get it together?’ she asked bluntly as she absent mindedly smoothed out the bedspread at her side.
Lucy chuckled. ‘I’ve been watching them. There is definitely an attraction there, don’t you think?’
Loanne chuckled back. ‘Would it bother you? You wouldn’t be put out or anything?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘I can’t say I would. I can’t remember who I am never mind my mother. So how is it going to bother me?’ She paused only for a second and then asked, ‘Does it bother you?’
Loanne’s eyes lit up. The thought of having a sister like Lucy was not at all bad. Her mouth cut a bracey gap across her face as she shook her head and grinned.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The knocking on the front door at seven o’clock on Sunday morning was a first for Doctor John Murray. Very occasionally he would be called out at the weekend for an emergency, but that would be initiated by way of a telephone call from the hospital, not a knock on the door. His Sunday was usually the proverbial day of rest; a lie in, a glance at the Sunday papers and then a late breakfast cooked by him for his daughter and himself. It was a routine. The rest of his life might have been shoved at him with emergencies here and difficult decisions and operations there, but Sundays were set aside for himself and his daughter. Even this Sunday, he had intended to get up after eight thirty and make a light breakfast of orange juice and a round of toast for his guests, but he was already awake as is the way with people who are up at six thirty every morning of the week to go to work.
Wearily, he got up out of bed and put on his dressing gown before descending the stairs to the lobby. He could see the dark silhouette of a man through the glazed panel of the door. ‘Yes, can I help you?’ he asked as he drew the door inwards.
The stranger filling the opening was a good four inches taller than Doctor Murray. His crew cut light brown hair was spiked on the top of his head, makin
g him look even higher, and dark grey eyes looked out from behind a smooth, angular face which appeared as if it had been roughly sculptured and was awaiting the final chiselling. He wore a plain grey suit that seemed almost as sharp edged as his expression. Expensive, was the first impression.
Behind the man stood a dark haired woman, but unlike him, she seemed familiar. Her face was thin and sported a slightly crooked nose with a scar that traversed a broad bridge. Doctor Murray thought briefly that he knew just the surgeon who could have sorted that out, and wondered why she had never bothered getting it re- set, but the thought passed fleetingly as he continued to examine the woman in front of him. She was wearing a dark business style suit with a knee length skirt, and a jacket above a well ironed white blouse. Despite the scar where the nose had obviously been in contact with something heavy, she wore no makeup. Levelling her light blue eyes at the doctor, she put her hand inside her shoulder bag, but before she had located what she was looking for, the man had put his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a folded wallet. He opened it and held it up. ‘I’m Sergeant Albright,’ the man said, studying the darkly stubbled face of the man in front of him. ‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Norton.’ He nodded towards his companion.
Doctor Murray smiled. ‘Good morning Inspector,’ he said, looking back at the woman quizzically. Her eyes were still drilling into him.
There was an uneasy silence for a long moment. ‘Your daughter,’ Sergeant Albright said eventually, at the same time as folding away his badge. It was said in a tone that the doctor could not make out. It was neither a question nor a statement.
‘Yes? What about her?’
‘She called next door yesterday afternoon.’
‘Oh, yes.’ He didn’t want to explain too much at this moment in time. These people seemed surly.
‘Is she in?’
‘I should hope so at this time in the morning.’ He tried to keep his face as blank and expressionless as those of his two visitors, but it was hard. The thought ricocheted across the back of his mind that they must have spent years practicing the look, but their whole demeanour made his curiosity try to punch its way out into the open.
‘Can we have a word Sir?’ Now it was DCI Norton speaking.
Still he struggled to keep his face blank, but they seemed such an unlikely and contrasting pair that he was having difficulty stopping himself from commenting on the fact. ‘What about?’ he said eventually. He was sure the man hadn’t failed to notice the expression he was trying so hard to quell.
Sergeant Albright looked around and then faced the doctor again. ‘Can we come in, Sir?’
Doctor Murray stepped back from the door, and the two police officers stepped over the threshold and into the parlour. ‘So, what is the matter, officer?’
‘We were told that your daughter called at the farmhouse yesterday,’ Norton said. She paused for a response, but none came forth. After half a minute or so, she continued. ‘She said that I was not a police officer. What did she mean by that?’
‘I really have no idea.’
‘So would you mind if we asked her sir?’
‘Well, might I explain that the girl you presumed was my daughter is in fact a patient? I am a doctor. A neurosurgeon in fact. The girl that knocked on your door yesterday is under my supervision, having suffered a serious head trauma recently.’ He thought that it was a sufficient explanation.
Obviously, the two police officers didn’t. They were silent for a minute. ‘Do you usually take care of patients at home, doctor?’ Norton asked, eventually. She seemed even surlier now.
‘Do you usually worry about what thirteen year old children say, Inspector?’
The woman fidgeted, transferring her weight from one foot to the other. ‘We are simply making an enquiry as to what her motive was.’
‘Motive?’
‘Her intention.’
‘Her intention?’
She gave out a big sigh. ‘Why did she call at the farmhouse and tell the man that I wasn’t a police officer? It’s a simple question, doctor.’
‘I really have no idea, Inspector.’ He was telling the truth, but for these two, he didn’t mind if he sounded to be rather obstructive. ‘As I said, she has suffered a head trauma and I am in the process of diagnosing several symptoms from which she seems to be suffering. And, at the same time, that entails working out what certain actions and reactions she is going through mean in relation to her lost personality.’
‘So we are not going to be allowed to speak to her, I take it?’
‘Not unless you can explain what sort of serious problem a small girl, who is staying as my guest, has caused by calling on your friend who, as it happens, is also my next door neighbour.’ He stood and waited for a reply. Neither police officer offered an explanation.
Norton turned to go and Albright followed suit. They stopped in the porch. ‘What is her name?’ he turned and asked.
‘Her name? Oh it’s…’ he paused absent mindedly and glanced past them through the porch window towards the farmhouse, but he could only see the dark tiled roof from where he was standing. ‘It’s interesting the way my neighbour keeps himself hidden inside all the time,’ he said as a diversionary tactic. ‘He seems very reclusive. Does he spend all his time there? We’ve only had the odd glimpse of him since he moved in. Funny sort of fellow really. Is he related to the old man who…’
‘We should be going,’ Norton said, breaking into the fusillade of questions. ‘Thank you for your time.’ With that she tilted her head as a signal for her companion to leave and then followed him out. They both walked purposefully down the driveway and onto the road, finally disappearing behind the high bank.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lucy had been awakened by the knocking. Hearing Doctor Murray emerge from his room and go down stairs to answer the door, she eased herself out of her bed, opened the door very carefully and, silently tiptoed to the top of the stairs. Her heart beat wildly as she heard the voices in the lobby. Kneeling behind the rail, she clung to the banister as tightness gripped her chest. Her breathing came in short bursts, unable to fill her lungs. It was as if someone was turning a tourniquet tighter and tighter around her body. The woman was asking about her, and she had been right; she was calling herself a police officer, Detective Chief Inspector Norton. Lucy listened to the voices until what seemed like a painful hour had passed when, in reality, only a minute or two had gone by. Then as suddenly as the strange feeling came upon her, it disappeared. She could breathe again. All was quiet in the house. The visitors had gone, but how long ago she couldn’t recall.
Quietly, she turned and tiptoed back to the bedroom, climbed into bed and slid under the duvet. Her head was beginning to ache. The woman was a detective inspector but Lucy, herself, had said that the woman wasn’t a proper police officer. Some kind of memory that was locked away inside her brain didn’t make sense in any way. An unformed image had flashed through her mind but she still couldn’t recall why she had associated the woman with the police anyway. Something had told her that the woman was not who she claimed to be, and she knew for sure now that she was right.
Lucy pulled the duvet right over her head, closed her eyes and tried to sleep. But she couldn’t relax and soon, she pulled the duvet back, tucked it under her chin and stared at the ceiling. A few minutes later, as the sun was beginning to hit the window, and cut a silver gash down the opposite wall, she sat up. The curtains moved with the breeze, and the silver gash wavered and shimmered. For a second it transfixed her. Suddenly, feeling alone and confined, a strange numbness paralysed every muscle in her body. Her eyes fell upon three oriental pictures, each scene underscored by Chinese characters written just above the bottom frame. Unable to move her eyes, the room rotated silently around her. Beside the pictures hung a wall carpet covered in intricate oriental patterns. As the room gained speed, a large lacquered chest slowly passed in front of her and then a door; not any ordinary door, a door as tall as the room and as imp
osing as befitting the walls of a fortress. The room spun faster. Her eyes fell back on the first of the pictures. Now the writing was in English. In a garden of Lotus flowers, said one as it flashed by.
‘It’s very strange,’ the distant voice of Doctor Murray broke through the silent whirlpool.
The room slowly stopped spinning and came to a standstill and Lucy was suddenly able to refocus her eyes. The pictures and the hanging wall carpet were no longer there. Outside, the sun had been smothered by a cloud and the long blade of sunlight that had transformed the room had disappeared. Now, she was looking at the wall of the bedroom as it was before, and at the simple abstract painting above the painted chest of drawers standing beside the simple panelled door. Her head dropped forward into her hands. Was she travelling from one place in one time to another without so much as setting a foot out of bed? Was that possible? Or was she just going mad?
‘Well all I can say is that she must have met the woman somewhere,’ she heard her mother say. The voices were getting closer, coming along the landing towards the bedroom. A light tap on the door told Lucy that they had arrived at their destination. ‘Lucy? Are you awake, sweetheart?’
A warm, comforting wave of relief suddenly washed through her whole being as she lifted her head and looked towards the door. She was no longer alone. Although she was unable to remember her family, there was definitely something settling and reassuring about her mother’s voice. If anything did, that voice seemed to belong there, somewhere in Lucy’s existence. And at this particular time, it meant that she was back in the here-and-now and not in some kind of space warp.
‘Lucy?’ the light voice searched again for a response.
‘Come in!’ Lucy shouted and then, more calmly,
‘Come in,’ she said, stroking the duvet with the palms of her hands to make sure that it was not a dream.