“Yeah, but will you answer any of them?” Morgan ignored Nikki as she chuckled from her chair, focusing solely on Amy.
“And we can help until you can cope with your injuries on your own. And yes, we’ll answer anything we ca—”
“So who’s Erin?”
“Anything we can, just as soon as the doctors say it’s okay.” Amy finished.
“They won’t let you tell me about Erin?” Morgan frowned.
“I think Erin should tell you about Erin.”
Morgan scowled at the smug grin on Amy’s face. “You always were a killjoy, Amy.”
“Something else that hasn’t changed then, hey?”
Morgan turned and looked at Nikki. “I thought you said I was the teacher? She sounds way more like one than I do.”
“Amy’s a teacher too, smart arse. She was your boss. Head of the Arts Department.” Pride shone in Nikki’s eyes as she watched her wife.
“Oh, shit.” Morgan groaned.
Amy giggled. “Exactly.”
“I can get a sick note, I think.”
Chapter Six
Erin stirred her tea, dropped the spoon into the sink, and sat at the kitchen table.
“Mum, where’s my basketball kit?” Tristan threw his coat over the banister as he walked down the short hallway. His long, lanky frame filled the doorway before he pulled a cupboard open and grabbed a handful of cookies. “Colin’s mum said she’d pick me up in an hour.”
Erin reached for his hand, stopping him as he headed for the door again. He turned inquisitive blue eyes to her and quirked an eyebrow in question. “Can you please text Colin and tell him you can’t make training tonight?”
“We’ve got a tournament next week for this summer league.” He ran his hand over his cropped dark hair. “If I don’t train, Coach won’t let me start—”
“Tristan, not tonight. I’ll explain to your coach so you won’t be penalized. Just let Colin know you can’t make it.”
“That’s not fair. Maddie’s at her swimming class.”
“That was straight from summer club. Once she gets home, I need to speak to you both.” Tristan stared at her. “It’s important.” He threw his arms up in dramatic defeat before stomping off to his room. The slamming door echoed through the house. She dropped her head into her hands and sighed. The battle of wills was something she really didn’t need right now. A quick glance at the clock told her she had half an hour before Maddie was due home from her swimming lesson. She picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hi, Chris. It’s me.”
“Hello, baby sister. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Are you busy tonight?”
“Never too busy for you. What do you need? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. No.” She laughed humorlessly. “I have no idea. I have to tell the kids.”
“It’s been a week, Erin. Why haven’t you told them sooner?”
“Honestly? I was hoping I’d have something good to tell them.”
“Hmm. Sounds more like you were avoiding it to me.”
“Well, how would you like to have to do this? They hadn’t seen her for three weeks before it happened. I figured another few days to give her a chance to recover wouldn’t hurt any of them.”
“I see your point. Logical as always. I still think you were chicken shit.”
“Why, thank you for your esteemed opinion, Dr. Bain.”
Chris laughed. “Finally you see why I became a psychologist.”
“Yeah, all those years to be able to call me chicken. So worth it.”
“You want me to come round?”
“You mind?”
“Hell, no. I’m on my way. Stick the kettle on.”
She put the phone back in place and rubbed her hands over her face. She opened the fridge, trying to decide what to make the children for dinner, then pushed it closed; it could wait.
Twenty minutes later, Chris walked in. He was six foot three, with broad shoulders, dark hair, blue eyes, and an unmistakable resemblance to her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her tight against his chest. Erin allowed herself to draw strength from him, secure that he had always been there for her.
He was two years older than her and had been the rock she depended on when their father had walked out on them. Twelve-year-old Erin had stood and watched, horrified, as bailiffs had removed their possessions, then locked the door to their house to cover debts their father had failed to pay, their mother on one side of her, and Chris on the other. The loss of their security—their home—highlighted her vulnerability, her dependence, and her helplessness as the truth of the betrayal sank in. She had idolized her father, and his abandonment cut her to the core.
“Are they home yet?” Chris rubbed her back before he pulled away.
“Tristan’s upstairs. Maddie’s due home any minute.”
“Where’s that brew then?”
Erin busied herself making tea before she joined him at the table as the front door burst open.
“Mum, I got a star for my drawing.”
Erin and Chris grinned at each other as the little tornado that was Maddie Masters came barreling into the room, her Scooby-Doo backpack dragging behind her, her dark hair hanging in a long, wet, ponytail that soaked the T-shirt partially tucked into her dirt-smudged shorts. She held the paper out to her proudly, the gold star bright at the top of the page. Erin pulled her in for a hug and a kiss. The colorful landscape prominently displayed some of the artistic flair Morgan had so obviously passed down to her daughter.
“Well done, sweetie. Put it on the fridge. How was summer club?”
“Okay. We’re doing kayaking tomorrow; you’ve got to sign a form to say I can go too. If you don’t, I have to stay at the Brownie hut and make stupid masks with the little kids. I mean help the little kids with their projects.” Maddie slapped the form on the table in front of Erin, then went to the fridge. She used one of the magnets to stick her drawing up before pulling the door open. “I’m hungry.”
“When aren’t you? What do you want?” Erin smiled and Chris chuckled as she took the milk out.
“Cereal,” she said as put it on the counter and reached for a bowl.
“Okay, then I want you to go and get your brother. I need to talk to you both.”
Maddie shrugged as she sat and quickly demolished her bowl of chocolate covered flakes.
Erin sipped her tea until Maddie dropped her bowl in the sink and raced upstairs to fetch her brother.
“She looks more like Morgan every day.” Chris smiled.
“I know.” She brushed the tears from her eyes and willed herself to stay calm. “I don’t know how to do this, Chris.”
“Just tell them the truth.” He gripped her hand.
“And then what? I don’t have answers to the questions they’re going to ask. I don’t have answers to the questions I’ve as—”
Maddie and Tristan stood in the doorway. Tristan had his hands on Maddie’s shoulders and stood behind her protectively. His eyes were wary, while Maddie was curious. The difference a few years makes.
“Sit down, please.”
Tristan took a chair opposite Chris, and Maddie sat across from Erin. “You wanted to talk to us?” Tristan’s voice had the bored quality he was trying so hard to affect, when he was really burning with curiosity.
“It’s about your mum.” Erin’s throat closed on the words, cutting off the air she needed to speak. She grabbed her mug and took a sip. “She was hurt a few nights ago—”
“And you’re only telling us now?” Tristan stared at her, eyes narrowed to slits.
“Tristan, let me finish, then you can shout at me for not telling you sooner. Okay?” She waited, but he stayed silent, his arms crossed. She sighed. “She was hurt. Her shoulder was hurt, but that’s going to be fine. It just needs some time to heal properly. She’s got a couple of bruised ribs, and a few cuts. So all that is going to be just fine. She’ll heal, and be out of the hospital in no time.”
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“Can we go and see her then?” Maddie’s big brown eyes were brimming with tears.
Erin shook her head and pulled Maddie onto her lap. “It’s not quite that simple, sweetie.” How do I explain? How do you make a ten-year-old understand this? “You see she…it was…she hurt her head. And that’s caused some other…” She swiped at the tears on Maddie’s cheeks then glanced at Chris. He nodded, offering silent encouragement. “That caused a really bad concussion.”
“But you said she’ll be coming out of hospital.” Tristan’s anger was gone, clearly replaced by fear and panic.
“And she will be. She will. I promise.”
“Then why can’t we go and see her? She’s our mum, too.” Maddie’s voice was so soft Erin could barely hear her. She glanced at Chris again. His face was set, and his eyes fixed on Tristan. They were both waiting for the reaction from him. Erin didn’t know if it would be tears or rage he opted for.
Tristan stood, knocking his chair to the floor. “She doesn’t want us anymore? Is that it? She left you, and she doesn’t want us either.”
Erin caught hold of his arm. “That’s not it. She has amnesia.” Tristan’s eyes widened, his shock evident. Maddie just looked confused.
“What’s that?”
Erin didn’t take her eyes off Tristan, his face pale, beads of sweat forming on his brow. “It’s when a person loses their memory.”
“This is a sick joke. Right?” Tristan tore his arm from Erin’s grasp and ran out of the room. Chris caught Erin’s eye and went after Tristan.
Erin cupped Maddie’s chin, tilting her face until she could see her eyes. She wiped the tears away.
“Do you understand, sweetie?”
“No.”
Erin held her face against her shoulder, stroking her hair as she spoke. “When Morgan woke up, she thought she was nineteen. She doesn’t remember anything after she was nineteen.”
“But mum’s older than you are.”
Erin smiled gently at her reasoning. “I know, but she doesn’t remember that.”
“She just forgot it all?”
“Yes.”
“Does she remember you?”
Erin swallowed the lump in her throat. “No, she doesn’t remember me, sweetie.”
“Does she remember us?” Hiccups interrupted Maddie’s words.
Erin stroked her hands down the length of Maddie’s back, then hugged her tight. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but no. She doesn’t. She doesn’t remember anything.” Erin heard a whimper from the doorway and looked over as Chris wrapped his arms about Tristan’s shoulders on their way back into the room.
His voice was tiny as he asked, “Will she get it back? Will she remember us again?”
“We don’t know, Trist. The doctor’s think it’s possible, but they don’t kn—”
“Does she still love us?” Maddie lifted her head from Erin’s shoulder, her cheeks ruddy, and her eyes red rimmed and swollen.
Erin couldn’t bring herself to look her in the eyes and tell her no. She couldn’t find the words to break Maddie’s heart even more than it already was.
All the anger and pain that Morgan had caused her—them—came flooding back to her. The nights she’d held Maddie, crying because Morgan had left them. Tristan’s mood swings as he tried desperately to understand where it had all gone wrong, and why the mother he adored hadn’t even phoned to speak to him. She felt discarded, and vulnerable, and unwanted. Morgan’s abandonment stirred up every painful emotion of her own childhood.
She had trusted Morgan, built a home and a life with her, and believed that she would never subject their children to the pain Erin had suffered. Her own feelings of betrayal paled next to her children’s pain. She knew she wouldn’t be able to subject them to that risk again. It didn’t matter how she felt seeing Morgan vulnerable and scared in the hospital. Some things were just more important.
Tristan’s voice broke as he whispered the words Erin wished she could refute. “She doesn’t remember us to love us anymore, Maddie. As far as she’s concerned, we don’t exist. You can’t love someone you don’t even know.”
Chapter Seven
Morgan’s scalp itched and her palms sweated as she waited. She shifted uncomfortably in the hospital issue wheelchair with its hard padded seat and wheels that made pulling it much easier than pushing. Dr. Rebecca Bann studied the file on her desk, papers scattered all around her. Her blond hair was pulled into a sloppy bun, a pen stuck out of it, and another pen danced between her fingers as she tapped it against the thick wedge of paper. The office had books along one wall and the blinds were drawn to stop the summer sun blinding her.
“So how are you feeling?” Dr. Bann looked up. She had an open face that made Morgan feel at ease; she was confident in her professional abilities and comfortable enough to talk to her.
“Mostly fine. Getting a shower this morning, like, really helped. I feel nearly human again. I’m still getting pretty bad headaches though.”
“It’s been a week since you woke up. In all honesty, I’d be worried if you weren’t getting headaches. You head injury was very serious, Morgan. Your brain swelled inside your skull and we had to operate to relieve the pressure. Your concussion was very severe. Combine that with the seizures you had—”
“I didn’t have seizures.” She frowned and shifted forward in her chair.
Dr. Bann cast her eyes down then back to Morgan, as she pointed at a note in the file, obviously checking her facts. “Yes, you did. You won’t remember them. You were in and out of consciousness, but you had several seizures. So the two things together have created areas of bruising and scarring in your brain.” She got up and rounded the table, holding a thin metal and glass slate in front of her.
It looks like something out of Star Trek. “What’s that?”
“An iPad.”
Morgan frowned. “A what?”
“An iPad. It’s a computer. Just smaller.” She turned the screen toward Morgan. “This is the most recent scan of your brain.” She pointed to some darker spots in different locations. “These spots are bruises; they’ll get better over time. These are the parts that are affecting your balance and coordination. They’re also affecting your concentration, lethargy, even the nausea you feel from time to time. The vertigo that you’ve been suffering from, is it getting better?”
“Yeah, a bit.”
“Good. That correlates with the earlier scans and how the bruising is already decreasing.”
“How come you didn’t show me this before?”
“I did. The day after you woke up. Some of those memories may still be foggy; others will be crystal clear. Obviously, that one wasn’t retained.”
Morgan’s leg twitched as she stared at the detailed diagram of her own brain, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. “You said bruising and scarring. I thought scars took ages to form.”
“Yes, they do. But the scar starts to form the moment the injury occurs. Say you cut your leg, the moment your body starts to heal and form the clot bridging the skin back together, the scar is starting to form. It would take between six and nine months for it to fully heal, and it will be harder, sometimes raised too, but it’s forming a scar from the moment the injury occurs.” She pointed to a series of small white spots. “This is scar tissue forming on your brain. This area is known as the hippocampus, and this,” she said, as she moved her finger to encompass the outside of the gray matter, “is the cortex. These are the areas of the brain that are involved with the formation and storing of long-term memories.”
“Which is why I can’t remember anything?”
“As far as we can tell, yes. It may be that as the swelling settles completely, your memories will return. It’s very unusual to suffer amnesia in the way you’re doing at the moment. Some of that may be due to the drugs that were also in your system. ”
“I was doing drugs?” Morgan knew she was staring. “Doc, I did a little bit of weed, you know, like at parties and shit, but I didn
’t do anything else.”
Dr. Bann looked back at her notes. “The tests showed that it was a derivative of Flunitrazepam, or Rohypnol. It’s a kind of tranquilizer.”
“Why the hell would I be taking a tranquillizer on a night out?”
“Rohypnol is called a date rape drug—”
“Rape! I was raped?” Morgan leaned forward in her chair and wrapped her hands around her knees. Her chest tightened and her pulse thundered in her ears.
“No. There was absolutely no evidence that you were sexually assaulted, Morgan. Not at all. We don’t know why the drugs were in your system; this type of drug is legitimately used as a sleeping tablet. It’s possible that you were taking them for this reason. But as you weren’t prescribed any drugs by your GP, the police are working on the assumption that you were slipped the drugs by a third party.”
“On purpose?”
“Yes. Morgan, it’s okay. Please try to stay calm.” Dr. Bann rounded her desk and put her hand to Morgan’s forehead.
“But why would someone do that to me?”
“I don’t know. And until the police find whoever did this to you, I don’t think they do either.”
“They didn’t rape me?”
“No. Please try to calm down, Morgan. I’m sorry I scared you like that.”
Morgan shivered. “It’s okay.”
Dr. Bann moved back behind her desk. “Changing the subject, have you recovered any memories beyond the age of nineteen?”
“No. You’re the expert here, Doc. What chance do I actually have of remembering everything?” Morgan tried to calm the irrational desire to scratch at her skin and clung to the tiny flame of hope that burned inside her, waiting, yearning, for something to ignite.
“The brain is—”
“Tricky. Yeah, I know. You all keep saying that, but it doesn’t help me.” The glimmer of hope flickered and died, anger taking its place.
“I’m sorry, Morgan, but the scar tissue tells me that it is very unlikely that you’ll recover all your memories. Some things may get left behind completely, but you could regain the majority of them over time. Or they may never come back at all. Talk to your friends and family. See if they can help trigger—”
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