“You’ve told everyone not to say anything about my life that might shock me, so they’ve told me, like, diddley fucking squat! I want to know who I am! Who everyone out there expects me to be!” Morgan leaned forward in her chair. “I’ve been told I was practically living in a hovel. Why? I was working, right? Teacher, at a college. Got to have been earning a decent amount, but I was living in some crummy flat that’s so awful my friends won’t let me go back there. How the hell did I end up there?”
“Morgan, I don’t know.” She put the iPad back on the desk and leaned her hip against it.
“Then who the fuck does?” Morgan collapsed back into her chair, her anger dissipating as quickly as it flared. She rubbed her hand over the jumping, twitching muscle in her thigh.
“Your friends are the people who will help you fill in the blanks. Quite obviously, it’s causing more harm than not now, to keep anything from you.”
“About bloody time.” She smiled. “So tell me what I was doing when I got hurt?”
“I don’t have all the detai—”
“I thought you said keeping stuff from me was causing more harm than good.”
“But I understand that you had been teaching a night class and were attacked in the car park.”
Morgan frowned. Okay, teaching, late July, night class. I can buy that. “Right, so what happened?”
“I don’t know.” She sat back in her chair. “Haven’t the police talked to you yet?”
“No.”
“Are you worried about talking to them?”
“No.” The twitching in Morgan’s leg increased until it was bouncing in a fast rhythm against the footplate of her wheelchair.
“Really?” Dr. Bann paused in her reading and cocked her head to one side as she studied Morgan.
I feel like a microscope specimen. “I don’t have anything to tell them, so what’s to worry about?”
“Hmm. The police should give you more information when you talk to them.”
“Right.” Morgan continued to fidget under the doctor’s intense stare. “What?”
“Do you want to go home?”
The leg jumping stopped. “I can?”
“Well, there’s nothing more that we can do with regards to your injuries. They’ll heal as well at home as they will here. The symptoms of your concussion are getting better. You’re not vomiting. Your memory…” She shrugged. “I think surrounding yourself with familiar things will be far more beneficial to you than staying in a sterile hospital room.”
“Will it help me get my memories back?”
She laughed. “It can’t hurt, Morgan. Have your friends take you places you used to frequent. Do things you used to enjoy. Many amnesia patients say these things can trigger memories.”
“Really?”
“Sometimes. It’s not a guarantee, Morgan. You may regain some of your memories, or none. It may do nothing but give you a nice afternoo—”
“Like you said, it can’t hurt. It’s not like I’m going to end up any worse for giving it a try, am I?”
“As long as you don’t go banging your head again, you should be absolutely fine.”
*
Nikki was sitting with her feet propped up against the bed, her hands clasped behind her head, as the orderly wheeled Morgan back into the room and helped her back into her bed.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” Nikki said after the door closed behind the orderly. “You know all the shit that makes us who we are? Is it how we were born or everything we live through? Nature or nurture. Innate or environmental.”
“And, Einstein? Did you reach a conclusion?” Morgan’s lips twitched.
“Not a bloody clue, but it’s fascinating really. I mean, are we the sum of our memories, and experiences? Or is there something else? And then what really is a memory? Everybody’s memories are always different, aren’t they? If you ask two people to tell you about the same event, there’s always a difference.”
“Did you switch to Philosophy at uni?”
“Ha ha. No, I was just thinking, that maybe this is a good thing. You can let the stuff go that you want to. I mean, we’ve all got shit that we wish we could forget, right? And you really have.”
“Speaking of all that shit, the doc says you’ve got to tell me now.”
“Did she?”
“Yep. So start talking.”
“What else did she have to say?”
“I can go home, and that you should help me do stuff that I used to like, and did all the time.”
“So I gotta take you to strip clubs?” Nikki rubbed her hands together gleefully. “Result!”
“Nice try, studley.” Amy shook her head at them both as she walked in. “I brought some clothes for you. I figured they wouldn’t be keeping you too much longer.”
Morgan pulled the clothes out of the bag Amy handed her.
Nikki was laughing. “You need a hand?”
Morgan flushed. “No, thanks.”
“Nikki, go and tell the nurse we’ll be ready to go in a few minutes. I don’t know what paperwork they need to do, so you can get the ball rolling.”
“Why do I have to go?”
“Jesus, just because Morgan thinks she’s nineteen, does not mean you can act like the spoiled bloody teenager you were back then, Nicole Rogers. Now scoot.”
Morgan stared as Nikki hurried out the door. “Boy, have you got her well train—”
“And don’t you start either. Come on, sit up. Let’s get you dressed before she gets back, and you start behaving like teenage boys again.”
“She started it.” Morgan decided silence was the better part of valor and followed Amy’s instructions. They’d changed together so often throughout their friendship she didn’t feel the least self-conscious, though seeing her body all bruised and bandaged and…old, made her wonder what Amy saw when she looked at her.
An hour later, Nikki helped her walk up the driveway to a semi-detached house with ivy climbing up the sides of the front door, buddleia blooms under the window, and roses growing in a small flower bed cut in the middle of the lawn.
“It’s really pretty.”
“Amy loves the garden. She’s growing tomatoes and peppers in a greenhouse out the back.” They took the small steps into the house slowly. “You used to come and draw here sometimes.”
“I did?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t your favorite place though. You loved the park. You’d sit for hours drawing people around the duck ponds, and kids on the playing field.”
Morgan frowned.
“Any of that sound familiar?”
“No.”
“Maybe if we go there it would.”
“Nikki, I need to know what happened to my mum.”
“Now?” Nikki helped her into a cozy sitting room with cream walls, wooden flooring, and an overstuffed peach colored sofa that swallowed Morgan when she sat down. “I think I need a drink first.”
Morgan looked around while she waited for Nikki to return. A painting of two children hung over the fireplace. Cherubic faces grinned off the canvass, the little girl’s dark hair and eyes shining, her dimples cutting deeply into both cheeks as her shoulders scrunched, laughter and love radiating off her. The little boy was sitting side on, looking over his shoulder as he faced the girl, his eyes as blue as the Aegean Sea and his dark hair sporting an awkward cowlick that obviously wouldn’t stay down. He rested his hand on the girl’s shoulder, his smile just as wide as hers.
Nikki pulled a small table near to where Morgan was sitting and put a mug down for her before sitting on the other side of the sofa.
“That’s a nice painting.”
Nikki paused, her drink halfway to her lips. “You did that.”
“I did?” Morgan stared at it again. “Who’re the kids?”
She swallowed heavily as Amy came into the room. “That’s Tristan and Maddison.”
Morgan ignored the pained whimper from Amy. “Who are they? They must be special to you to have
the picture there.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the near-panicked look that passed between them, but chose to ignore it. She was determined to find out what had happened to her mum now. She needed to start there before she could move forward.
“They’re our godchildren. In that picture Tristan was seven and Maddie four.”
“They’re cute.”
Amy got up and walked out of the room.
“Is she all right?”
Nikki shrugged, her eyes downcast as she took another drink. “She has a bit of a headache, that’s all. So you’re stuck with me for this one. That okay?”
“I just need to know.” Morgan picked up her mug, content to cradle the warmth in her hands, hoping it would thaw the chill that had settled inside her.
“I understand that, but part of me thinks you’re better off not knowing.”
“I don’t under—”
“I know.” Nikki smiled sadly. “You remember what it was like for you at home? Before you went to uni?”
Morgan nodded. She remembered the violence between her parents, her mother’s misery, and her father’s anger. She remembered every excuse he gave: “she pushed me to it,” “it wasn’t my fault,” “it was an accident.” Time and again. “I remember.”
“When you went home at Christmas break, they had another fight. Your mum was fighting back, and it made your dad even worse. You remember that tankard glass he always had his Guinness in?”
“Yes.” Her voice barely a whisper.
“He smashed it.”
“Oh, God.” Her vision narrowed until all she could see was Nikki’s lips forming the words. Time seemed to slow down, and the sound became elongated as it reached her. Stretched thin, taut, poised, like a rubber band ready to snap.
“There was a huge fight and he slashed her neck open.” Nikki motioned with her hands how the broken jagged edge of the glass had sliced open the side of her throat. “The ambulance people couldn’t stop the bleeding. When they got there it was already too late, but they tried.”
“He killed her.” The words didn’t even reach her own ears. They didn’t need to. She knew the truth of them down to her very soul. “Why?”
“You know how they fought—”
“I mean, why was she fighting back? She never fought back. She said it only made things worse.” Her hands shook, sloshing hot liquid over her. She quickly put the mug onto the coaster and wiped her hand on her jeans.
“I wasn’t there, M.”
“But you know. Don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. They fought, he killed her, now he’s in jail. End of story.”
Morgan stared at her. “It isn’t though, is it? Don’t fob me off, Nikki. I need to know.”
“Why?”
Why is she being so fucking stupid? Of course I need to know. “So that I can be me again?”
“And you think knowing all the gory details of this will help that?” Nikki put down her own mug.
“Well, yeah.” Morgan’s frown deepened.
“For the past twenty years, you’ve told me time after time, that you wished you didn’t know. You wanted it wiped out of your head. You wanted to be free of it all.” She reached for Morgan’s hand. “You can be now. Do you really need to know more than that?”
Morgan let the warmth of Nikki’s palm slowly heat her own. Did she? What difference would it make now? Nothing would bring her mother back. Her father was already in jail. What more could she gain from knowing the details? Peace of mind?
“I really said that I wished I couldn’t remember it?”
“Yes. Many times.”
“Why?”
Nikki stared at her, the internal battle over how much to say raging clearly in her eyes. She blinked, shaking her head. “Because you were there, Morgan. You saw it happen.”
Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to drag air into her lungs. “I let her die?”
“No. God, no. No one could’ve helped her. There was nothing anyone could’ve done differently to save her except your dad. Nothing.”
Blood rushed through her ears, deafening her. “But if I was there—”
“No. The ambulance people, the police, the doctors, coroner. Everyone.” Nikki tugged her hand gently until Morgan was looking at her again. “Everyone always said there was absolutely nothing you could have done that you didn’t do. You called nine nine nine; you held her neck to try and stop the bleeding. You did everything in your power to save her.”
“But it didn’t work.”
“No. Not everyone can be saved, M.”
“But—”
“No, no buts. You’ve spent twenty years feeling guilty because you survived that night and your mum didn’t. Tell me one thing.”
Morgan didn’t say anything as she looked at her. Was that what she’d seen in the eyes of her younger self? Guilt for surviving when her mother hadn’t? Was that the shadow she had seen in her own eyes? The one she didn’t see in the mirror now?
“Would your mum have wanted it the other way around?”
“What? For me to die?”
Nikki nodded.
“God, no.”
“Then don’t feel guilty for surviving; for doing what she wanted.”
Morgan closed her eyes, not wanting to shed the tears that filled them. “I don’t think I want to know any more right now.”
Chapter Eight
Morgan paced in front of the window, stopping every few minutes to stare out at the garden. She picked up the leaflet Amy had given her, thumbed open the page, and then tossed it back onto the windowsill. The stages of grief. Shock and denial. I passed through that in the hospital. Well…maybe.
Pain and guilt. Apparently, I’ve lived with that for twenty years. Do I want to go there again? Fuck, no. Nikki said I did nothing wrong, I have to trust her, right? Or I have nothing. She said I shouldn’t feel guilty, that my mother wouldn’t want that. Amy said the same thing this morning.
She knew she either needed to trust them or make them explain everything that happened, which would probably pull her into the same hole she’d been living in. The same self-destructive cycle that left her lonely and depressed, according to Nikki. Another stage I’ve already been through, and let’s face it, I’m angry. So there’s another one off the list.
She grabbed the paper, screwed it into a ball, and launched it across the room. So why the fuck don’t I feel any better? The walls of the guest room were a pleasant off-white, but they seemed to be getting closer and closer to her with every minute she was there. The need to get out, to stretch her legs, and breathe fresh air, gnawed at her. She found Amy in the kitchen.
“Can we go out somewhere?”
“Where?” Amy finished loading the dishwasher.
“I don’t know. Anywhere.” Morgan ran her hand through her hair. “Can you take me somewhere that I used to like going?”
Amy smiled. Her green eyes sparkled and she pulled her hair out of its ponytail. “You feel up to a walk?”
“Yeah. My ribs aren’t too bad.”
Amy looked at her skeptically. “After a week? Hmm.”
“I’ll be fine. Honestly. I need to get out for a while.”
“Well, it’s a lovely day, I know just the place.”
They walked slowly, Morgan following the quiet directions Amy gave her, until they were walking down a dirt path, with horse chestnut, sycamore, and beech trees on one side of them, and a small duck pond on the other. There was a field on the far side of the water, and what looked like a family playing football.
“You used to come here nearly every weekend.”
“So, I lived around here?”
“Yeah. Before you moved to the flat you lived only a few streets away from us.”
“Why did I move?”
“To be honest, Morgan, I still don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
Amy shrugged. “You never explained. You just went all hermit on us and hid out in that flat.” She
pointed to a bench at the head of the pond. “You used to sit there and sketch.” They sat side by side, watching a pair of swans floating majestically across the water, their heads bent close together making the shape of a love heart between them. Her fingers itched to capture the scene; the proud birds, the ripples spreading across the water, and the playing field in the background. The view was good across the water and the playing field, and she could easily understand why she would have chosen this spot.
“I wish I had my pad with me now.”
“That’s wonderful to hear.”
Morgan frowned at her.
“The last few weeks, before the incident, you stopped drawing.”
“Why?”
“Something else you didn’t explain.”
“What did I explain?”
Amy laughed. “Bugger all, really.”
The sound of excited children drifted over as a boy celebrated a goal on the field. He ran in wide circles with his arms held aloft, fingers pointing to the sky, until he stopped suddenly. His arms dropped to his sides and the girl chasing him ran into his back, the force of her momentum almost taking them both to the ground.
“Shit. Morgan, we should go.” Amy reached for Morgan’s hand.
Morgan stayed seated, feeling stubborn. “Why? It’s lovely here. I feel like I can think for the—”
“Maddie, no!” A woman’s voice yelled from the other side of the field as the little girl sprinted around the edge of the water, a huge smile on her face.
“Morgan, please. We need to go. Now.”
“Isn’t that the girl in the picture? The one over your fireplace?”
“Maddison. Stop! Come back here, now!”
Morgan looked beyond the girl and recognized the woman running across the field after her. Her pulse quickened as Erin neared, despite the look of fear on her face.
“Morgan, plea—”
The girl closed the final distance.
Morgan expected her to approach Amy.
She was wrong.
“Mum!” The girl wrapped her arms around Morgan’s neck and dropped a sloppy, sweaty kiss on her cheek. “Are you better now?”
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