Stranger at the Wedding

by Jack G. Hills

  “Most, if not all of the people at The Ambleside are here because they’ve suffered some catastrophic accident or incident that has left them with varying degrees of brain dysfunctionality.” Dr Woodrow had explained to Donald, before officially introducing the rest of the group to the clinic’s newest patient.

  “The clinic has been their final chance Donald, to regain some sort of life that might make them more acceptable to the world at large. Take yourself for example… people fear the unknown, it’s not ordered or regulated but chaotic and unpredictable. From the moment you came out of your coma you haven’t been able to tell anyone about yourself or your life, and so you instantly become a threat because people in their ignorance assume you’re lying and covering up some dark, murderous deed from the past. Never will they assume that you are a Noble Prize winning doctor that has just found the cure to some age-old disease… unfortunately being infamous is much more exciting that being merely famous.”

  Donald had immediately thought of Mrs Henderson. Martha had told him on more than one occasion how the old housekeeper was convinced that he was some mad axe murderer who might at any moment bring his reign of terror to the small town and wield his bloody weapon with an insatiable appetite for death.

  “But if we are all different… doesn’t that make your job impossible?” Donald’s question told Dr Woodrow that his new guest was certainly rational, as he’d had the same thought on many a Saturday night at two o’clock in the morning when he’d been called out to the clinic to ‘chat’ to one of the guests.

  “I like to think of it as challenging Donald… not impossible and the challenge with your particular problem is to find the trigger that will unlock your memory. Now as yet I don’t know what that is but experience has taught me that such stimuli come in many guises… a familiar aroma of a flower or a perfume or sometimes it can be a photograph or any such sensory experience.

  All that we aim to do here is find your particular key. Now part of that process is for you to interact with the other guests… to help each other wherever you can… that’s why I want to introduce you to them, so you can get to know one another. Don’t worry if you don’t though… the clinic is like life… you may not like most of your fellow guests, hopefully you’ll tolerate some of them and then you’ll form a bond with others, maybe only one or two but often that’s all it takes.”

  “What about the girl I saw in the garden, will I get to meet her?” Donald asked hopefully. Ever since seeing her he’d wondered why she’d been sent to the clinic, what was her particular problem that had meant she’d been placed under the guidance and care of Dr Woodrow? He couldn’t put his finger on anything specific but she’d looked so lost and vulnerable and if anyone knew how that felt, he did.

  “Samantha? Yes she’ll be there and I’ll make sure you get to meet her.”

  The introductions had been brief and to the point, as Dr Woodrow had taken Donald to meet each of the guests in turn, as they sat alone or socialised through a game of chess or the solving of some large jigsaw puzzle, and as Donald met each blank, boring face he thought that the clinic’s director had been right about one thing… he didn’t like any of them and couldn’t imagine that any of them would hold the key to his memory.

  “And this Donald, is Samantha.” Dr Woodrow had said before making his excuses and sneaking away to the privacy of the observation room, from where he and the other members of staff could watch, listen to and generally monitor the group, unnoticed.

  Donald’s first and overriding opinion of the girl was that she was beautiful, in a plain sort of way that reminded him of Martha. Her eyes weren’t as inviting or as innocent as Martha’s… and there was a soulful sadness locked away inside them that gave Donald the impression that she was plotting something… not necessarily against him but the world in general. But whatever it was, it came from deep within her, somewhere that only she had access to. Yes, he’d decided right there and then, she’d been hurt but unlike himself, Donald guessed that her hurt had been emotional and whereas he could remember nothing, she could remember every single detail of her hurt and the cause of it… it was seared into her heart and her brain. Whether she would ever choose to share that hurt with anyone… especially himself, he found impossible to say.

  But what really disturbed him on that first meeting, more than the emotional grief that Samantha was so obviously hiding from the world, was her ability to instantly change her persona. Like a chameleon changes colour, the instant she smiled it was as if the sun had just burst in through the window and illuminated a golden chalice. Her eyes sparkled and the malice and malevolence disappeared in an instant. Suddenly, she was transformed from the soulful girl sat in the corner all by herself, into the most vivacious and welcoming young woman he could imagine… but she still could never replace Martha in his affections. Friends yes and good friends probably… friends who might tell each other all their innermost secrets but nothing more.

  In that first moment, as Dr Woodrow introduced her, Donald knew they’d never share those intimate moments that are the reserve of lovers and partners.

  “Hello.” Donald’s opening was hardly original and the offer to shake Samantha’s hand suddenly made him feel awkward and uncomfortable. He looked around for support but found that Dr Woodrow had beat a hasty retreat.

  “I’m Donald.” His second attempt wasn’t much better.

  “So I gathered Donald.” She smiled again but this time in a teasing sort of way that seemed to put him at ease. Yes he thought to himself, we could be good friends.

  “I tell you what Donald, why don’t you sit down here so we can get to know each other a little better.” Samantha said invitingly, as she pouted her lips in the most alluring way possible and patted the sofa next to where she was sat. She didn’t normally crave company, especially not the sort that resided at the Ambleside, but there was something different about Dr Woodrow’s latest guest. This one she thought, might provide her with some amusement, which after the last disaster was just what she was looking for.

  “….Anyway, I was sat in the front seat of our car. Sorry, did I say that I was married?” Donald had remained dumbstruck, as Samantha had launched into her life history, whilst only occasionally interrupting her verbal assault to draw breath.

  “Well… was being the appropriate word of course.” Samantha rolled her eyes as she smiled encouragingly. “I don’t really talk about the bastard much but that’s typical of your memories isn’t it… you can remember those you want to forget and forget those you’d like to remember.” Samantha suddenly realised she was rambling. “Sorry. I tend to ramble when I’m nervous and especially around men but that’s his fault… everything that’s happened to me has been all his fault. Why I married the selfish bastard I’ll never know. Everyone said he was a drunken, no good bastard and they were right…” She stopped her tirade and grabbed Donald’s hand.

  “Look if I go off into a rant you have my permission to give me a slap… I mean that’s what he used to do all the time… slap me around… what sort of bastard does that? Slap a woman around and if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d then expect me to jump into bed with him and lie there whilst he shagged me senseless… Sorry, I’m doing it again aren’t I?” Samantha zipped her fingers across her mouth and waited for Donald to say something.

  “Wow.” Donald’s disbelief and admiration for the girl rose and fell with each new revelation and condemnation. Admiration because she’d obviously been through so much and had still managed to retain a defiant sparkle in her eyes and disbelief because she never seemed to shut up or call her husband anything other than a bastard.

  “Do you hate all men or just your husband?” He asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

  “Wow back.” Samantha replied turning to face Dr Woodrow’s new guest. The director had tried partnering her with each and every new male guest that had arrived at the Ambleside, but since the previous disastrous incident, she’d not clicked with any of them. Donald thou
gh was different. He was older for one thing but there was something mysterious about his persona that resonated with her… yes she’d decided almost from that first inept introduction, they would be friends… good friends.

  “You don’t pull your punches do you Donald? But trust me, you’re safe… I only hate the bastard that put me in here and when he gets out…”

  “Sorry is he in hospital as well?” Donald interrupted.

  “Hospital? Not yet and anyway if I have my way I’ll cut out the middle man and he’ll end up straight at the undertakers… but to answer your question… no he’s in prison. The car crash that saw me in a coma and now here, was all his fault. The police reckoned he was six times over the alcohol limit for driving… but he wasn’t so drunk that when he saw we were going to crash, he aimed my side at the rear end of the lorry. I mean he jumped out of the mangled wreck without so much as a scratch and then ran off leaving me to die… that’s how much the bastard really cared for me. But once the adrenaline had run its course, his body took control and he collapsed about half a mile away, claimed in court that he’d had a bang on the head and didn’t know what he was doing… I mean what bastard would do that?” Samantha’s grimace turned instantly back to the all-embracing smile and her eyes invited Donald to make some sort of response.

  “What a bastard and he was sent to prison?”

  “He was, but not for long enough.” Samantha thought for a second or two and then lent across so that her lips almost caressed Donald’s ear.

  “You have nice ear lobes, you should show them off more… have a stud fitted.” Feeling awkward and embarrassed in the room full of strangers, Donald pulled back. He had no idea why she’d said that but it made him feel uncomfortable.

  “Don’t look so petrified. I was only suggesting you get an earring, I wasn’t about to smother you in kisses… if that’s what’s worrying you. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you a secret.” Samantha raised her eyebrows temptingly and drew Donald’s head back towards her mouth.

  “One of the nurses told me that they watch and listen to everything we say in here you know, so why don’t we go for a stroll round the gardens and talk in private… even they haven’t found a way of bugging the grounds yet.”

  “Are you sure? I mean how do you know he was telling you the truth?” Donald whispered back, using his hand as a shield.

  “He was too busy fucking me at the time… there was no way the bastard could have been lying.”

  Dr Woodrow watched the pair walk down the lawn towards the lake.

  “Keep an eye on them George but don’t get so close that you interfere with their conversation. Only step in if she gets aggressive… you know what Samantha can be like if she doesn’t get her own way… oh and George, if I find out it was you screwing around with one of our female patients, you know what will happen don’t you?” Dr Woodrow knew that after all the previous bad publicity, what the clinic didn’t need was a new scandal involving one of their male nurses taking advantage of vulnerable female patients. If the publicity didn’t put the kybosh on his life’s work, the multiple claims for compensation that always followed such tabloid headlines, surely would.

  Donald and Samantha ambled quietly through the gardens, as they gradually wound their way down towards the lake. It had been a path Donald had previously used the day after his arrival, to explore the grounds of the clinic and it was one that was peppered with benches along its entire length.

  The seating areas had been the first director’s brainchild, as a way to allow the clinic’s guests the time to sit in quiet peaceful self-meditation and reflection. She knew that the road to recovery was a tiresome and stressful experience and hoped that the garden would provide the ideal place for her patients to escape the various clinical regimes or sometimes just the over inquisitive attention of their fellow guests.

  But it had been at Dr Woodrow’s insistence, after the fatal accident, as the incident was now referred to by the staff, that he’d had the benches and grounds monitored more closely… ‘For the guests own protection’.

  “I always find this bench the best seat in the whole place… it’s far enough away from the house so you can’t be overheard, it’s facing the lake so they can’t lip read and you always know when someone’s approaching … in short it’s the perfect place to have a private conversation and believe me in here, that’s rare.” Samantha stroked the spot next to where she’d sat and waited for Donald to join her.

  “You don’t think you might be a little paranoid do you? I mean the staff are only trying to help.” Donald couldn’t help but wonder if Samantha hadn’t been at the clinic too long and anyway if she didn’t like it why didn’t she just leave?

  “God you’re naïve Donald. Normally the bastards that I get hooked up with only want one thing… to use me, just like my husband did. Well I decided after the car crash that I wasn’t going to be used any more… now I use them... now if there’s a bastard in my life, it’s me.” Samantha spat out her confession, like a cobra under attack.

  Donald wanted to like Samantha but couldn’t help but wonder if her declared intent to use all men included himself and if she could be such a bad person, why had Dr Woodrow introduced him to her.

  “Anyway forget all that… you fascinate me.” She added with a devilish glint in her eye, as her turbulent mood swung back towards normality. “Come on spill the beans, what is it that makes you so different and mysterious?”

  Donald didn’t respond as she’d expected but merely stared out across the water… his eyes, like his mind hypnotised by the glassy reflection of its surface. He watched a motor launch glide serenely by, its engine throbbed pleasantly under the low revolutions and the sound reminded Donald of the small trawlers that fished out of the harbour at Cromarty and that made him think of Martha, the beach and the basking seals… the mammals were important to him for so many reasons none of which he understood or any that made any sense.

  “Unlike you, I don’t know anything about my life.” Donald replied, as the motor launch disappeared and broke the spell that had rendered him temporarily mute. “All I can remember is walking into the reception of some hotel and collapsing into the arms of this girl, who looked for all the world like some guardian angel… Martha is her name and she’s the most…”

  “I’m sure she’s wonderful Donald, but probably irrelevant to your story.” Samantha selfishly interrupted. The last thing she wanted to hear about was some dopey woman who might believe anything she was told by a man.

  “Oh right… anyway the next thing I remember is waking up in hospital, hooked up to all sorts of wires and tubes. Nobody knows where I came from, how I got there, what my name was… I had nothing on me but this?” Donald took the moth-eared card from his shirt pocket and showed it to Samantha. He’d been carrying it around, as some sort of talisman… a magical link to his past life, for so long that he’d almost forgotten about it. It was always there in his pocket, just like all the other detritus that seemed to accumulate between washes.

  “What is it?” She asked, as her interest in Donald intensified.

  “Martha says the numbers and letters could be some form of password, possibly a code number to access a free Wi-Fi service, but where it came from we have no idea.”

  “And Martha is some sort of expert is she?” Samantha’s caustic and sarcastic reply took Donald momentarily off guard.

  “Not really, she was just trying to help me solve the mystery of my accident. If it hadn’t been for her the doctor says I would most likely have died… and we became friends, are friends… good friends. We…” Donald stopped short of confessing his love for Martha. He wasn’t ashamed of her, just the opposite in fact, but the look on Samantha’s face at that moment withered his declaration of love to nothing more than a silent mumble and a contemptuous glare.

  Just at that moment, he had to wonder if he’d ever understood women.

  Annoyed with Samantha’s overt indifference to his blossoming love for Martha, Donald popp
ed the card back into his shirt pocket and averted his eyes from Samantha’s condemning stare.

  The lake’s mirror-like surface was distorted by the ever increasing ripples from the wake of another passing yacht, which glided serenely by, as it chartered a course from the local marina out into the centre of the large body of water before unfurling its canvas to enjoy a day’s sailing.

  After a further few moments of contemplative silence, Samantha felt unable to bear the moody silence a moment longer. If people thought her rude for speaking the truth as she saw it, that was their business but what she couldn’t bear was a silence born out of a sulky disposition. Presented with such a wall of silence, she would normally have just stood up and walked away without a single glance back, but there was more to Donald than first met the eye and she was determined to find out all she could about her new friend… even if that meant she had to offer the first olive branch.

  “Didn’t anyone report you missing? What about the accident that caused your injury?” Samantha fired off the questions without hesitating. “The police must have some leads to go on.”

  “There was nothing. The police said it definitely wasn’t an accident though, it would appear that I’d been attacked… beaten, kicked and probably left for dead.”

  “Bloody hell, that’s really cool… and so much more mysterious than a naff car accident, caused by a bastard who couldn’t hold his drink.” Samantha drooled jealously.