by kendra Smith
‘Oh.’ A silence filled the air and she wondered if she was meant to say something.
‘But I’m sure it will come back. And I’ve got my next scan, um, soon. I know it’s soon.’ She didn’t want to worry him too much. ‘Dad?’ And although he wasn’t in front of her, she sensed something was out of place with him. She may have lost bits of her memory but this was a feeling.
‘Yes darling?’
‘Is everything OK with you?’ She wandered to the window and looked outside, noticing clumps of wild primroses in the border, their pale yellow flowers a cheery reminder that spring had just arrived.
‘Well, yes and no. I’m fine, it’s just that Billie’s gone.’
‘Billie?’ Come on, memory, come on. Victoria stood staring out the window looking for inspiration. Was Billie his girlfriend? His car? Dear God. What?
‘Gone?’ she ventured, playing for time. ‘Where?’
‘Vet said there wasn’t anything she could do. She passed away at 3 a.m. at the vet’s surgery.’
‘Oh God. Oh, Dad, my God, what happened? Why didn’t you say she was ill?’ Yes, yes, thank you, memory; Victoria raised her eyes to the ceiling. Billie was the dog who had stolen his heart. After Mum had died, Dad had taken in a Border Collie rescue dog and it had been the most loving bond she’d ever known. Dad wouldn’t let Billie out of his sight – and vice versa.
‘No. Old age. Vet said it would be cruel to let her carry on.’
Victoria bit her nail and listened to her dad’s croaky voice.
‘I’ll be fine, pet. It’s just, well, quiet around here now. And I miss our walks, up by the moors.’ It was odd hearing her dad’s frailty on the phone. As far as she could remember he’d been the capable one, her dad, the one who made things alright. But then, she reminded herself, he was six years older than when she remembered. She wished he wasn’t in Yorkshire.
‘Come and stay! For a bit, you know. I would love to see you.’
There was a pause and then he said: ‘Are you sure? You don’t normally say that. Normally you’re, you know, too busy.’
Good grief, that New Victoria was some stranger to her. She needed to sort her out. ‘Dad. Really. I think it would be good for you. Come next week, and tell me what train you’ll be on.’
She could hear the relief in his voice straight away. ‘Well, if you’re sure sweetheart, I’d love that. I was pretty worried when Lulu told me about the accident, but I didn’t want to be any trouble…’
‘Dad, it’s fine, I’ll—’ But she didn’t finish as Jake appeared in the doorway.
‘Yo! Mum, something’s burning.’
‘Oh crap. I forgot to turn the oven back down to low. The brownies! Dad, I have to go. Speak later.’
Jake burst out laughing as she grabbed the oven mitts and quickly hauled the smoking brownies out of the oven. ‘Bugger,’ she cried, burning her fingers, and then slammed the brownies down on the hob surface and turned round to see Jake smirking at her and James standing with his hands on his hips, trying to hide a smile.
‘Alright? I could hear shouting.’
She folded her arms in mock protest and smiled. ‘Never seen someone burn their baking, you two?’
‘Well, not you! You’re normally like some control freak,’ Jake said, wandering round the kitchen table. Was she?
‘And you never swear,’ he whispered.
‘Well, I do today.’ She ran her finger under a cold tap and looked over at James.
‘Are you alright?’ he said. ‘I was just passing, I can get you—’
‘No it’s fine,’ she said, then after a beat, ‘thank you.’ He smiled at her briefly, opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.
‘Some work I need to finish off,’ he said, heading for the door.
‘Is it sore?’ Jake asked, coming over.
‘I’ll live,’ she said as they both watched the water cascade over her thumb and splash the back of the sink. ‘Hey,’ she turned to Jake, ‘Grandpa’s coming to stay.’
Jake’s eyes lit up. ‘Cool.’
Victoria cast her eye over Jake, with his ripped denim shorts and floppy hair, and had such a surge of love. Then she spotted some toothpaste on his T-shirt and her hand started to twitch, to reach out and grab the J-cloth to wipe it, but she stopped herself just in time. He was not ten anymore she reminded herself. ‘Hey, do you know if everything’s alright with Izzy?’
He pulled his T-shirt down and looked up at her. ‘Yeah, guess so. Why?’
‘She just seemed very agitated when she was on her phone.’
He shrugged. ‘Been a bit of heavy stuff a year ago on social, but I think she’s cool now.’
‘Social?’
‘Social med-ya, mum, like Facebook to you, you know?’
‘Oh right. What sort of heavy?’ She let out a long breath.
‘Dunno.’ Then he walked over to a cupboard and pulled out a glass, and turned to her. ‘She won’t talk to me. But girls can be bitchy. Just saying.’
‘Bitchy? I hadn’t realised.’
‘No, well you wouldn’t. I mean, didn’t.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘You’re—’ he stopped and corrected himself. ‘I’ve got my life, you used to say sometimes when we needed stuff.’ Jake’s jaw was jutting out and his mouth was set in a line.
How had it come to this? ‘Jake, I just don’t know where you got that idea from—’
‘From all the times you were busy, or distracted, or doing Pilates, or, I don’t know,’ he gestured with one arm, ‘not around. Having appointments with, um, your doctor – women’s things you used to say to me, or your beauty therapist, I dunno.’ He was now back with her at the sink and was filling up his glass. He took a large gulp and then put the glass down and wouldn’t look at her.
Doctor? Victoria turned off the tap and stared at her red raw thumb then used her hand to steady herself on the kitchen sink.
‘Jake?’
He looked up at her from under his curly fringe. ‘Sorry.’
‘No, I’m sorry,’ she carried on. ‘I am around. I-I just need to remember who I was and what happened.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t bother. The mum that’s come back from hospital is way nicer,’ he murmured. He glanced at her from under his fringe, as if summing up what to do, quickly touched her hand, and sauntered out the door.
She picked up Izzy’s phone from the counter as tears threatened; the bitter smell of burnt chocolate filled the air. The screenshot was the three of them on their holiday. Their smiles wide, with the backdrop of the ski resort behind them, their faces tanned, the white slopes glistening in the background, a little bubble of three. And then a fleeting memory of something she couldn’t quite place: A family of five. And then it was gone. Another feeling started to gnaw at Victoria’s gut: would she be able to get back into that bubble again?
James was in the study when she went barging in – stopped and couldn’t remember what she was in there for, frowned and said ‘sorry’ to his broad back. He was back at his desk working. Or hiding from her in there. She was never sure. She stared at his shoulders, at that navy jumper with the red flecks in it and wondered how many times she’d washed it, how many times she’d used fabric conditioner and lovingly folded the sleeves in, put it back in the cupboard. There was a strong memory of doing this.
He looked up from his desk. That little bit of hair at his crown was sticking out again. They had used to joke about it. Give it a name even. Henry the tuft of hair. Why Henry? But she remembered that. She smiled. For a man with such straight short hair, there was always a little bit that was unruly. She longed to touch it. She started to lift her hand, then saw him frown and pulled it away quickly. She stared at the screen instead. Sunlight was streaming in through the small window in the study, making it hard to see. There were tiny smudge marks on the screen, invisible in dim light but now, with the shaft of sunlight, it was like a little caterpillar with muddy feet had been scampering over
the display.
‘What, er, are you doing?’ she ventured.
‘Looking for our lawyer’s postal address.’ She glanced behind him at the screen again and it had changed to swirls of blue and green light as the screensaver started.
‘Oh. Why?’
He sighed loudly. ‘I think you know why.’ His eyes flicked up to her. ‘But I got distracted.’ There was just the glimmer of a smile, a softening.
‘Oh.’
‘With this.’
He nodded at the screen then reached for the mouse and clicked it. An image appeared. Frozen in time, it was him with the twins as toddlers.
‘Oh my babies! Look how little they are!’ Her hands flew up to her flushed cheeks. ‘When was it?’
James pressed the mouse again over the ‘play’ icon. Unfolding before her was a scene she didn’t recognise at first – then slowly, like the fibres of a spider’s web being spun back together, little fragments started to connect until the whole scene was a proper memory.
‘James, I remember that!’
His eyes slid quickly to her and he nodded. ‘That’s good.’
Her young husband waved at the camera from the screen. Still the same James, but he was thinner, more wiry, with thicker hair. The same broad cheeky grin. He was in running shorts and a red T-shirt emblazoned with ‘26’ on it.
‘The Sussex Sevens.’ He tilted his head at the screen.
It was coming back to her; a seven-mile fun run around the hills of Sussex. He’d done it every year before they’d got married and had kids. James was crouching down next to Izzy and Jake who must have been around four. He was waving at the camera, then it swooped to the ground, the sound of laughter – her laughter – ‘oops!’ said the voice. James and the twins again. ‘Wave to Mummy!’ James was grinning, doing that silly wave that people do when a camera is facing them. Then a look to the camera, a smile that was so deep it reached his eyes as they crinkled at the sides and his face lit up. Then blurry, branches of trees until the focus returned. He had turned the camera on her and him. Smiling, laughing; him giving her a kiss on the cheek. The twins shrieking in the background. Then James again, jogging, running off and waving back to her. ‘Love you!’
She saw James tense up. It almost seemed like yesterday. Almost.
Another memory started to form. ‘Did we, have a picnic that day?’ She could feel her throat tighten as she watched her kids – her little butterflies then, free and spirited and so young. Where had that time gone? Izzy’s spun gold for hair, bronzed skin, the smell of suntan lotion, lemons. It had been late August. Sweet-smelling watermelon juice dribbling down a chin. A finger, wiping it away. That had been James, across her chin. She touched her chin and looked at him.
‘It was a long time ago,’ James said quietly. ‘I was just getting back into running and doing events as the twins were nearly four, they were sleeping at night better. Yes, we had a picnic. You and the twins had it all ready at the finish line. I loved you for that.’ She looked at the little icon on the top of the screen which told her it was 2008 – nearly twelve years ago.
‘And you came third that day, didn’t you?’ she said, remembering the sunshine, him panting across the finish line. A memory was forming: her running to him, being twirled in the air. She remembered the feeling. Like the beginning of everything; a town mayor handing out medals. Her heart bursting with pride. Back then, that was her James. He hadn’t given up. Third place. A photo in the Sussex Gazette. She’d cut it out and sent it to her dad, hadn’t she? The pride. They’d had a picnic, a rug on summer-burnt grass. Fragments were returning. Sitting cocooned between his outstretched legs, her back to him on the picnic rug. Warmth, a caress. Him resting his head on her shoulder and whispering: ‘This is one of the best days of my life.’
‘There are a few videos on here.’ His voice was gentle, interrupting her reverie. ‘You must have synced your phone to the main computer.’
What did that mean?
‘Did I?’
He nodded.
And then his phone bleeped, interrupting their momentary truce. He snatched it up. She glanced at him as he pointed at his phone with the other hand, indicating that he had to take the call. They were back in today’s world. The man she’d fallen in love with, the runner, the architect who built buildings ‘to make people’s lives better’, was back at his desk. Emotions locked away, like the fragments of her memories – to come out another time. The shafts of sunlight had disappeared and the study suddenly felt chilly.
13 Victoria
‘You used to love the Barre classes. Remember?’ Zoe beamed at her from behind the wheel of her car as Victoria sat, too confused to argue. She’d set her alarm, crept out of the house and into Zoe’s car. The night before, Zoe had phoned. ‘Be ready at 9.30, I’ll pick you up then. Remember we agreed?’
Rather than say, ‘No, I absolutely don’t remember and what idiot would get up early on a Saturday and go to the gym’, Victoria figured she needed to live her ‘new’ life a bit to see if it brought back memories. ‘I’ll be ready,’ she’d said.
Then she had gone upstairs, opened one of her drawers in the chest in her room and pulled out an array of workout items that looked utterly foreign to her. She wasn’t going to do anything at the gym, her ribs were still healing, she just wanted to see what it was she used to do, who she was. She sat now, pulling at the fabric of some leggings as Zoe reversed the car into a space in the car park. According to Zoe, Victoria used to do Barre, Balance and something called Ballet Tone. Maybe being there would jolt her memory. And there was another reason she was going. But she couldn’t remember it now.
‘C’mon sweetie, let’s go.’
Inside the coffee shop, Zoe placed a drink in front of her. People were waving at her and she smiled at these toned strangers. Zoe was babbling on about all of them, who they were, what classes they did. Then, from out of nowhere an instructor was standing right in front of them. He was in his mid-forties, hair the colour of dirty sand, cropped quite close, rough shaven, with piercing green eyes. He was about six foot, wearing a tight black T-shirt, long limbs encased in tracksuit. Fit. Sexy. He put his hand on the back of Victoria’s neck very protectively. She tensed up. ‘Hey girls!’
Suddenly Victoria couldn’t breathe anymore. The phone. Andy? Dear God, could it be him? She felt her chest tighten, took a slug of her coffee and almost spat it out.
‘What is that?’
‘Soy latte.’
It was revolting. ‘Haven’t seen you around for a while? You OK?’ A gentle squeeze. Before she could reply, he’d sauntered off. Victoria suddenly had a flash of memory, of James in the study, his face softening. Hold onto that memory, she told her brain, hold on tight.
‘Zoe. Um, that guy, the instructor—’
‘Is off limits, you cheeky thing! His boyfriend wouldn’t be too pleased with you!’ She nudged her in the arm playfully.
Oh, thank God for that. ‘No, no, not that it’s just—’
‘Hi girls!’ Lulu breezed in, walked over and plonked her fringed bag on the chair next to them and sat down with a thump.
Victoria tilted her head to one side. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Meeting you, you lemon! You told me you and Zoe were retracing your steps.’
Had she?
Zoe glanced at her watch. ‘Sorry to break up the party, guys, I need to get off!’
Victoria waved at Zoe then looked at her sister’s drawn face. ‘You feeling alright?’
Lulu took off her denim jacket. ‘Yes, sure. Anyway, has this place, like, made you remember anything?’ Just then a member of staff came up to their table with a chamomile tea for Lulu. ‘Thanks,’ Lulu said as they both watched her walk off in emerald green Lycra.
‘No. I just seem to be surrounded by very fit strangers.’
They both laughed. Lulu leant back in her chair and took a sip of tea.
‘You seem pale?’ Victoria touched her knee.
Lulu rolled her ey
es. ‘Look, I had a bit too much last night. Simon and me kind of had our first proper argument. I guess that’s normal, right?’ She looked at Victoria for confirmation. All Victoria could think was, Don’t ask me, my marriage is hanging on by a thread. Instead, she smiled brightly. ‘Very normal.’
‘After our row he stomped into the study and watched the Grand Prix highlights, left me alone in the kitchen. Thinking – and drinking,’ she added with a weak smile.
‘About?’
‘The wedding!’ she said with faux jollity. ‘I just need to get on. Book stuff. I think that’s the problem, I need to get a move on.’
This wasn’t a tooth extraction; Victoria frowned and when she looked up she caught a look flash over Lulu’s face. ‘Look, Simon was getting stressed – said he couldn’t understand why I hadn’t done more organising. And I said that I’d had an accident and I was doing my best.’
‘Sounds fair enough to me. Why don’t I help?’ suggested Victoria as a little voice piped up in her head. Isn’t it normally the bride who gets stressed? ‘Listen, Lulu, he’s probably uptight because this is his second time around. Remember, you told me he lost his first wife,’ she said softly, ‘it will be making him anxious that he gets it right.’
Lulu nodded. ‘You’re right.’ Her blonde curls tumbled across her shoulder. When they were young, Lulu used to make Victoria play ‘hairdressers’ with her. Lulu would sit in the front of the dressing table with the three-way mirror and Victoria would be the hairdresser. Lulu would tell Victoria to pile up her hair in a messy bun; she’d put in clips, spray a whole tin of their mum’s Elnett hairspray over it and they’d both giggle at the result. One day I’m going to be famous and have my own dressing room, Lulu would say. Victoria took a deep breath. ‘Right. Tell me, what do you still need to do?’
‘Well the venue’s sorted, it’s at Treetops Hotel, near Heath Farm. Marjory’s done all the food and flowers; I need music, I suppose, I need—’ she screwed up her nose – ‘bridesmaids?’ She leant back in her chair, crossed her ripped-denim-clad legs and a look spread across her face.