by Lucy Dillon
‘Alice?’ he repeated. ‘It is you, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. It is,’ she said. ‘But . . .’
Luke had started to step nearer, but now he stopped, confused. A bit hurt? ‘Are you all right?’
‘Luke. You’re Jason’s brother,’ said Alice slowly, focusing on the facts she could rely on. New facts, not old memories, she reminded herself.
His frown deepened, making his face harder suddenly. ‘Yes. Isn’t that why you’re here?’ He stared at her, his dark brown eyes seeing a ‘her’ she didn’t know, and Alice felt an urge to say the right thing, even though she didn’t know what that could possibly be.
‘Do you two know each other?’ demanded Libby.
Luke seemed to be waiting for Alice to speak, and when she didn’t, he said, ‘Yes, we do.’
‘Well, how?’ Libby made an impatient noise. ‘Come on! This isn’t a Miss Marple! You don’t have to spin it out!’
‘I know Alice from the pub . . . The White Horse in Embersley.’ He glanced between Libby and Alice, surprised that she wasn’t offering the information herself. ‘Why? What’s happened? Alice?’
Alice couldn’t speak. Luke looked hurt. Why did he look hurt? What had she done? How did he know her? Was he her friend? More than a friend? Her stomach clenched.
‘Alice was in an accident outside the hotel, about a fortnight ago. She lost her memory, and so we brought her here until she remembers where she lives,’ said Libby. ‘Sorry, Alice,’ she added, over her shoulder, ‘speaking for you there. Are you all right? You’ve gone very pale.’
As Libby had been talking Alice had seen shock sweep Luke’s face, only for it to vanish as soon as it appeared. He was good at controlling his expressions, unlike Libby. Since the memory loss Alice had become eagle-eyed when it came to seizing on tiny reactions, clues to things she didn’t know, and at the mention of an accident, his expression had set, as if different thoughts were going through his mind, not the blurted ‘Oh my God!’ reaction other people had had.
He knows something about me, she thought, out of nowhere, and felt another shapeless thought rise and fall unseen just out of reach.
‘Are you all right now?’ he asked, stepping away from Jason’s wobbling form. ‘What kind of accident? Were you hurt?’
‘I was hit by a car. Two cars. I don’t know what happened. It’s all—’ Alice’s knees suddenly turned to water, and white spots appeared in front of her eyes. She staggered and reached out for the edge of the reception desk. Before she knew it, Libby was there, her arm round her waist.
‘Careful!’ she said. ‘I think we should get Alice upstairs. She’s still on medication.’ She glanced across at Jason, slumped over the umbrella stand, his head resting peacefully against the rim. ‘Luke, you bring the drunkard, would you? Use a shovel if you have to.’
Alice tried to walk, but Libby was stronger than she looked, and gratefully, she let herself be guided upstairs into the kitchen.
Across the landing in the bathroom, the sounds of Luke manhandling a groaning Jason into the bath could be heard, and Alice was thankful for the momentary break. She put her head between her knees, and her mind swirled with darkness; nothing useful appeared. No memories of Luke, just a sense of anxiety. Libby put the kettle on, then crouched down in front of her chair.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked in a worried undertone. ‘You really have gone white.’
‘I’m fine.’ Alice touched her ribs. They were aching where Libby had helped her up the stairs. ‘Just . . . awkward, when people know you but you don’t know them.’
‘Awkward?’ Libby realised she was joking and rolled her eyes. ‘Is Luke a friend of yours? Can you remember the last time you saw him?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Alice. ‘I . . . No, I don’t know.’ She was scrabbling around in her mind, but whatever was there darted out of reach. ‘Has he mentioned me? Do you think he told me to come here?’
‘He hasn’t mentioned you, but we’re not all that close. He hasn’t been here himself for months. Literally, months. I probably said, he and Margaret don’t get on. Last time I saw Luke was . . . two years ago? At his wedding?’
His wedding. Luke was married. Alice felt a strange shimmer run across her insides. Not a memory, a deeper reaction.
‘Goodness me, what on earth is going on?’ The skittering of claws on tiles indicated that Margaret and Bob had returned from the Soroptimists’ party. Margaret was looking smart in her floaty floral dress and pearls; Bob’s self-satisfied expression suggested he’d had a lot of illicit vol-au-vents. ‘There is the most appalling smell in reception, I thought . . . Alice? Are you all right, dear?’
‘She’s fine,’ said Libby, as the sound of more loud heaving reverberated from the bathroom. ‘Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for Jason.’
‘Is Jason ill?’ Margaret’s face creased with anxiety. ‘Has he eaten something that hasn’t agreed with him? He’s always been funny with mushrooms . . .’
‘He’s drunk something, more like.’ The kettle boiled and Libby stood up to make the tea. ‘Don’t worry, Luke’s with him.’
‘Luke?’ Alice watched Margaret’s anxiety turn to annoyance and caught the slight answering hunch of Libby’s shoulders. She tried to read the dynamic that had sprung up: both Libby and Margaret had gone blandly polite. ‘I didn’t know Luke was coming.’
‘Neither did we. But Luke rescued Jason and brought him home. He’s not sick; he’s just revoltingly drunk,’ she added. ‘But the good news is that—’
‘I should go and see if he’s all right.’ Margaret put her handbag down on the table. ‘Jason’s not a drinker! Do you think one of his friends spiked his drink? You read about these things . . .’
‘Yes,’ said Libby, deadpan. ‘I think they spiked his drink – with a lot of alcohol. And poor Jason drank it.’
‘Do you? Oh.’ Margaret pouted, getting the joke. ‘I’m not sure it’s something to make light of, Elizabeth. People can have serious reactions to excess alcohol.’
Glancing between them, Alice caught an irritation in Libby’s eyes, a biting of her tongue.
‘He’ll be fine, Margaret,’ said Libby. ‘I’ve seen him much worse than this. But as I was saying, the good news is that Luke—’
‘Luke what?’
Their heads swivelled to see Luke in the doorway, drying his hands on a hand towel from the bathroom. It was pink, and looked wrong in his strong hands.
‘Hello, Mum,’ he said. ‘You look nice – have you been out?’
Alice watched as he tried to keep his attention fixed on his mother, but when his eyes slid sideways to her, they met her own gaze and a shiver ran through her. But without a memory to cross-reference, she didn’t know whether that shiver was a good one or a warning one.
‘The Soroptimists’ party,’ she said, taking the towel off him and leaning in as he dutifully kissed her cheek. It wasn’t the affectionate bearhug that Jason usually gave Margaret; they were both stiff, and cautious, as if they wouldn’t be doing this without an audience. ‘This is a surprise. You should have phoned.’
‘Wasn’t planned – I was going to drop round tomorrow. So you know, I’ve put Jason to bed in the spare room,’ he added to Libby, as she handed him a cup of tea. ‘Left the door open in case he needs us, but I think he’s out for the count.’
‘Oh.’ Margaret had started to move towards the door to check on Jason. ‘Alice is staying in the spare room.’
Alice blushed as they turned to her. ‘It’s fine,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa for tonight. It’s no bother.’
‘No, Alice, absolutely not. You mustn’t, dear.’ Margaret looked concerned. ‘Your ribs . . . Maybe Libby could sleep in the hotel and you could have her bed, just for tonight?’
‘Please, it’s fine,’ said Alice, seeing Libby’s eyebrows shoot up behind Margaret’
s back. ‘Honestly.’
‘We’ll work something out,’ said Libby. ‘It’s a hotel – it’s not like we don’t have a lot of spare rooms. Now, Luke, sit down – far more important is that you tell us how you know Alice!’
Margaret was halfway out of the door, but she froze. ‘What?’
‘Luke knows Alice,’ said Libby. ‘Don’t you?’
‘How?’
Luke turned his mug round in his hands. ‘I was staying at a pub in Embersley a few weeks ago, while we were working on a couple of jobs in the area, and Alice worked there.’
‘A pub! In Embersley! Can you remember?’ Libby glanced at her, eagerly.
She shook her head. ‘Not really.’
‘I’m going to check on Jason,’ Margaret announced, as if insufficient attention had been paid to his condition. ‘See if he needs anything.’
‘Good luck, Margaret, but I think he’ll be snoring by now,’ said Libby without turning round. She stirred a couple of sugars into a mug of tea and passed it to Alice.
Luke pulled out a chair and slid into it. He’d taken off his hoody and Alice automatically noted his well-worn jeans, the narrow thighs beneath, the soft line on his sinewy bicep where his arms went from pale brown to a deeper tan. And the apple, inked in green on his wrist. Familiar? Not familiar?
‘So,’ said Libby. ‘Tell us about this pub – is it a nice one?’
‘Yes, it’s very nice. It’s a countryside inn with rooms upstairs and a good weekend roast. It’s by a river, with ducks in the garden.’ The ghost of a smile flickered on his face. ‘Bloody noisy ducks.’
He glanced at Alice as he said it and seemed disappointed when nothing registered on her face. Had they joked about it?
‘And . . . have I worked there long?’ she asked, wishing she didn’t have to ask.
He gazed at her, then looked down; she couldn’t see his eyes. ‘A year? We didn’t exactly swap CVs.’
‘Details!’ demanded Libby. ‘Anything! The randomer the better!’
‘Ah . . . what can I tell you . . . ? You’re good at darts, better than my lads, anyway. You were going to apply for a better job than pouring pints. You were very good at pouring pints, by the way. Are,’ he corrected himself. Self-conscious. ‘You are very good at pouring pints.’
‘I’m sure I still am. The doctor said that kind of skill doesn’t just go away with a car accident,’ she said, and Luke finally looked straight at her and smiled – suddenly he seemed younger, less serious. He met her gaze dead on, with a direct, honest look that seemed to see right inside her head.
Then he said, ‘And you live with your boyfriend somewhere in Stratton,’ and Alice’s heart did a funny plummet-skip.
She had a boyfriend. It wasn’t Luke.
Stupid, she thought. If he was her boyfriend, he’d have kissed her. She’d have known him. He’d have come for her before now, found her, looked for her. She struggled with a knotty mess of reaction she couldn’t untangle. She couldn’t find a start to it.
‘You’ve got a boyfriend – I knew it!’ Libby was saying, delighted, and Alice nodded.
This is good, she told herself. She did have someone who cared about her. She wasn’t totally alone. She wasn’t completely unlovable or just out of prison or rehab or something. She was normal.
‘And what, um, what’s he called?’ she asked. And immediately thought how ‘un-normal’ it was to have to ask a stranger what your boyfriend’s name was.
‘Gethin. Don’t know the surname.’
‘Gethin,’ she said slowly, trying to hear any echoes it made in her mind.
‘Whoa! What kind of a name is that?’ asked Libby. ‘Gethin?’
‘Welsh, apparently,’ said Luke. ‘You tried to teach me some Welsh at some point, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten it.’ The quick, sharp smile. ‘Can’t blame that on an accident, I’m afraid.’
Gethin.
Alice tried to summon up a memory of her voice calling that name. Her mouth formed the shape, silently, imagining herself murmuring it in his ear, speaking it into a phone, writing it on a card, but nothing would come. But he was telling her she had. She must have done.
‘That’s fantastic news!’ Libby’s face was bright with excitement across the table. ‘I knew you’d have a boyfriend. Didn’t imagine he’d be Welsh, but . . .’
‘What did you imagine my boyfriend would be like?’ Alice asked. ‘Jack from Titanic?’
‘I don’t know! I thought he’d be a nice local boy called Jamie or Ryan or something.’ Libby made vague shapes with her hands. ‘I saw you with a policeman, for some reason. There goes my career as a top psychic, eh? Are you sure you don’t know a surname, Luke?’ She reached for her phone. ‘We can Google him. How many Gethins can there be round here? We can get an address! Alice, you could be home tonight!’
Luke didn’t answer her; he was playing with his mug of tea, turning it round and round in his hands.
‘What does he do? Gethin?’ asked Alice. The facts were stacking up now, but they weren’t making a bridge to anywhere in her head, or triggering a memory. Was it because she was pushing too hard? Of all the things she wanted to remember, it was the face of someone who loved her. Who knew her.
Luke shrugged. ‘I don’t know if you ever said. I assumed he must be in IT or something. But then,’ he added, ‘I didn’t really ask. I wasn’t interviewing you for a job; we were just chatting in the bar.’
Just chatting, thought Alice. Really?
‘And’ – Libby leaned across the table and put her hand on Alice’s arm, an apology for interrupting – ‘sorry, but I have to ask this – it’s doing my head in – you found all this out in the space of one round of drinks, Luke?’
‘No, I was staying in the pub. I was fitting some security systems in the area – two jobs, a private house and an office block. My team was working around the builders, so we were moving between the sites, and the pub was somewhere in the middle. We ate in the bar most nights. Alice did a few evening shifts – you know what it’s like here. You get chatting to guests.’
‘So I guess Stratton must be near there, then,’ said Alice slowly. ‘Near Embersley.’ Wherever that was.
‘Yes, I think so.’ Luke wrapped his hands round the mug. He had long fingers, with scabs on a couple of joints, from some sort of building work, Alice assumed. No watch. No wedding ring. What did that tell her about him? Was it meant to say something? There weren’t as many clues to Luke as there were to label-friendly, open-faced Libby and Jason. He closed himself off.
‘You tended to be the last one out most nights,’ he added. ‘We kept you back, I’m afraid. Me and the lads. Playing darts. Talking rubbish. Sorry. You’re not missing much if you can’t remember.’
Alice took a deep breath and tried to make it feel as if they were talking about her and not discussing some stranger. Gethin. Her boyfriend. The pub with ducks. A life waiting for her, an actual life that she was part of, waiting on hold for her to walk back into so it could restart, and yet . . .
What if she still didn’t remember, once she’d been led back to it? What if she had to take up friendships, relationships, that were completely one-sided? Her stomach lurched. What if the memories didn’t come back and the last year was completely lost? All her memories and experiences and falling in love, lost like a wiped phone.
It’d be fine, she told herself. Once she saw Gethin.
‘Alice?’ said Libby. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’ She tried to smile. ‘It’s just a lot to take in. I suppose at least you’re not telling me I’ve got three kids and a cat all starving to death in a house somewhere.’
‘Well, Gethin must be going pretty mad,’ said Libby. ‘Wondering where on earth you’ve got to.’
‘You haven’t got in touch?’ Luke looked surprised.
Alice shook her head. ‘I didn’
t even know he existed until you told me just now. I literally didn’t know my own name until a few days ago. No ID. My handbag was lost. Purse, phone, everything – stolen, I guess. It’s why the hospital couldn’t send me home.’
‘The police think maybe Alice was mugged before the accident,’ said Libby, topping up Alice’s tea. ‘Nothing’s been handed in – I’ve been checking.’
‘Very unlikely, though.’ Margaret had reappeared in the doorway. ‘I mean, if someone was attacked in the town, someone would have reported it. Or stopped it in the first place! We’d certainly have heard – everyone knows Alice is here with us.’
‘Bad things happen everywhere, Mum,’ said Luke.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Not in Longhampton. Your father was on the town council for years and we never—’
‘I know, it’s a mystery,’ said Libby hurriedly. ‘But now we’ve got some leads, let’s get on the phone! Poor Gethin – I bet I know what’s happened,’ she added to Alice. ‘Some message will have got lost at the hospital. You know how busy it is in there. It won’t be that he hasn’t been trying to find you; it’ll be that some note’s got stuck to someone else’s file or . . .’
‘Now, Elizabeth,’ said Margaret, ‘the hospital have been extremely helpful to Alice, and if someone called—’ She stopped when she saw Alice’s face. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Alice. I didn’t mean that to sound as if your boyfriend wasn’t trying to find you. I’m sure there’s a very good explanation.’ She paused, as if racking her brains. ‘He’s maybe . . . away with work.’
A brief, uncomfortable silence stretched out in the kitchen, broken only by the distant sound of snoring.
Jason, Alice assumed. Or maybe Lord Bob.
‘Where is Embersley?’ she asked. ‘Is it in Wales?’ I can’t have been there very long, she thought. If I can’t remember where it is.
‘No, it’s about thirty miles away,’ said Luke. ‘Other side of the county.’
‘What? This county?’ Libby turned to him. ‘You were working in the same county, and you were staying in a pub, and not here? Why on earth didn’t you drop in?’