by Lucy Dillon
‘Yes,’ Margaret echoed. ‘Why didn’t you say?’
Libby was doing a pantomime ‘hurt’ face, but again Alice’s sharp eyes caught something genuine about it. She was hurt, she thought.
‘Oh . . . I reckoned you had enough on your plate,’ said Luke. ‘Settling into the new job, getting to know the hotel ropes. I didn’t think me being here would add to the atmosphere. I thought Mum would be enjoying having you and Jason here to herself.’
Alice glanced between the two of them, trying to read the vibrations in the air. Margaret was trying to conceal her bristling, but not doing very well.
‘What an awful thing to say. That’s not at all true,’ said Margaret, but in a very half-hearted manner.
‘Well, you could have called,’ said Libby lightly. ‘Anyway, sorry – enough about us! Much more importantly . . .’ She turned back to Alice. ‘So! What do you want to do? Go to Stratton and see if we can find your house?’
‘Now?’ Margaret looked surprised. ‘Shouldn’t you wait until the morning?’
‘Why? No time like the present!’ Libby’s eyes sparkled, as they had done at the hospital when she’d swept in and organised her out of Marcia’s women’s hostel. ‘This is Alice’s life she’s getting back!’
‘We can start at the pub – it’ll still be open,’ Luke pointed out. ‘Have you got a lot to pack? I can drive you, if you want.’
‘No, I haven’t got anything to pack,’ said Alice, and suddenly realised that her time here in the Swan was now over. The other life – her own life – was opening up for her even though she still couldn’t remember it, and instead of feeling excited, she felt as if she was walking blindfold into a strange room.
This was what she knew, here in the Swan. Libby, and Jason, and Lord Bob, and the daily hotel routine. She wasn’t sure she wanted to leave it just yet, not until she knew what she was going back to.
But how will that happen if you don’t go and look at it?
‘Why don’t we ring the White Horse?’ suggested Luke, seeing her hesitation. ‘They must have an address if they’ve been paying your wages into a bank account, right? And they’ll probably have emergency contact details, so we can get hold of Gethin, let him know you’re on your way.’
‘I suppose so.’ Alice pulled herself together. ‘Yes. Let’s do that.’
‘Brilliant.’ Libby slapped her knees. ‘You stay there; I’ll find the number.’
Alice looked up and caught Luke’s eye. He was looking at her with that ambiguous expression, and something in it changed when their eyes met.
Who are you? she wondered silently. And who am I?
Chapter Thirteen
Alice dialled the number Libby found on the pub’s website and listened to the phone ringing at the other end. She tried not to think what would happen if they’d never heard of her.
‘Hello. White Horse at Embersley. How can I help you?’
The woman’s voice – northern, a bit bored – was familiar and Alice’s stomach flipped. There was the sound of a busy pub in the background: talking, chinking glasses, music. Then she realised: it wasn’t the woman who was familiar; it was the up and down of the phrase, something she’d probably said a thousand times herself. She would normally have been the one answering this phone.
She had a sudden, dizzying panic that another woman had slotted neatly into the space she’d left behind, filling her place, leaving no room for her to return.
‘Hello?’ the woman repeated, impatiently. On the other side of the desk, Libby raised her eyebrows, eager for new details.
‘Hello. Um, it’s Alice.’
She held her breath for a moment. If the woman didn’t recognise her, if Luke had got it wrong . . .
‘Sorry – Alice? I don’t know any Alices.’
‘I work there. Can I speak to . . . ?’ What was the name of the manager? It hovered vaguely at the back of her mind, then slid away as she reached for it. Alice felt her face crumple.
Someone nudged her and she opened her eyes to see Libby by her side, gesturing at her laptop. She’d found the website of the pub and had the ‘About Us’ page open: ‘Tony and Jillian McNamara welcome you to the White Horse . . .’ it said, underneath a photo of a tanned couple in matching white shirts and very dark blue jeans.
‘Can I speak to Jillian?’ Alice asked, as confidently as she could. ‘Or Tony?’
Libby gave her a thumbs-up.
‘Jillian’s out. Let me see if Tony’s around. Who shall I say’s calling?’
‘Alice.’
‘Alice who?’
‘Alice Robinson.’ It was starting to sound more natural now.
‘Hang on.’ She clunked down the phone.
‘Well done.’ Libby gave her arm a quick stroke.
Within seconds the phone was picked up again. ‘Alice?’
‘Hello?’
‘Welcome back! So, how was it?’ The voice was deep and friendly. An Essex voice.
‘How was what?’
‘How was the surprise fortnight in the sun with the boyfriend? You still talking?’
A holiday? Alice wasn’t expecting that. She looked up at Libby, who was trying to pretend she wasn’t listening in. Her mouth had fallen into an ‘O’ of surprise.
‘So when did you get back?’ Tony went on cheerfully. ‘We wasn’t expecting you until the end of the month. Gethin told us to keep schtum about the whole thing – Jillian nearly went mad not telling you.’
Alice stared at the website page to make sure she got the names right. ‘Tony, I don’t remember going on holiday. I was in an accident – I’m still suffering some side effects of the concussion. I’ve had severe memory loss.’
There was a pause. ‘Is this a joke?’
‘No. It’s not a joke. You can ring the hospital.’
‘Oh my God, Alice.’ He sounded shocked. ‘When? We didn’t hear about this! Why didn’t you say, instead of letting me ramble on? I feel a right plum. Are you all right?’
‘Physically, I’m fine, yes, a bit sore still, but I don’t . . .’ The words stuck in her throat. Saying them to another stranger made it sound too improbable, when the slow-moving blankness in her head was very real. ‘I haven’t got any memory of the last year or so. I don’t know where I live or what I’ve been doing, or anything.’
‘You can’t remember working here? So how did you know to ring?’ His tone turned dubious. ‘Are you sure . . . ?’
‘It’s just by some mad coincidence that I’ve met someone who knows me from the pub. Can you . . . can you help me?’ It was so ridiculous that a nervous laugh forced itself out of her. ‘I’m hoping you’ve got my address and bank details and things on the system.’
Libby was making driving gestures.
‘I can come over,’ Alice went on. ‘So you can see it’s me. So you’re not giving out personal staff details over the phone to a total stranger.’
‘Don’t be daft, love. Course I know it’s you. I’d know your voice anywhere. God, I hate to think of you being in an accident, love. And we thought you was sunning yourself with Gethin!’
The remorse in Tony’s voice made her eyes brim. I must be a nice person if he’s being so kind, if he’s worried about me, she thought.
‘You being looked after all right?’ Tony went on. ‘You need somewhere to . . . ? What am I saying? Gethin’ll be taking good care of you, is he?’
‘No.’ It came out as a half-sob. ‘I can’t remember where he lives. Where we live. He didn’t come to the hospital when I was being treated, and he hasn’t tried to find me – the police haven’t had any enquiries from anyone.’
‘You’re kidding me.’ Tony sounded shocked. ‘There’ll be a good explanation for that. Gethin wouldn’t leave you in hospital if you’d been in an accident – I’d bet my pub on it. No way.’
‘Really?�
� Alice knew she sounded dubious, but it was as if they were talking about a total stranger. What possible explanation could there be for someone you love going AWOL for over a fortnight – to the point where you wouldn’t even ring the police? Had they rowed? Would Tony know that?
‘So where are you?’ Tony went on. ‘Did they discharge you yet? You need to come here? We can get a room ready . . .’
‘No, I’m being looked after. I’m in Longhampton. I’ve been so lucky.’
On the other side of the table, Libby’s round eyes were swimming with tears too now, though her smile underneath was crumpled. She looked like someone watching the end of a particularly satisfying chick flick. Sad, but in a happy, indulgent, ‘it’s all fine’ way.
‘I’ve been so lucky,’ she repeated. ‘Complete strangers . . . have been so kind.’
‘Oh, Alice.’ There was some rustling on the end of the phone. ‘You get yourself round here and we’ll sort you out. I won’t lock up till you arrive.’
Alice was tired and confused, not ready to deal with this abrupt shift, this sudden torrent of facts and details. It was all forward motion now, too much for her to process.
‘Are you OK?’ Libby gently took the phone from her hand. ‘Do you need more tea? Or painkillers? Brandy?’
Alice shook her head. ‘People are so kind,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe how kind people are. To a complete stranger.’
‘You’re a nice person. Why wouldn’t we be kind to you?’
‘How?’ It burst out of Alice. ‘How can you know that when you don’t know anything about me? I don’t even know that!’
Libby looked at her. Her expression was trusting; it made Alice almost nervous that she wasn’t worth that level of trust. That she might let Libby down somehow. ‘I know who you are now,’ she said. ‘You’re the first friend I’ve made here. Come on, let’s get you back home.’
Luke was in the sitting room, leaning against the fireplace and flicking through one of Libby’s magazines, waiting for them to finish. When they walked in, his head jerked upwards and he glanced between them, but he didn’t speak.
‘Luke, can you drive Alice over to Embersley?’ Libby asked. ‘Since your brother won’t be driving anything anywhere for at least two days.’
‘Of course.’ He looked at Alice. ‘If you want to go now. I mean, it is quite late . . .’
Alice took a deep breath. ‘No,’ she said, ‘Tony’s waiting up.’
‘Libby can come too, of course,’ he added, and it was only because he’d said it that she noticed the awkwardness of his expression. He knew her well enough to drive her over on his own, and for it to be normal; she didn’t know him at all.
‘Libby? Do you want to come too?’ Alice had the distinct impression that Libby was itching to see the big finish. Ideally, the tearful reunion with Gethin.
She looked over towards the door; Margaret and Lord Bob were nowhere in sight. ‘No, I’d better stay here with Jason – I’m not sure Margaret’s really ready for the full drunk-son experience.’ She pulled a face. ‘Although it is tempting . . . I’d better say goodbye now.’
‘I hope it’s not goodbye,’ said Alice, although it suddenly felt as if it was.
Luke pulled his leather jacket back on. ‘We can go and get some details; then if you don’t feel up to staying, we can go back in the morning,’ he suggested.
‘Why wouldn’t she want to sleep in her own house?’ Libby seemed surprised.
‘What if it doesn’t feel like my house?’ The panic spilled out of Alice. ‘I don’t recognise Luke, but he knows me. What if I don’t recognise Gethin? And why didn’t he come and get me? Maybe we’ve split up? Maybe that was why I was coming here.’
Libby’s face fell. ‘Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘I’m sure there are good explanations for everything,’ said Luke impatiently. ‘But if we’re going to go, let’s go now. It’ll take us nearly an hour to drive there.’
‘Come here,’ said Libby, and wrapped her into a big hug. ‘I’m going to miss you.’
‘I haven’t gone yet,’ said Alice, into her shoulder. ‘I might still be coming back.’
She was joking, but as she spoke, a real memory swam into her head: the fluttering, anxious feeling of being dropped off at school for the first time – knowing what was ahead, but at the same time, not knowing at all.
The road out of Longhampton was quiet. Luke was a fast, confident driver and soon they were on the main road west; they didn’t speak, but a sense of calm filled the dark interior of Luke’s work van and Alice sank back into the seat, watching the road signs with the unfamiliar names passing by under the creeping moonlight.
She tried to focus on the now, to stop her brain whirring. The van was extremely clean, the trim, seats and mats all black and spotless. She sniffed . . . It smelled of new car. Not old copies of the Sun, crisp packets, unwashed T-shirts, workmen. Luke, she could say confidently, was a meticulously clean workman. What was it he did? Security? That would make sense.
Alice had been trying not to look, but now she glanced across at him. Luke’s eyes were fixed on the road, hands gripping the wheel at equal intervals, the shadows of his cheekbones merging with the faint stubble along his jaw.
She wondered when he was going to say something, or whether he was waiting for her to speak first. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, and although Luke wasn’t as outwardly friendly as Libby or Jason, there was a determination about him that Alice found reassuring. Why? she wondered. Why was that? Could you trust instincts, if you didn’t know people? Or were instincts just a reaction to things people had told you?
Libby seemed to like him, she reasoned. And she trusted Libby.
‘Sorry, would you like me to put the radio on?’ Luke asked. He didn’t look at her as he spoke; she wondered if he was trying not to look at her too.
‘No! No, honestly, it’s fine. This is the quietest it’s felt for days, actually,’ she said. ‘What with the builders in the hotel, and the phone ringing, and people in and out . . .’
‘Not the ideal place to recover from an accident, then,’ he said. Luke’s voice was neutral; if Jason was getting his accent back with every pint in the Bells, Luke had lost his altogether.
‘I didn’t mean . . . That sounds ungrateful. The builders have mainly been stripping wallpaper and pulling shelves out – it’s the radio that’s the noisiest part. Margaret’s on their case about that.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t know about the accident.’ Luke bit his lip and finally glanced across. Alice’s skin tingled as their eyes met. ‘I’ve been in Spain – I decided to take that expat job I was telling you about, the guy with the—’ He stopped. ‘Well, the job I was telling you about last time I saw you.’
‘Which was?’
‘About a month ago? Three weeks?’ He paused. ‘You really can’t remember?’
She shook her head. Didn’t he believe her? ‘And everything was . . . fine?’ She didn’t know why she’d asked that.
‘Everything was fine,’ Luke repeated, turning back to the road, and Alice realised she didn’t know what fine looked like.
She stared out of the windscreen, at the dual carriageway stretching out towards her old life. Villages were passing; the miles were being eaten up; Gethin, the pub, her house were all getting nearer and nearer by the minute. So many questions she wanted to ask Luke, before he dropped her off and left her there.
‘Why did I have the hotel address in my pocket?’ she asked. ‘You said I was looking for a better job than the one I had – was I looking for work there? Did you tell me Jason and Libby were hiring staff?’
Luke didn’t answer at once. ‘Maybe?’ he said. ‘We talked about the hotel, the family business, Jason taking over. I probably didn’t describe it in the sort of terms that’d make you want to visit, though.’
‘Really?’
>
‘No.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘We talked a fair bit about family – you told me about both your parents dying before you were twenty and how it made you feel rootless, and I was trying to cheer you up, I think, by telling you how having living parents didn’t necessarily give you a home from home. I probably told you I had to give my mum a few days’ notice before a visit, even though she ran a hotel where dogs could check in no problem.’
‘Oh.’ It was the most he’d said since they’d met, and Alice sensed Luke was finding the darkness of the van, and the concentration on his driving, easier than the bright lights of the hotel. ‘Was I sympathetic?’
He half laughed. ‘You’re a very good listener.’
‘Am I?’
‘What do you mean, am I? Don’t you know?’
‘No,’ said Alice. ‘You forget that no one’s known me for the last couple of weeks. I’ve been asking myself a lot of questions. There are some things you don’t know about yourself till other people tell you.’
‘Bit profound.’
‘Maybe. Hmm. Am I profound?’
He laughed again and Alice thought, That was familiar. Not the sound of his laugh, but her comfortable slump against the chair, the feeling of relaxing into a conversation with someone you liked.
She struggled to pin down the sensation to a memory, to one night, to a particular conversation, but it slid away and her fingers closed on thin air.
Did it need that sort of memory evidence, though? she wondered. She had enough facts: where it had happened, what they’d talked about, how she’d felt. Wasn’t that all a memory was?
They’d slowed and stopped, waiting to turn right. Three, four cars passed; then Luke turned to her. He seemed to be making an effort to keep his expression neutral, but it wasn’t completely working; his eyes searched her face for something. ‘You really don’t—’ he started, then stopped, awkwardly.
‘What?’ Alice held her breath.
‘Embersley, five miles,’ said Luke, pointing at the sign, and without warning, the warmth gave way to the fluttering anxiety again.