Matthew squinted. “Mandy! She looks like her, but it can’t be!”
“I know this is a lot to take in. But I think you need to at least entertain the idea that what you’re remembering might be faulty. Do you know, we never really remember anything?”
Steve interrupted, keen for some of the glory. “We only remember the last time we thought about it! That’s why the details are so vague: what you wore, who was there. They’re all really easy to manipulate.”
Gemma smiled at the poor confused face gawping at her. “Just think, Matthew. If you at least look into it, you might find out we’re right after all. And the reality waiting for you here is much nicer than the one you’ve constructed in your head.”
Chapter Forty
He ran until he was absolutely certain he’d lost them. That’s if they even bothered to chase him. Resting his back against the wall, he shook his head in disbelief and determination. So his dad was in on it too! The bastard. “I knew they were jealous of my success, but this?” he questioned himself. He never would have believed it, but here he was living it.
What had they been offered? It had to be down to the bloody amphi-tank and the MOD. He’d got involved in something he didn’t understand, so they got rid of him.
Where was his mum and sister? His mind whirled. If it was money, his dad didn’t appear to be reaping the rewards of compliance. Had he refused to be a part of it? Is that why he was on his own in an untidy, dirty house?
Did that mean his mum and Mandy had taken some sort of pay-off for their cooperation? Those two had always been bloody cliquey. He’d never managed to penetrate their close bond; taking themselves off doing jigsaws and playing games he was excluded from as a kid. And then going away for spa days together on his money when Mandy grew up!
Did it really bother them so much that their good fortune was his fortune? It was beginning to become undeniable. But Debbie and Abi would never have submitted to demands of silence. They can’t know. With help of his conniving mum and dad and sister, it wouldn’t have been too difficult to convince them that Matthew was never coming home.
But he would find them. He was smart, and he was determined. Someone knew where they were, and Matthew would too. It was the only thing that mattered.
Chapter Forty-one
As the bell peeled around the house, Debbie brushed down her skirt. It felt odd. Why was she doing this? Who was she trying to impress? The doorbell chimed a second time and this time she lugged open the heavy lump from its aperature. “Hi,” she invited Gemma, pleased she was alone.
Gemma rolled through the door and waited to see which room she’d be directed. Following her hostess to the lounge, it was her turn to be relieved at its emptiness.
“I’ll fetch Matthew,” she said.
Nodding, Gemma fought not to ask if the argumentative rest of the family would be joining them, and instead half mouthed, half whispered, “How’s he doing?”
Debbie smiled. It wasn’t huge. Not a grin, but it was genuine. In the eyes, not just the mouth. Gemma was pleased. “Better. Thank you,” she replied.
She disappeared. Moments later, Matthew, alone, tiptoed into the room as though unwilling to disturb the calm.
“Hello, Matthew,” Gemma greeted, standing. She almost gasped as Matthew accepted the invitation to shake her hand. “Everything okay?”
He nodded.
“What are your thoughts on what we talked about?”
Matthew hunched on the sofa. Tapping his thumbs together, his hands clasped, he looked a nervous wreck. “I want to believe you. It would be wonderful. Disturbing. Worrying. But wonderful.” He choked back the tears already welling. “But I can’t. I have a lifetime of memories. Awful, terrible memories. And then there’s the photos, and I don’t recognise any of them. It’s like a different person.”
Gemma nodded. It was complicated, but she had to try to put this poor family back together. “You say that, but are you prepared to admit now that it isn’t a different person? That it’s you but you don’t remember?”
“I’ve been poring over the photos every minute since you left. I haven’t slept. It looks like me. It even looks like the sort of things I would like to do. The family here seem lovely.”
“You have spoken to them, then?”
“Yes. But I meant the family in the photos. Every picture is so full of love. The Matthew Morrissey in these pictures has it all.”
Gemma edged closer to him. “The Matthew in the pictures is you. You do know that, don’t you?”
“I don’t know it. It doesn’t feel true. But I can’t argue with the evidence.”
Gemma nodded and sat back, trying to appear relaxed. “Do you know the little girl in the pictures? Not Mandy. Abi?”
Matthew stared at the floor. “I don’t recognise her at all apart from the family resemblance. She’s a beautiful kid.”
“Yes. There’s another album I’ve kept from you. I’d like you to see it now. It might explain things.”
Matthew took the book of photos from her. It was tied with a black ribbon. If he opened it and still nothing made sense, what then? He had no choice. He had to know.
Peeling back the first page, he jolted at the image. He could barely recognise the girl, she looked so ill. So pale. He didn’t know her but for the photos, but it broke his heart. Seeing anyone so close to death would move anyone. “What happened?” he asked flatly.
“Don’t worry, she’s fine now. You recognise Abi? Your little girl?”
Matthew clutched at his chest, wringing the material of his shirt in his hand.
“Have you heard of Retrograde Amnesia?”
Matthew shook his head.
“It’s a type of amnesia where you don’t remember anything before a particular point of time—often an accident, maybe brain damage, or psychological trauma.” Matthew turned all his body towards her, desperate to make sense of what she was saying.
“Your little girl was very ill, Matthew. It was certain she was going to die from leukaemia, but then miraculously, she pulled through.”
“Then why don’t I remember?” Matthew mumbled.
“You never got to express your grief. That’s what your family believe, and I agree. So you shut yourself off, remembering nothing of your life before.”
“Before what? Because I don’t remember any of it. Not the version here anyway.”
“Something triggered it on Christmas Day. My guess is that this accident, that happened with Mandy when you were seven, lodged in your brain far more significantly for you than it did for your mum, dad and Mandy.
They remember the computer. They even remember you and her screaming at one another for a turn, but nothing more. Mandy wasn’t injured, let alone killed!”
Matthew collapsed into the chair in huge sobs. “How? How do I remember it differently?” he rasped.
“Confused I guess. You blotted out everything that had happened to Abi and projected the result you hadn’t had the chance to grieve for onto what was a very clear image for you—a Christmas row with your little sister. You probably felt guilty for your behaviour—I don’t think you have anything to feel guilty about, by the way.” She smiled. “They got confused in your mind. You invented the rest. Your brain filled in the gaps.”
Matthew shook his head slowly in disbelief.
“There are no records of you going into care Matthew. No records of Mandy having died. Everyone here is who they say they are, I promise you.”
It was too much to take in. But it had to be true. A whole lifetime of false memories. He was going insane.
“I’m going to call in to see you every day. Help you integrate all this.”
“Will I get my memory back one day?”
“It’s possible. Sometimes it’s temporary. You might get all or some of it back.”
But of course, he never would, because it wasn’t his memory to get back.
Chapter Forty-two
Matthew was never seen without one of the photo album
s in his grasp. Everyone was giving him time and space but there were no cross words as he gazed into the world beyond the pages.
Gestures of affection no longer elicited his flinching agitation. Matthew was slowly coming home. It was a long way up a steep hill but they were on the journey at last.
Sitting beside him on the sofa, two steaming teas on the table in front of them, Debbie smiled the warmest of smiles at her husband. Risking a squeeze of his thigh, she leaned in. “How are you doing?”
“It’s weird, looking at all these pictures and not remembering anything I’m seeing. But I like it. It must have been a good life.”
“Oh, it was… Still is. You will get through this. And I’m going to be here for you every step of the way.”
Turning and meeting her gaze full on, he spoke two words that touched her and filled her with optimism more than anything she’d heared since his return. “I know,” he said, falling back into the allure of his unknown past living in the pages of photographs on his lap.
Debbie sat back with her tea and allowed him his time away in his mind.
Debbie drove as Matthew insisted he’d never learned. Sitting outside Marsden-Morrissey Marine in the vintage Saab Matthew had insisted on keeping, he sat and stared.
“Don’t you want to go in?”
He nodded but added, “Not yet though. I just want to watch a little longer.”
People bustled in and out, with smiles on their faces when they went in enlarging to huge grins by the time they came out again. Beautiful cars filled the car park while their owners decided on just what they wanted from a luxury sailing yacht, and whether to buy pre-owned or have a bespoke one made to fit their every whim.
Just seeing the boats resting on the water filled Matthew with an excitement he’d never known. They held such possibilities. Resting on the surface ready to cleave a path to a new land, a new adventure. Bobbing in his seat, Matthew laughed. “I want to go in, now!”
Debbie took his arm as they strolled over to the main entrance. Glancing back at the car, with its roof off, she tried to guide her husband to the doors, but he was already pulling her towards one of the smaller boats.
“It’s incredible. So full of promises.”
Debbie squeezed his arm and choked back a mass of pure joy as he reciprocated. “Yes,” she agreed.
“Would I be able to get one, one day? You said we have plenty of money,” Matthew met her eye with childhood zeal. “What’s so funny,” his eyes crinkled as Debbie couldn’t control her mirth.
“One day? You already own this boat, Matthew. You own every boat here… well Marsden-Morrissey Marine owns all the boats and you own half of that!”
His eyes could scarcely open wide enough to take it all in. Staggering, he allowed himself to be guided to the double doors that swished open when they were close enough. A vaguely familiar figure walked towards them. Who was that? Someone he’d known from school a long long time ago. It couldn’t be.
“Hello stranger!” Brian greeted with a slap on the back. Grabbing Matthew’s hand, he pumped it vigorously, stroking his arm at the same time. “Great to see you, really great!”
Still with his hand on Matthew’s arm, he guided him gently towards the stairs. “Come on up, I’ve got a bottle of your favourite up here.”
Matthew and Debbie trotted dutifully upstairs after him. As the door to the office swung open, Matthew whistled. “Nice,” he said, nodding enthusiastically.
“I don’t know how much you remember, but here’s your desk. You always had the best view and I’ve kept it for you. I was tempted once or twice to swap in your absence,” he joked with all his teeth on display. “Here,” he thrust an exotic looking leather box towards his friend and business partner. “I got you this for Christmas, but I never bloody saw you, did I!”
Matthew held the box which surprised him with its weight. A gold clasp held it shut and when Matthew popped it open, the most exquisite, intricate bottle he had ever seen sat in velvet luxury, its golden liquid content basking in the afternoon sun as it blazed through the venetian blinds.
Matthew’s bright eyes looked impressed, but Brian filled in the gaps of his memory. “Blended from over twelve hundred different eaux-de-vie,” he declared with an impressive turn of French. “Some of which are over a hundred years old!” Pointing to the neck of the bottle, he blustered, “24carrat bloody gold, that is. Remy Martin, Louis XIII. Two and a half grand a pop. Enjoy!” he said with a waft of his hand.
It looked exclusive, the neck of the bottle seemed to be pure gold. Actual pure gold as Brian had said. The glass of the bottle itself was not simply smooth, but finished in hand blown droplets all around the edge, the shape almost a circle with a hole in its centre bridged only by the delicate embossment of the Remy Martin livery.
“May I have a taste?”
Brian’s head bowed, “I insist!” he cried. “I’ve been waiting half a year to see your face when you do!”
While Matthew glanced around for something to drink it out of, Brian leaned over him and pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk. “Ta-dah!” he exclaimed, revealing some cognac glasses almost as impressive as the bottle.
Carefully releasing the intricate fleur-de-lis stopper from the bottle’s golden neck, Matthew did the honour of pouring the honey liquid into three glasses.
“Not for me, Matthew. I’ve got to drive, don’t forget.”
The bottle hovered above Debbie’s glass for a second before Matthew settled it on his desk and replaced the top.
“To your return to your family, and your rapid return to work!” Brian hailed.
The first sip fired in Matthew’s brain as it burned his tongue, the fiery smoothness warming him like nectar. “Shit! That is good stuff.”
Brian beamed. “It should be. Two and half grand, that cost!” he repeated. But Matthew didn’t mind. It was money like he’d never dreamed of, splashed on him just so he could have a drink in a fancy bottle!
“Listen,” Brian murmured. “No pressure, but how would you like to spend the afternoon here? You can stay in the background, just get a feel for the place again. What do you say?”
“Yes. I say, yes. Please.”
“There’s no need for please. You own half the bloody place.”
Debbie was stunned, and thrilled. It was like seeing the old Matthew; the old spark in his eye. The spark that without it, Marsden-Morrissey Marine would be a struggling, middle-of-the-road boat builder. It was her husband’s unfailing genius that had made it what it was today.
“Can you bring him home after work, please, Brian?” Brian squinted, cocking his head. “He can’t drive.”
“Say no more,” he said, raising his glass in the air.
“Or, if you end up drinking any more of that, I’ll come and get you both!”
“I wasn’t planning on it, but it is one hell of a special occasion,” he declared, longing looks directed at the exquisite bottle.
When Debbie had left, Brian opened the filing cabinet and removed a couple of leather-bound files. “This is you, Matty, old boy. Take a gander.”
After the revelation of the dozens of photos he’d been studying over the past week, and the thrill of the present just received, Matthew couldn’t wait to find out what delights would be revealed in these gorgeous looking annals.
As he flipped open the first page of the first file, it wasn’t what he’d expected at all. Not a floating Taj Mahal, but something entirely different. “What’s this?”
“This, represents nearly three years of your life, dear boy. This, is what made Marsden-Morrissey Marine the tour de force it is today, employing over a thousand grateful Bristolians to boot!”
Matthew peered down at the drawings. Some type of military craft. There were no boats like this on the marina.”
Putting Matthew out of his misery, Brian filled him in. “That is your design of the amphi-tank. An amphibious armoured vehicle with stealth and ballistic capabilities.”
“A tank that
can go in water.”
Brian nodded vigorously. “I know. But it’s more than that. You won’t remember, but I tried to put you off. ‘It’s not what we’re about,’ I’d said. And then with a bit of research I realised there were a lot of armoured vehicles out there that went in water too. Loads of them.”
He rushed around to the front of the desk and leaned over the files. It was a performance he was enjoying thoroughly. “But your design was so much more.”
Tapping an immaculately manicured index finger on the blueprint, Brian said, “See this little beauty? It can travel endlessly thanks to the hybrid solar panels. Completely covered in them, it is! There’s a small generator just in case too, but it’s not really needed. The solar panels power a motor that develops seven thousand horse-power!”
Matthew’s eyebrows had found a new home near his hairline, raised ever-higher as Brian flipped the pages of the file to illustrate his points.
“Sounds a lot? You don’t know the half of it. What’s it made of? Go on, what do you reckon your floating tank is made of?”
“Well, it can’t be too heavy, but it has to be armoured, so… aluminium or titanium?”
“No! Give up?”
“Uranium?”
“No. Carbon fibre!”
Matthew was stunned into silence.
“Like Kevlar, you invented this composite material inspired by the glass fibre of the hulls we were making.” Brian deftly retrieved a sample of material from the cabinet. “See how light and flexible it is.”
Matthew bent the fabric in his hands.
“More than twenty times stronger than steel. Lighter than aluminium. So flexible they virtually spit shrapnel back at the enemy! The MOD loved them, and now we’ve built thousands, and been paid millions!
Matthew whistled. “The Ministry of Defence bought thousands of my design?”
“That’s right. Bloody love em, they do. See the shape? Undetectable by sonar or radar. They can literally travel across the sea; hundreds or even thousands at a time. Not just the sea either. Tiny draft, they’ve got. These babies’ll go in the rivers too, and of course over all terrain! They can silently get right into the heart of a problem, unseen, and unleash their missiles whilst keeping their occupants completely safe. It’s the future, I tell you!”
Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9) Page 23
