by Janet Preece
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JULIE
Julie looked over at Dan, avoiding eye contact, wondering again whether this was normal behaviour; if he’d had episodes before. As they tucked into the stodgy mass on their plates, nobody speaking, all in their own worlds, she was grateful for small mercies – at least she didn’t have picky eaters.
She fought the urge to shout at the children, annoyance suddenly cursing through her veins with a string of expletives threatening to follow. She needed to keep control, couldn’t let things spiral with Dan in such a fragile state. Looking around the table, everyone was peaceful, so why was she panting with anxiety? As she sat willing the situation to sort itself out, she questioned herself and all those unfamiliar emotions rushing through her, making her into a person she didn’t want to be. Was that the person she used to be?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
When Julie’s alarm sounded at seven a.m., Dan had already left for work. She couldn’t remember him getting up or leaving the house or even coming to bed the night before. She went through the now familiar routine – sorted the kids out, dropped Tommy off at school, came back to the house to clean up.
So tedious, she thought, staring at the filthy mess.
Bright rays of sunshine peeked through the bedroom shutters, a fresh breeze fighting its way into the stagnant air, attempting to lift her spirits. A trapped feeling hit her like a brick, her knees buckling under the claustrophobic tension of the room – the house – the need for freedom palpitating her chest.
Julie gasped for air as she struggled to reach the shutters, fling them open and breathe. Just breathe. She could hear herself repeatedly chanting something all too familiar. Déjà vu, the soul mate of concussion; the confusion over whether it was a memory or just a feeling, with nobody to ask, nobody to answer, only the scared little girl hiding inside herself.
And then, it was gone, as suddenly as it had come on.
Was that a panic attack? She needed to put less pressure on herself but was finding it hard to accept such a transient way of living. Not having memories made her question the person she was – her likes, dislikes, what formed her. She closed the window and walked down the stairs, automatically reaching for her jacket as she exited the house blindly.
Shit, no keys. Did that door always lock itself on closing? She wondered if any friends held a key for her house – but if she couldn’t remember the friends, how could she even ask? Her head was a jumble of disorientated confusion as she walked along, grateful she’d at least brought her jacket since the sun wasn’t up to expectations. No keys, no phone, no wallet. She would just walk, relax and hopefully not get too lost.
It was a beautiful day. A ridiculous number of tiny green birds were chirping their lungs out in the trees above as she squinted up to take a look. They looked like tiny parakeets, strangely out of place for such a suburban area. She plucked a memory from the peripheries of her mind: an image of a van in an accident, the birds escaping their confinement, released into the hostile environment of London, instead of making their way to the zoo that had been their intended destination. Was it a news report? She was happy for them. They had embraced their new climate and transformed from an endangered species into a frantically breeding population; ruralising their landscape.
Let the caged birds sing.
As Julie walked, she wondered if the story was true, hoping it was and making a mental note to Google it when she got back, thankful the digital age held answers within easy reach. How long until it could also take control of the human mind? If only she could have backed up her own memories to the Cloud. It was all very well looking at photos and videos, but they didn’t bring familiarity back; the depth that made her who she was; a compilation of her responses and exposure. She was but a caricature of herself. Shakespeare had it right, her life was indeed “a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.”
Must stop acting and find reality, she thought, continuing on, enjoying the fresh breeze but still nervous to hold her head too high in case she made eye-contact with another person. What if they knew her but she didn’t respond? What if she pre-empted the relationship and smiled only to be ignored? She had no confidence, wasn’t ready. The fresh air helped but nature could only fix part of her healing while nurture was required for the rest.
Looking down at the ground had its upside, she thought, sidestepping dog muck that had been squashed and re-trod up the path. Was it that people didn’t care or were they just looking in the wrong direction? Had the owner known the repercussions of not picking up the mess, would they have acted differently if they had? She didn’t have a dog but couldn’t help but wonder, what would Julie do? Was she the offender or the offended, more importantly, was there anyone out there who could help her to work out the answer? Somebody before her had been brave enough to raise their head, look forwards, onwards and upwards, and that was their reward. She wondered if it was considered lucky in the same way as bird droppings when they fell on your head.
A group of mothers with empty pushchairs, redundant bikes and well-worn scooters stood chatting at the end of the road. She glanced up nervously, wanting to be brave. Should she greet them and if so, how? It was impossible to believe she had ever been a fearless warrior, able to approach people without hesitation and the more she thought about it the more her anxiety seemed too real to be just a by-product of her amnesia. Surprisingly, since Julie’s accident, the more time that passed, the less confident she had become. Think it through, work at it, she told herself, determined.
By greeting people with a simple, ‘Hi,’ as she passed, she hoped their response would indicate if they were friends. Worst-case, she could put it down to mistaken identity. If they were local, they probably knew of Julie’s story anyway, and she could always fall back on the excuse of having had a brain injury. She’d worked out a smile in response was a likely no. Even a wave was reactive. But a, ‘Hi,’ returned with a, ‘How are you?’ was someone who knew her – in which case, how should she reply? What did they expect? Should she give a simple, ‘Good, you?’ while walking past, not waiting for an answer – or should she stop, explain to them she had no idea who they were, that her mind was a mess, that her family were only barely keeping her sane, that her husband, she suspected, was bordering on a nervous breakdown? Social interaction was a minefield.
As she approached, Julie felt her chest pounding again, sweat forming clammy patches under her arms. Biting her lip, she put her head down and increased her pace. Today wasn’t the day for facing her demons. She carried on walking, and walking, towards the night until she stopped, that house in front of her. Her home?
Ringing the doorbell, she stood nervously waiting for it to be answered, waiting to be scolded like a prodigal child returning before the parents had been given enough time to forgive – and Dan didn’t disappoint. She had been on such a high, exuberant that she’d managed to find her way back home. The children should have been there to let her in. Oh, the children! Tommy! She’d forgotten it was her job to collect him, but he was home now, thankfully. She breathed a sigh of relief, then looking at Dan’s face, fuming, realised he must have been called home from work.
‘I didn’t know where you were! Anything could have happened to you,’ Dan shouted furiously. ‘You shouldn’t go out on your own, and certainly not without your phone!’
This felt all too familiar. Hearing him shouting those words, stopping her, controlling her. It should have made her upset but was strangely calming, tantalisingly ordinary, oh how she longed to remember. Her body propelled her onwards, her mind letting it take control. She tried to explain how she’d forgotten the keys, locked herself out, needed to escape the house but he wasn’t ready to listen so changing tack she apologised and shuffled up the stairs to their bedroom. She turned round to find him right behind her, closing the door and the windows and then standing in front of her, encroaching on her doma
in.
He was so angry. She tried to leave the room but he lifted his arm, blocking her exit. For the first time, she felt scared, wondered if he would lash out, if this had happened before, desperately yearning for her lost memories. Was this the kind of man he was? His fists were large, his arms strong and thick, his body motionless. She dare not look at his face, afraid to see the real him, to finally know him. Her knees were trembling as she finally looked up into his eyes, her own letting out silent tears against her will.
Had she left him before, because of this?
She wouldn’t let herself believe it, told herself he was just being protective, was just acting in fear rather than malice. Only time would reveal the truth but for now, she was vulnerable.
‘Sorry, Dan, it won’t happen again.’ She opted for the contrite response, outwardly subservient while seething inside at the physical and mental prison Dan was creating. She didn’t recognise him – not from memory nor from the man he had pretended to be since her return home. Was he hiding something from her?
At her apology, Dan let his arm drop, helping to slow her pounding heart. ‘I just want to protect you,’ he said, squeezing her tight.
She so wanted to believe him.
He bent his face towards her and laid a kiss on her forehead, then turned and walked away. She felt the damp residue that he left behind and wondered whether he’d been crying too.
Chapter Thirty
The days passed slowly, but with each one Julie ticked off, she marvelled at the little things that were gradually coming back to her. Tidying the house and organising things helped enormously, clearing out the junk and finding a proper place for everything. She’d buried herself in books, embracing The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. Decluttering, organising, prioritising, scheduling – it was all pushing her in the right direction.
But, where Dan was concerned, there had been little progress other than regression. He had distanced himself from her since that night, or perhaps she had been more reserved? She played over the scene at the dinner table, over and over, convincing herself he must have suffered an emotional breakdown. They didn’t talk about it. She was still too vulnerable, and he was coping by being away more – throwing himself into his work.
Julie whistled as she walked around the house, a quick dust here, a heavy polish there; it was easy when the children were out – except for Jack’s room – she didn’t know where to start. So much of his schoolwork consisted of single pieces of paper put away into drawers, scrunched in so it was starting to disintegrate. What’s the point in keeping that? she wanted to shout at him but thought it better simply to tackle his room during the school day. She had more time today, knowing she wouldn’t have to collect Tommy as he was playing over at a friend’s house.
One down, two to go, she thought as she turned the radio on, music blaring while she worked her way through the junk. She suspected a normal teenager would prefer not to have their room ransacked, but in Jack’s case, he was happy for her to get on with it as long as he didn’t have to help.
‘Ow, fuck,’ she cursed loudly as she spotted the tiny Lego pieces wedged between her toes. How could something so tiny cause so much agony? She tried to balance to pick them off but lost her footing and fell to the ground, laughing at the absurdity of it all. She could just imagine the news headlines: Mother suffers tragic death in bedroom after failing to successfully manoeuvre around floor toys and sharp edges.
From her position on the floor, Julie could see under Jack’s bed: crisp packets, mouldy tangerine peel, chocolate wrappers and dirty cutlery. She crawled on all fours, rubbing her head where she’d bumped it on the side cabinet, and gradually pulled herself up again. Moving the bed would make more sense – she’d be able to give it a proper clear-out, but shifting it over wasn’t proving easy.
Julie dropped back down and reached underneath, using an old pole feather-duster to help pull the debris towards her. Broken remote-controlled toys and piles of picture books long since abandoned were amongst the junk that came away first. She put one ear to the floor, one eye now in position to take a better look at what was left. A folder? She couldn’t quite reach, so tried swatting at it with the pole once more, shifting it just an inch closer to within her grasp. She dreaded to think what was hidden inside. Magazines, she suspected, but she was surprised to find newspaper articles.
As she flicked through, some of the words jumped out at her, images making her skin chill more with each new headline. And then –
That face.
That woman.
Dead.
Killed?
She felt an emotional wrench, an affinity with the poor woman, as she began to read.
‘Amrita Devi, mother of four, left for dead at London cinema. Thought to have been an unprovoked attack, although linked to gang warfare…’
A photograph: security tape cordoning off the cinema toilets, blood stains on the floor, piles of sand to soak up the residue. Julie looked closer, her heart pounding; palpitations as the world around her backtracked, silently coming into focus. Why did he have these articles? Why did she feel such a strong connection? Julie recognised the deceased. Had they been friends?
She continued to sift through the articles. It was a local story – perhaps Jack knew the people involved too, or, God forbid, was he involved? That might explain why he’d kept so many details on just one story. But she couldn’t just ask him. She was too scared, sensing that she already knew the answer and that it would be best to hide behind her concussion.
Hold on, this is different.
Julie found another story towards the bottom of the pile, the rat story she’d heard about more recently. She felt a sense of relief. Perhaps he was just overly curious, into sensationalist horror perhaps? She flicked through the new articles, surprised there were no photographs of the deceased, that meant the police hadn’t made any breakthroughs to identify her or Jack would have included those stories. She shuffled the papers and found a photo of the storage unit, the site of her massacre, and more images of the woman’s jewellery. She paused, wondering, that jewellery looks so familiar. She wracked her brain, thinking, picturing the beautiful green emerald necklace, those daisy earrings, so unique, so…so…so…
Rachel!
Julie clenched the paper in horror.
Rachel, her friend. Those earrings. Now the memories fell from her mind like a dark storm cloud finally relenting to release its toxins. The storage unit unfit for human habitation…unfit for storage…unfit for Rachel. She remembered being there with her, closing the door, walking away. Why? What happened? Damn her useless memory. The date jumped out of the paper, bold and unforgettable.
The accident!
Had it happened on the same day? Oh, God, if only she hadn’t crashed her car, Rachel might still be alive. Her friend. Was she relying on Julie to bring her provisions? Had she gone into hiding for some reason? She whimpered as she tried to control her breathing, frantically clawing her way up, and searching the room for something, anything – a bag to control the panic attack coursing through her, wave after wave, her knees buckling as she willed her memories to recede once more. She rocked back and forth, clutching her chest as she passed out into darkness.
Chapter Thirty-One
‘Mum, wake up. Wake up! Can you hear me?’ Jack shook his mum, not sure what to do, remembering something about not moving a person after an accident to minimise any trauma. ‘Call an ambulance, William! Mum’s collapsed! She’s bleeding! Looks like she’s hit her head!’
‘What? Don’t mess about! I don’t believe you.’ William came running upstairs and stood fixated, staring at the body on the floor.
‘Don’t just stand there gawping – go and phone an ambulance!’
William rushed off, frantically fumbling about for his phone, dropping it mid-call after requesting 999 assistance and having to start over.
The d
elay gave Jack time. Time to watch her lying there, the cause of so many problems in his life. He started shuffling his papers back into their case and pushed them back under the bed. No doubt Dad would be on his back again for this. ‘Don’t shock her, don’t frighten her, go gently. She can’t handle any shocks…’ Blah, blah, blah. She wasn’t a pet; she was a grown woman! Had she really freaked out at finding his papers? Was he in trouble? She shouldn’t have gone snooping through his stuff then.
He prodded her with his foot. She wasn’t moving. He glanced towards the door, then reached down and slapped her hard across the face, his hand leaving an imprint almost immediately, fingers patterning in a satisfying way, coupled with the crisp, clear sound of the thwack.
‘Jack, what the hell?’ William stood in the doorway holding the phone, watching his brother squirm, caught in the act. ‘The paramedics are asking if she’s breathing.’
‘I was just trying to bring her around,’ Jack mumbled.
‘Never mind all that now – is she breathing?’
‘Yeah, she’s breathing, but her head looks a bit bloody.’
Julie groaned.
‘Hold on, she’s waking up. Mum, are you all right?’ William asked.
They both waited expectantly, the phone operator explaining that was a good sign and they should keep her awake until they arrived.
◆ ◆ ◆
Julie stared back at them, eyes glazing over.
‘Stay with me, Mum. What happened? Your head’s bleeding!’
Julie looked around at William standing there, Jack crouched by her side, watching expectantly. Waiting. She reached up to her head, then to her stinging cheek.
‘I’m fine. It’s just a scratch. I must have fallen.’ She spotted the phone in his hand. ‘Who are you talking to? Is that Dad?’
‘It’s the ambulance, Mum. Here, you take it.’
She reluctantly took the phone, William visibly relieved he’d passed over the responsibility. He listened as his mum apologised for time-wasting, insisting she was fine and would make her own way in for a check-up if she felt any worse. She cut the call and took a few minutes to get her bearings, then tried to stand, her hand slipping as it met with paper instead of the wood floor.
