Who am I? What am I? When am I?
Laura can’t remember who she is. But the rest of the world knows. Because Laura is famous – a dying girl who was frozen until she could be cured. A real-life Sleeping Beauty.
But what happens when you wake up one day and the world has moved on forty years? Could you build a new life – while solving the mystery of what happened to the old one?
A darkly twisted thriller plunging a pre-tech girl into a futuristic world.
Contents
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Dedication
BEFORE
chapter one: LAURA
chapter two: LAURA
chapter three: SHEM
chapter four: LAURA
chapter five: LAURA
chapter six: SHEM
chapter seven: LAURA
chapter eight: SHEM
chapter nine: LAURA
chapter ten: LAURA
chapter eleven: SHEM
chapter twelve: LAURA
chapter thirteen: SHEM
chapter fourteen: LAURA
chapter fifteen: LAURA
chapter sixteen: SHEM
chapter seventeen: LAURA
chapter eighteen: LAURA
chapter nineteen: LAURA
chapter twenty: LAURA
chapter twenty-one: SHEM
chapter twenty-two: LAURA
chapter twenty-three: SHEM
chapter twenty-four: LAURA
chapter twenty-five: SHEM
chapter twenty-six: LAURA
chapter twenty-seven: SHEM
chapter twenty-eight: LAURA
chapter twenty-nine: LAURA
chapter thirty: SHEM
chapter thirty-one: LAURA
chapter thirty-two: LAURA
chapter thirty-three: SHEM
chapter thirty-four: LAURA
chapter thirty-five: SHEM
chapter thirty-six: LAURA
chapter thirty-seven: SHEM
chapter thirty-eight: LAURA
chapter thirty-nine: SHEM
chapter forty: LAURA
chapter forty-one: SHEM
chapter forty-two: LAURA
chapter forty-three: SHEM
chapter forty-four: LAURA
chapter forty-five: SHEM
chapter forty-six: LAURA
chapter forty-seven: LAURA
chapter forty-eight: LAURA
chapter forty-nine: SHEM
chapter fifty: LAURA
chapter fifty-one: LAURA
chapter fifty-two: LAURA
chapter fifty-three: SHEM
chapter fifty-four: LAURA
chapter fifty-five: SHEM
chapter fifty-six: LAURA
chapter fifty-seven: SHEM
chapter fifty-eight: LAURA
chapter fifty-nine: LAURA
chapter sixty: LAURA
chapter sixty-one: LAURA
chapter sixty-two: LAURA
chapter sixty-three: LAURA
chapter sixty-four: LAURA
chapter sixty-five: LAURA
chapter sixty-six: SHEM
chapter sixty-seven: LAURA
chapter sixty-eight: SHEM
chapter sixty-nine: LAURA
chapter seventy: SHEM
chapter seventy-one: LAURA
chapter seventy-two: SHEM
chapter seventy-three: LAURA
chapter seventy-four: SHEM
chapter seventy-five: LAURA
chapter seventy-six: EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Copyright Page
For Greta Rose Davison.
Those who you keep in your heart, enclosed in love, will always live.
I understood. I really did. This was a chance. Our only chance. It was this or die.
In some ways it was a relief. I was so tired of being ill. Worn down from all the puking, from being so feeble, from trying to seem okay when Stacey came to visit, and when Mum and Ima kept their tearful vigils between my bed and Alfie’s.
It was so much effort and my head hurt so much, my joints, my skin… I just wanted to sleep. To hand over all this…trying…to someone else.
So yeah. I understood.
But what broke me, what killed me, was the thought of Alfie, my baby brother, being enclosed in that pod and sent to sleep until they could wake us and cure us. It was unbearable.
Alfie was so small. He’d only just turned five. We’d celebrated his birthday a few days before we both fell ill. His bubbly head of curls had bounced with excitement when he’d opened his present, a Fisher-Price cassette recorder.
He’d interviewed us all:
“Lulu, what you gonna be when you grow up?”
“Your big sister, little man. Always.”
I could hardly bear it. The thought of losing him was a lead weight pressing down on my chest.
He was going to be first, so he wouldn’t have to go without me. They pushed our beds together so I could hold his hand as they sedated him. On the other side of the bed, Mum and Ima sobbed softly, stroking his hair. Alfie’s breathing changed from shallow and rapid to barely there. His tiny hand went limp in mine and my heart cracked in two.
Thoughts came, like fluff, white fluff.
Colds?
No. Clouds.
But I am cold. So cold.
Am I dead?
I can’t think…
Is this death?
I am so…so cold.
My head, the thing in it…brain, my brain is…empty.
Who am I?
What am I?
There’s nothing to hold on to. I can’t…
There is an absence of…everything.
Not a face, not a memory.
I am…blank—
A ragged trail scorched my throat, raw and sore. I retched, choking, gasping for air. Light blinded me. I screwed my eyes tight shut, tried to turn away, but still the light burned. I burned.
“Come on, Laura. You can do this. Your name is Laura Henley. You’re in hospital but you’re going to be fine. You just need to breathe.”
Pain bit through my head as I blinked against the impossible brightness.
“There you are. Welcome back. You’ve been asleep for a little while. We’ve just woken you up. You’re in Blackhurst Clinic and you are going to be fine. You just need to breathe.”
A blurry face hovered above me. I blinked again, trying to clear the fog clouding my eyes. Panic surged through me. I tried to move but I was weighed down, trapped. My heart raced. Where was I? Why couldn’t I move? What had he said? Had I been kidnapped? I struggled to sit up but I couldn’t even lift my hand. I tried to speak, but all that came out was a husky growl. I blinked again, trying to see, trying to communicate.
I can’t move, I can’t move…
Someone pressed a damp sponge to my burning brow.
“Shhhh,” a female voice said. “Shhhhh.”
Terror flooded through me. My body trembled, shuddered, shook violently. I was the centre of my own personal earthquake. My teeth crashed together. I bit through my tongue. Gulping sobs erupted from me and tears poured down my face. Someone held my shoulders as a deep, crushing pain cramped my heart, and flooded into my arms.
“She’s arresting. Stand clear.”
With a violent punch to my chest, I slipped into oblivion.
I don’t know what they did while I was out of it, but the next time I woke, I felt like I’d necked a few pints of snakebite.
Snakebite and black: half lager, half cider, mixed with blackcurrant. Turns your vomit purple when you puke it up. Which you will.
I tried to catch the thread of memory, but whatever it was, it danced from my grasp. I blinked. Everything was soft with
light. A shadowy figure swam in front of me.
“Hello. Let’s try that again, shall we?”
I tried to speak and a dry whisper came out: “Where…?”
“You’ve been through a bit of a rough time, I’m afraid. Your name is Laura Henley. You’ve been very unwell but you’re okay now. You’ve been asleep for quite a while. There’s nothing to worry about. You’re at Blackhurst Clinic and we’re taking care of you.”
I tried to reach towards the voice but my limbs were too heavy – lifting an arm was beyond me.
“Can’t see you,” I managed.
“Well, I’m not much to look at, to be honest.”
Someone laughed at that. It sounded nice. “My name is Benjie Bautista. I’m the doctor in charge of your care here.”
Pain gnawed through my brain.
“Head…” I said.
“Hurting?” he asked.
I gave the tiniest nod.
“Mariya, can you increase drug release?”
Someone did something and the pain in my body eased, leaving behind a vague feeling of something forgotten, something important – but what?
Thinking was…hard.
The voice said, “What can you remember, Laura? Can you tell me your full name?”
Name. My name. He had said it earlier. What was it?
“Laura…Henley?” I whispered, searching my empty brain for some hint as to who Laura Henley was.
“Good, good. Do you know where you are?”
What had he said?
“Clinic?” It came out in a muffled lisp, my mouth too dry and sore to form the word properly.
Someone poked a wet stick in my mouth and swabbed it round my lips. I spat it out but my mouth felt better after.
I tried to touch my lips. It was a monumental effort to move my arm and it was so heavy that I dropped it, like a fleshy lump, and smacked myself in the face. I remembered that I’d bitten my tongue when they woke me before. Where was the bite? I couldn’t feel it.
The man lifted my hand gently and put it back by my side.
“Tongue,” I said.
“Yes. You bit your tongue. Remembering that is an excellent sign, Laura.”
I blinked, trying to clear the film over my eyes. “Can’t see.”
“Try not to worry. There’s technically nothing wrong with your eyes; they’re just not used to being used. It’s been a while.”
“Why…?”
“You’ve been very ill.”
I tried to remember something. Anything.
“Punched me…in chest.”
A woman laughed again, soft and gentle and very amused.
The man, the doctor, Benjie, said, “We didn’t punch you, Laura. I’m sorry to say your heart stopped beating. We had to restart it.”
“That’s bad.”
The laugh again. I liked it, it was…kind.
“Pretty bad,” said Benjie, “but it’s a lot better now.”
In those first few days, I didn’t much care who Laura Henley was. I didn’t much care about anything. Heat and pain cycled through my chemical-soaked body and it was all I could do to just keep breathing.
I woke and slept and woke and slept for what seemed like for ever. Eventually things began to change. One afternoon Benjie came in with a group of people. I’d just woken up and, as I blinked myself properly awake, I realized I could see his face more clearly.
“Your eyes are crinkly.”
He laughed and they crinkled up even more. “They are, and they’re going to stay that way. I like my crinkles.”
He turned to the group of people and I guess he smiled at them too because they all smiled and nodded back and I could see them. My heart swelled a little.
“I can see you. I can see all of you.”
“What perfect timing,” Benjie said. “Because I think you’re ready to properly meet your recovery team. It’s still early days but your test results are looking good, which means it’s time to start some serious work.”
“Work?” How could I work? I could hardly move.
“Don’t panic,” Benjie said. “We’ll be with you all the way, but we need to step things up if we’re going to maximize your recovery. You probably know Mariya, your day nurse, and Stephen who covers nights – he’s catching up on his beauty sleep. They’re your dedicated nursing team. To get you fully back to normal though, we need a bit more expertise. Edna here will head up your physiotherapy and nutrition, and Vera, your psychiatric rehabilitation.” He indicated two interchangeable square women with matching cropped blonde hair and white tunics.
I said, “Hello.”
They smiled at me encouragingly. Their teeth were dazzlingly white. Weirdly white. Like light-pinging-off-them white.
I was staring at their smiles when Benjie said, “And this–” he stepped back with a flourish – “is Miss Lilly.”
A woman with a razor-sharp black bob stepped daintily forward. She had huge violet eyes, pale pink glossy lipstick and skin like a china doll. She was absolutely stunning and…I know this is going to sound weird…but she smelled incredible. It was like a warm hug of scented air: orange and wood and a hint of black pepper, fresh and warm and spicy. She smiled at me and something in me melted.
“Laura. It is so lovely to see you wide awake and back with us properly.”
She offered me her hand, careful to help as she took mine – she must have known I could still barely lift my arms. Her fingers were cool and delicate and held mine like she didn’t want to let me go and then she did and I felt cut adrift. I wanted her to take my hand again – so much so I tried to reach out. It was ridiculous. I didn’t even know her.
Or did I? The thought came with a grip of panic, both scary and embarrassing: Should I know her? That’s the weird thing about forgetting everything – it’s strangely calm, like sitting in the eye of a storm, in the empty spot where nothing hurts you. Until the storm touches you.
Meeting Miss Lilly was the first brush of the storm, the first real stirring of need. A deep-down, desperate need to know. Who was she? Why did I feel a connection to her? I looked at Benjie and then back at her.
“Do I know you?”
She leaned forward, placing her fingers lightly against my cheek. That scent enveloped me again and I pressed my face towards her hand. “One thing at a time, sweetheart. Let’s get you better. You have the best people I could gather to look after you. They assure me your memory will come back, but it has to be taken gently, okay?”
I nodded.
“And finally, that’s Giles, head of media.” Benjie waved vaguely towards a man standing behind the others. “But you don’t need to worry about him for a while.”
Miss Lilly took her hand away, leaving the faintest trace of perfume on my skin and a yearning in my heart.
“Okay, team,” she said, “over to you. This young woman means everything to me. I want one hundred per cent from all of you, all of the time. Understood?”
They nodded crisply in reply and she left, taking all the sunshine with her.
I made myself concentrate on Benjie as he said, “Physio starts tomorrow, Laura, but today we’re going to begin weaning you off that drip and onto these delicious milkshakes!”
He gestured to a trolley Mariya had pushed in. It carried a single metal beaker with a fat straw in it. Unfortunately, my brain had gone out of the door with my mystery visitor.
“Who was that?” I asked Benjie.
“That was Miss Lilly, CEO of the world’s most famous skincare company and owner of this clinic. Now, let’s see if we can sit you up.”
Edna or Vera, one of them – it must have been Edna, as she was in charge of physio – went around the other side of my bed. Between her and Benjie, they tried to get me into a sitting position while I carried on asking questions.
“But what is this place? Do I know that lady?”
I slumped sideways, so feeble I couldn’t even hold my own body upright. They leaned me back, moving some pillows so I was more
supported. I was distracted for a minute, because for the first time I could see out of the window opposite my bed. The sky was blue and the tops of trees were visible in the distance. It looked like the clinic was in an enormous park. Did Miss Lilly own the park too? And why was she so kind to me? Why did she feel so familiar? A thought struck me like a lifeline.
“Is Miss Lilly my mum?”
Benjie sat on my bed. “Okay, let’s take one thing at a time. Firstly, this place is Blackhurst Clinic, known for providing anything from beauty treatments and relaxation to cosmetic augmentation and addiction rehabilitation. Historically, it’s also been at the forefront of some very innovative clinical research. That’s why you’re here. Secondly, Miss Lilly doesn’t have any children. She is the very famous, very wealthy face of Miss Lilly Skincare. She has the money to help you and a generous heart. That’s as much as I can tell you. I’m sorry, Laura. When you’ve started to remember, we’ll do everything we can to accelerate the process, but right now, we need to let your brain rewire itself without too much interference from us.”
I felt stupid for asking after he’d explained, but the truth was, I could have been anyone: a school kid or a spy; a dinner lady or a detective. Probably not a detective actually, given I had no idea how to even figure out who I was. And, for the sake of my own brain, no one was going to tell me.
“Now then, aren’t you desperate to try Edna’s milkshake?” Benjie said.
I smiled. “Actually, yes, I think I am.” All I’d had since I’d woken up was water and whatever was fed into me through the drip in my arm.
Benjie stepped out of the way and Edna picked up the metal beaker and held the straw against my mouth. Some muscle memory told me what to do and I sucked. And sucked. And nothing came up the tube.
“Keep going,” Edna said. “You’re nearly there. C-plan is specially formulated to build you up and give you all the nutrition you need.”
I tried again and a dollop of cold, tasteless gloop plopped onto my tongue and slithered down my throat. I gagged on it, turning my head away, and a memory bowled into me so hard that it knocked the breath from my lungs.
Feeding a little boy with a headful of brown curls. His face turning this way and that, smearing his skin with the white goo on the spoon as he shouts, “No, Lulu. No!”
I clutched the sheets. Sweat chilled my skin. I looked desperately at Benjie.
Beauty Sleep Page 1
