Memories In The Dark

by Dawn Tamayo

  Romero took his phone out of his pocket and pushed the contact button. He waited for it to be answered. “Juan, is Helen with you? I need to take her home now.”

  Juan’s voice came through above the noise of the bar, “The phone call, was it about her?”

  “Yes.” Romero answered flatly.

  “You know who she is?”

  “Sí.” It was all Romero could manage for now, he didn’t want to say any more. He had known this moment was coming, and now it was here he was kicking himself for feeling the way he did.

  “I will tell her to be ready.”

  “Juan, don’t tell her why I am coming. Just take her into the back of the bar and tell her to wait for me there. I don’t want her seeing anyone until I talk to her.” Romero thought the chances of Oliver Chapman seeing Helen in Juan’s bar right now would be like finding a needle in a haystack, but he wasn’t taking any chances. No one would be taking Helen anywhere until he was sure that she wanted to go. He walked out of the police station and drove back up to Juan’s bar.

  Helen watched as Romero’s car pulled up outside Juan’s bar. She had been waiting in the back room watching out through the open doorway. Juan had told her half a dozen times to go back inside, but she wanted to know what was going on. She watched as Romero stepped out of the car with a serious expression on his face. He looked around the surrounding area, and when he was satisfied he walked up to the bar and straight through into the back room.

  Helen was waiting for him, concern edged on her face. “Romero? What’s going on?”

  Romero didn’t answer her, he didn’t want to - he knew that the moment he told her who she was and who was looking for her, then nothing would be the same again. Romero walked up to Helen and took her into his arms, crushing her hard against him, smelling her fruit scented hair and drinking in the feeling of her in his arms.

  “Romero, what’s wrong?” She said allowing him to hold her so tightly.

  “We have to go home, now.” He looked at her beautiful face and wanted to remember it forever. He could see the question in her eyes, but he couldn’t answer her, not yet. Romero grasped for the first thing that came to mind, “Don’t worry, we need to get up early tomorrow morning to catch a train.” He stepped back and took hold of her hand. Checking the bar was clear from anyone he didn’t want to see, Romero pulled Helen along behind him as he half walked, half ran, to the car. He closed the door behind her, then jumped into the car himself, and they headed off up the coastal road back to Villajoysa.

  Helen put her handbag down on the little coffee table in his living room and looked at Romero. They had sat in silence during the drive back along the coast, the atmosphere had been heavy between them. Helen was no fool, she knew something was going on but she didn’t know why Romero didn’t want to tell her. “Where are we going tomorrow morning?”

  Romero took off his dark police jacket and threw it on the back of a chair. “Home. I am taking you home Helen.” He ran his hands through his hair and then looked at her. “Your name is Helen Jones and you live in Estepona on the Costa del Sol.”

  Helen looked at Romero incredulously, “You know who I am? Romero, how?” For a split second she wanted to jump for joy at finally having a name, a full name! Then after a brief moment the feeling was gone and she was engulfed with sadness. She felt a lump rise in her throat and tears pricked at her eyes. She wanted to cry, and not from happiness - she was relieved to finally know who she was, but this was all so sudden! Helen didn’t know what she had expected to happen when the time finally came, but now it was here it all seemed so sudden and she wished she had a little more time, yet Romero said he was taking her home tomorrow morning!

  “Someone has reported you missing. They came into the station tonight. We still need to check this all out, but I think the best thing to do for now is to take you to your home and see if you recognise anything. We will go there tomorrow morning, and take it from there.” Romero went to walk away but Helen stopped him, her hand firm on his arm.

  “Wait. Who reported me missing?” She asked surprised.

  Romero could feel his heart breaking piece by piece as he saw the pleading look in Helen’s eyes. He put his hand up and gently stroked the side of her cheek, feeling her soft skin beneath his fingertips. He didn’t like that he was keeping information from her, but someone had to look after her whilst she was still vulnerable and recovering from her head injury, and right now that person was him, “That doesn’t matter.”

  “What do you mean that doesn’t matter? Of course it does! Who reported me missing?” She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t answer the question.

  “I want you to see if you can remember anything for yourself, I would rather that. Besides I don’t know as much as I would like to know at this moment in time. When I know more I will tell you.” He leaned down and kissed Helen softly on her forehead, “I will do whatever is best for you Helen, I promise.” He shut his eyes tightly as he held her close to him, and he meant every word.

  Helen held on tightly to Romero, there was a part of her excited to go home and find herself tomorrow, but there was another part which was frightened - frightened she may not like what she found, and more importantly it could mean she might never see Romero again. Helen held onto him even tighter for a moment, Romero had become more than just her rescuer, he had become her lover, her friend, her confidant. But what did this mean for them now?

  Romero felt the tiny sobs coming from Helen, so he held her even tighter, muttering soft comforting words to her. She hadn’t a clue what they meant, she could hear the words in Spanish but her brain refused to translate right now.

  Romero pulled away and looked her directly in her eyes, “Helen, mi amor, it will be alright, I promise you.”

  Helen nodded and watched as he walked off to the bedroom with his phone in his hand.

  “Where are you going?” she asked not sure what she was supposed to do now.

  “To get changed.”

  “But aren’t you going back to work?”

  “No. Technically I am still on duty, but you are my case right now. I made a call to my Captain and I’m to stay with you until …….. Well let’s just say I’m all yours tonight.” He said as he walked off to his bedroom.

  Oliver Chapman was relieved to leave the police station, he had never had reason to be in one before and he certainly didn’t want to be going back there any time soon. He walked down the road to Levante beach and looked at each of the restaurants as he past – he was hungry and finally one caught his eye, tempting him to take a seat and order some tapas.

  Whilst Oliver Chapman waited for his food to arrive he stared out across the dark sea, deep in thought, his fingers twisting around a piece of folded paper. He couldn’t believe his ears when he had received a telephone call from Frank earlier in the day - Frank said he had seen Helen! Not only that, but she was in Benidorm, over two hundred miles away from their home, and she hadn’t recognised him. Not at all! Oliver was shocked, he didn’t know what to think. But then again he had no reason to question Frank – Frank was, and had been, his head of security for over ten years, and one of his most trusted employees. If Frank said he saw Helen, then he saw Helen. The food arrived at his table, but he only took a few bites, he was still disturbed by his conversation with Frank. He called the waiter over and handed him some euros, not bothering to wait for the bill, then hailed a taxi. Giving the driver an address he sat back in the seat and watched as the roads went by, wrinkling up his nose at the bars’ neon lights. He thought of their favourite bar back in Puerto Banus and wished he was on his way there now, not to some little bar at the edge Benidorm. Then he wondered what Helen was doing here - he found it hard to imagine her here, it didn’t seem her sort of place at all!

  The taxi pulled up outside Juan’s bar, and Oliver stepped out instructing the taxi driver to wait for him. The old Spanish man nodded and lit up a cigarette, he didn’t care how long the Englishman wanted him to wait as long as he got
paid. Oliver checked the name written on the folded piece of paper and matched it to the name on the bar. He walked closer - Frank said that he had seen Helen here at this bar, and Frank knew her well enough to know Helen when he saw her! So, if he said he saw her here, then Oliver was confident she must have been here, and in comparison to the other bars nearby he could see Helen being at this one more than any of the others.

  Oliver Chapman walked up to the bar, pushing through a couple of people, ignoring their protests as he reached the front of the bar. He called the barman over and put a picture of Helen down on the bar in front of him.

  “Do you know this woman?” Oliver Chapman asked tapping his finger on her picture, watching the barman’s face closely.

  Juan looked at the picture and then at the Englishman holding it, taking note of his sandy hair and expensive smart clothes. The man was tall and leaned intimidatingly over his bar. Juan didn’t like how he was asking, and he certainly wasn’t going to give anyone information on Helen. “No, who is she?” He asked, sounding casual and not particularly bothered.

  “Her name is Helen, she was drinking here last night.” He said pushing the picture closer to Juan, “Are you sure you don’t recognise her?”

  “Señor, so many people come and go, I cannot possibly remember them all.” Juan said nonchalantly.

  Oliver paused deciding whether to ask anything further, then instead he ordered a Jack Daniels and put some euros down on the counter. He looked at the paper once again and noted the name of the sea front café - he decided he would head there next, he knew it was a longshot but maybe he would find Helen there.

  Juan took the man’s money and put the drink down in front of him. As he carried on serving his other customers, he watched the inquisitive Englishman closely out of the corner of his eye. He assumed this man had something to do with Romero’s telephone call and Helen’s quick exit not too long ago. He wanted to get away and telephone Romero to tell him that someone was there asking about Helen, but he couldn’t do it now – if the Englishman was watching it could possibly give away his connection to Helen. So he waited until the tall Englishman had gone, then Juan picked up his telephone and made the call.

  Romero walked back into the sitting room and found it empty. He ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath - he was half hoping Helen would have gone to bed by now and then he wouldn’t have to fight with his conscience anymore. Yet the other half of him was disappointed, and desperately wanted to touch her and hold her once again. Romero walked by Helen’s bedroom door and paused with his hand raised ready to knock on it. He stood there, frozen like that for a moment. Then he dropped his hand and turned to walk away, but before his feet could respond to the winner of his inner argument, her bedroom door flung open. Helen stood in the doorway looking lost and forlorn. Her eyes were red and swollen and her cheeks were stained with tears. Romero knew he shouldn’t, but his instinct was to put his arm around her and hold her there.

  Helen had tried to ignore the deep wrenching feeling inside her, knowing it was the wrong emotion for her to be feeling, but she couldn’t, not anymore. The moment Romero had left her in the living room and gone to his bedroom her floodgates had opened and the tears began to fall. Not wanting Romero to see her like this, not wanting him to know how upset she really was, she took refuge in what had been her little sanctuary for nearly the last two weeks; Romero’s spare bedroom. But then she heard Romero’s footsteps outside her door and she couldn’t stop herself from opening it, because she didn’t know how many times she would get to be with him again, and that was all she wanted right now. Helen needed him.

  “Romero?” She croaked through tears as she cocked her head to the side.

  As Romero heard his name on Helen’s lips he gave in to every argument in his head: she was engaged, she was an innocent he had rescued, she was vulnerable, she didn’t know what she was doing, she wasn’t in love with him, she didn’t know who else to turn to and he was just there for her, and it was against police rules. His head screamed at him, ‘she was engaged for Christ sake’! But none of that mattered, not right now. Romero took Helen into his arms, and his fingers intertwined in her hair as his mouth found hers. Their kiss was hot and salty from the taste of her tears. Such a bitter sweet taste - Romero thought he would never forget that taste, not for as long as he lived. He moved them further inside the bedroom and closed the door behind them. Nothing was important now, everything ceased to exist apart from the two of them alone together in that room.

  Helen lay in Romero’s arms. She could see the light streaming through the curtains, and even though she could tell it was still early she knew they had to be getting up soon. Last night had been so beautiful. She knew their bodies were somehow saying goodbye and a huge lump in her throat choked her at the very thought of it. But she was grateful for the time she’d had with Romero, and for last night. She watched as Romero slowly opened his eyes and looked at her - she wanted to remember his face, that sleepy look of contentment, and everything about him, forever.

  The fast train journey had been long and hot, but now they were on their way Helen was both excited and nervous to reach her apartment. She wanted to know what she used to be like as a person - what colours did she like, what style clothes did she wear? She couldn’t wait to see if being around her possessions triggered any memories. She hoped they would. They took a taxi from Estepona’s train station to a little complex of apartments near the beach. The white stoned two-storey building looked pretty with its brightly coloured flowered gardens and she thought this was a good start. Romero located the caretaker, and after showing him his police identification he instructed the man to unlock Helen’s apartment. When the caretaker saw Helen he immediately smiled warmly and greeted her by name. Helen guessed that she must be home.

  Romero stood back and let Helen walk into the apartment first. She went in hesitantly, walking through the corridor along to the living room at the end. She stood in the middle of an airy room with white leather sofas and simple poppy red floral pictures on the wall.

  “Nice apartment.” Romero said coming up behind her.

  “Yes it is nice, but not exactly homely is it?” She looked around thinking how very sophisticated and cool it felt, but not warm and inviting like Romero’s little villa. She went to a pile of papers on the desk at the side of the room next to a closed laptop and slowly looked through them. Nothing seemed familiar, just a few letters, some bills and lots of home and interior magazines.

  Romero’s phone rang and he motioned for Helen to carry on looking around whilst he took the call. He had heard Juan’s message from last night and was intrigued how someone matching Oliver Chapman’s description had been at Juan’s bar asking about her. Out of all the bars in Benidorm Oliver Chapman had somehow managed to end up at the right bar asking for her? He supposed he could have been going from bar to bar looking for Helen and just got lucky, but Romero didn’t believe in luck or coincidences. Even so, he knew he had to keep an open mind. Romero hoped this was the call he was waiting for from the police station and pushed the accept button when he saw it was.

  Helen could hear Romero talking quietly into the phone as she looked at the picture of an older couple in a photograph frame on the desk, her desk. She looked closer and realised they must have been her parents - she could see she had her Mother’s eyes. Looking back at Romero she saw him watching her as he continued talking. She paused for a moment wondering what was so important on the call, but carried on into the bedroom as he waved her on.

  Helen walked around the crisp white bed linen bed with a simple heart shaped cushion in the middle. She opened the large wardrobe doors and immediately was hit by the sense of being home at the sight and scent of her clothes hanging in front of her. She didn’t remember them, but they felt familiar, like they were hers, and it was the first time she remembered feeling something like that. Helen ran her hand through the racks of clothes, amazed she had needed so many clothes before, especially consi
dering she had been surviving quite happily on so few for the last couple of weeks. She took out a few items examining them closer; Ralph Lauren jeans, Tommy Hilfiger strappy top, Karen Millen dress, Burberry jumper, Calvin Klein shirt, Michael Kors trousers – ‘wow’ she thought, it was an impressive and expensive wardrobe, and she was happy to be re-united with her lovely clothes even if she didn’t remember them.

  Helen walked over to her dresser and sprayed perfume onto her wrist from a bottle standing there, breathing in the exotically floral scent. She liked it. She looked around for a make-up bag, she wanted to see what she had in it and maybe put it on, but she couldn’t find one. She looked around the bedroom but it wasn’t there anywhere. Romero walked in as she was pondering that thought.

  “So Miss Helen Jones. Do you remember anything now?” Romero said from the doorway, smelling the scent drifting through the air, he thought it suited her.

  “No, not really. I was looking for my make-up bag, but it’s not here. So I guessed I must have put it in my handbag but that’s not here either. I can’t find either of them.” Helen said still looking around the room confused.

  “Your fiancé said they were here in your apartment when he came to look for you.” He said in a flat voice.