by Dani Atkins
The telephone call to my father was a difficult one. There was no easy way to explain the situation, and even though I played down the explicit nature of what had happened, his paternal instincts had gone straight into overdrive. It took all of my powers of persuasion to prevent him from getting on the next train up to London.
“I don’t like the idea of you being there all alone tonight. You’re just going to dwell on what’s happened.”
“No, I’m not,” I assured him, hoping the answer wasn’t a lie. “I’m going to be far too busy packing to dwell.”
Something in my voice must have convinced him that I was neither depressed nor suicidal, for he stopped trying to change my mind and asked only that I call him in the morning. I hung up the phone, feeling certain that as far as he was concerned, the fact that I’d broken off my engagement and was quitting my London flat to return home was not exactly bad news. It was too early for me to say if I felt the same way.
I began assembling the storage boxes, distributing them in each room of the flat. I worked methodically, emptying cupboards, drawers, and wardrobes as dispassionately as a professional remover; packing up the belongings I didn’t recognize, from a flat I didn’t remember.
I kept very little for the two containers that were returning with me to Great Bishopsford, filling them only with important-looking documentation or old items I recognized from years before. The charity shops and the local dump could have the rest. I wanted to take as little as possible with me from this unremembered place.
The packing was strangely cathartic, and as box after box was filled and taped shut, it felt as though I was doing more than just getting rid of possessions. Here at last I’d found the only benefit of having amnesia: there was no pain in packing up a life you didn’t remember, no regrets when you were leaving no memories behind.
I lingered only once, over the picture of Matt and me in Paris. It didn’t belong in any of my Great Bishopsford boxes, or the charity shop ones, so I created a new pile of items that I thought might have been gifts from him—all too expensive to discard. They could be parceled up and returned to him sometime soon.
Four hours later I was done. My back was aching, and I was more than a little grubby from my task, but even so I felt for the first time that, despite its horrific revelations, today was the first day I had actually taken a step toward the future and away from the past.
I leaned back against the side of the bed, too exhausted to even get up from the bedroom floor. I just needed to close my eyes for a moment.
HEAVY HAMMERING AND shouting rumbled from somewhere close by, but not near enough to wake me completely. But when the door burst open, with enough force to buckle one of the hinges, that did wake me. From my prone position on the floor, I looked up, blinking like a myopic owl in the blazing bedroom light. I tried to focus on the large shape filling the bedroom doorway, silhouetted by the host of lights from the rest of the flat: lights I knew I hadn’t left on.
“Thank God!”
I recognized the voice, though my eyes were still too sleep-filled to focus.
“Jimmy? What on earth are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer my question, turning instead to a person that was standing slightly behind him. The short, middle-aged stranger looked from me to Jimmy before asking hesitantly, “Is everything all right, Officer?”
I struggled to my feet, rubbing my eyes as though this were all a crazy dream I could brush away with the movement. I lowered my hands. No, they were both still here.
Jimmy, with a firmly guiding hand, was leading the man back out through the flat to the front door, thanking him for his cooperation.
The man allowed himself to be led away, looking both awed and a touch disappointed at being so speedily written out of a potential drama.
“If you need me to make a statement or anything …” His voice trailed off.
“That won’t be necessary at this time, sir. But I’m extremely grateful to you once again for your assistance.”
I waited until Jimmy had shut the door behind the man and walked slowly into the living room. I said nothing as I watched him return his police ID to his jacket pocket, but the inclination of my head and raised eyebrows said it all.
He looked vaguely embarrassed, but not entirely repentant.
“Is that even legal?”
“Is what even legal?”
“Using your ID to break into someone’s home?”
His eyes met mine but I couldn’t read his expression.
“I didn’t break in,” he corrected, “I got the supervisor to open your door.”
“By telling him what, exactly? That I’m an international terrorist? A dangerous bank robber? An escaped lunatic?”
He looked chagrined at the last of my suggestions, before covering the distance between us in two short strides and answering in a low voice. “That no one could reach you … That you’d had a recent trauma and then some very bad news. And that you might be … hurt.”
His arms came around me then, and I felt a tremor run through him as he pulled me against him. I saw it all then, through different eyes than mine: why concern had flared so quickly into panic.
“I take it you’ve spoken to my dad?” I asked into his shirtfront, where my face was still pressed.
“I did.”
“Didn’t he tell you I just wanted to stay up here to clear up the flat? That I was coming home tomorrow?”
He sighed deeply, and his voice sounded a little hoarse when he replied. “I just needed to speak to you. To check you were okay. And then, when I tried—God knows how many times—to get through to you on your phone …”
“I’ve been ignoring it. I thought it was Matt.”
He leaned back from me then and studied my face, as though trying to see what it had cost me to speak his name.
“Your dad did mention something about that: that you’d had a disagreement.”
I laughed. “Yeah, you could call it that. He thought it was all right to have sex with Cathy in his flat today, and I disagreed.”
A fleet of emotions crossed Jimmy’s face, too swiftly for me to differentiate one from the other, but I thought I’d glimpsed fury as well as something much more gentle and hopeful.
“Your dad never said that!”
“He got the edited version.”
Taking hold of my hand, Jimmy gently led me over to the settee and settled himself beside me. I thought about taking back my hand but he seemed in no hurry to relinquish it. “Tell me all about it,” he urged. His voice was soft and encouraging, the voice once again of my confidant and friend, but there was something in his eyes, something I scarcely recognized, that was having a disturbing effect on my pulse.
He was silent as I recounted my entire day: from the doctor’s appointment to the discovery of Matt’s betrayal. I watched his face closely as I spoke to read his reaction to my words. The tightening of his jaw when I reached the part when I walked in on Matt and Cathy was the only indication of the anger he was struggling to keep in check.
When at last I was finished, he turned my hand over within his, seeming to take a good deal of time to select exactly the right words.
“I’m so sorry, Rachel; sorry he did that to you. Sorry he’s hurt you like this. I know how much you … love … him. But you deserve so much better than that.”
His face was very close to mine, mere inches apart. I raised my eyes, hoping he could read in them all that I hadn’t been able to say. He lowered his head and my lips parted as I half closed my eyes in anticipation. He leaned in and gently grazed my forehead with the lightest of kisses.
He got smoothly to his feet then, the atmosphere changing as abruptly as though a switch had been pulled. Not meeting my gaze, he made a deliberate show of consulting his watch.
“Look, it’s getting fairly late. Why don’t I go and get us a take-away or something? I’m sure you’ve not eaten all day, have you?”
I shook my head, not entirely trusting that I’d b
e able to keep what I was feeling from my voice.
“Okay, I’ll go and get us something to eat. I won’t be long.”
His departure was so hasty it was almost comical. How many more times was I going to misread the signals and have to watch him run from me before I accepted that whatever feelings I had buried deep inside for him weren’t reciprocated?
It didn’t take him very long to find a nearby take-away, and I’d only just finished washing some of the grime of packing from my face and hands before he returned, heavily laden with cartons of Chinese food and two bottles of wine.
“Are we expecting company?” I asked, eyeing the array of fragrant containers he was opening on the coffee table.
“Let’s hope not,” he replied darkly. No doubt he was thinking of Matt. I didn’t think that was even remotely likely, feeling sure Matt would realize that turning up at my door that night was not entirely in his best interests. However, the thought of what might happen between the two men if Matt was foolish enough to put in an appearance made me shudder involuntarily.
———
I WAS SURPRISINGLY hungry and managed to do reasonable justice to our impromptu dinner.
“I do love prawns,” I declared as I chased the last morsel from a container with a pair of chopsticks.
“You always did,” he replied with a smile, and there was something oddly touching about the fact that he had remembered. I looked up and noticed him regarding my healthy appetite with poorly concealed approval.
“You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Do what?” he asked, clearly unaware that I’d caught him watching me.
“Check up on me. Make sure I’m all right all the time. That I’m not about to pine away, or starve myself to death, or do anything … stupid … in a fit of depression.”
“I don’t do any of that,” he denied, his voice full of bluster, which didn’t fool me at all. I had, after all, known this man for a long, long time.
“So what was that all about earlier on tonight, when you came storming in here?”
He met my eyes, but didn’t reply.
“I don’t need another parent looking out for me, you know,” I declared. I was in danger of sounding ungrateful but I needed to be certain he understood. “It’s not your job to keep rescuing me.”
His eyes were unreadable, but he finally answered quietly, “I know that. It’s just I feel …” His voice trailed away.
“Yes?” I prompted softly.
“I feel … partly responsible for what’s happened to you and Matt.”
That was definitely not what I’d either been expecting—or hoping—to hear.
“How on earth do you figure?”
He sighed deeply and sat down in the armchair opposite me, putting the coffee table between us.
“Matt and I have never really got on that well …”
“That’s hardly breaking news.”
He ignored my sarcasm and continued. “And I guess in the weeks since your attack, you and I have spent quite a bit of time together. I’ve certainly seen more of you than Matt has.”
An unbidden image flashed through my mind at his unintentional double entendre.
“So that can’t have helped the situation between you two.”
I started to interrupt, but he put up a hand to stall me.
“And what happened today, at his place … I guess I must take some responsibility for that too.”
I stared at him incredulously. “Not unless you paid Cathy to take her clothes off and climb into bed, you don’t!”
He ran his hands through his hair, clearly exasperated. “God, Rachel. Don’t be so glib. Don’t you think that at least some of the reason he did that today was in retaliation for what nearly happened between us?”
I felt like I’d just been kicked, very hard, in the stomach.
“What? Do you think I told him about that? Just dropped it casually into the conversation? Why would you think I’d do that?”
He searched my face for an answer. But whatever he saw did not elicit the kind of reaction I’d been hoping for, as there was a tightness and control to his tone when he finally replied. “No reason. No reason at all.”
We cleared away our dinner in silence then, each lost in our own thoughts. After waiting so long for him to finally acknowledge our interlude at the hotel, I now wished the subject had never been raised at all. Jimmy deeply regretted the whole incident and apparently assumed I felt the same way. The weight of the day and all its many revelations was suddenly too much to cope with, and I wasn’t feigning my overexaggerated yawn when I announced, “I’m feeling pretty exhausted, so I’m going to turn in now. Are you sure you’ll be all right on the couch with those blankets?”
As we both knew the only other alternative was to share my bed, I was not surprised to hear his hasty confirmation.
“No. That will be perfect.” I was almost at my bedroom door before I heard his softly voiced reply. “Sleep well, Rachel.”
SURPRISINGLY, I DID. No dreams. No mysterious alarms, strange aftershave, nothing. Jimmy had clearly been up and dressed for some time, as there was coffee gurgling in the filter pot and a plate of golden croissants on the kitchen counter. I grabbed one and began nibbling on the light buttery flakes as he poured me coffee—with milk.
“I see you’ve been shopping.”
He smiled, and the awkwardness of the night before was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen. I figured we would be all right as long as we just confined everything to neutral territory. He pulled out one of the high kitchen stools and tried not to smile as I struggled to get onto the seat.
“It’s easier with heels on,” I muttered.
Before I could stop him, he had taken hold of me by the waist and lifted me effortlessly onto the high wooden seat. His hands lingered only fleetingly upon me as I settled in place, but even that brief contact made me shiver.
“Are you cold?” he inquired, taking in the tank top and cotton jogging bottoms I had slept in. It was hardly my most alluring look, especially with a face devoid of makeup and my hair pulled back in a swinging ponytail, a style I was happily embracing again after a five-year absence. Without waiting for an answer, he shrugged out of his jacket and laid it around my shoulders, enveloping me both in warmth and the irresistible smell of him.
He looked down on me, and his eyes were warm. Suddenly I wasn’t cold at all. His gaze traveled from my head down to my bare feet, dangling some ten inches off the floor. I thought I could see appreciation in his look, I swear I didn’t imagine that, but then his lips curled in a grin I had seen a thousand times before.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, taking a large sip of coffee to hide the blush I could feel beginning to form.
“You. Just sitting there like that, you look just like you did when you were thirteen years old.”
“Wow. It’s compliments like that which have kept you single,” I laughed, reaching for another croissant.
IT TOOK OVER an hour to carry out all the boxes and load them in the back of Jimmy’s car. We were in the lift, halfway back up to my floor to collect the next load, when my mobile phone began to ring once again, as it had been doing at regular intervals for the past few hours. I pulled it from the pocket of my jeans, checked the identity on the backlit display, and pressed the button to disconnect the call.
“Matt again?”
I nodded, sliding the phone back into my pocket. “He’ll give up eventually.”
“You think so?” Jimmy asked as we reached our floor. He had his back to me as the doors opened, so I couldn’t read his expression when he added softly, “I wouldn’t.”
Interesting. Very interesting.
I PULLED THE door shut on the flat for the last time a little while later. I supposed I would have to come back here at some point in time to sort out the lease and utilities, but to all intents and purposes I had now officially moved out.
“You okay?” Jimmy asked, giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze.
“Surprisingly, yes,” I answered.
“Good,” he declared. “Because if you get your memory back and want this stuff all moved in again, you’ll have to find someone else to do it!”
I laughed, but a part of what he said lingered with me as we made our way back to his car. What if I did regret the decisions I was making now when my memory returned? The picture of Matt and Cathy drifted back to me—it really was going to take some time to get rid of that one. No, some decisions would hold up whatever Dr. Andrews helped me to remember.
The traffic was fairly light considering how close it was to Christmas; perhaps the darkening sky and gusting wind were keeping people away from London. Either way, it was warm and safe in Jimmy’s car, or was that just the way he made me feel when we were together?
“Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do about your magazine job?”
I frowned. I had thought about it. A lot. It was actually a much harder prospect to give that up than almost anything else. That particular career had been my dream for so many years; it was ironic that it should now feel vaguely wrong and fraudulent that it was mine without having earned it.
“That’s daft,” said Jimmy, when I tried to explain my hesitancy in staying there. “You saw those articles you wrote. You are good. You deserve that job.” I basked a little in his praise, and gave a wistful sigh.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I can probably drag out making a final decision for a few more weeks yet.”
“Of course,” Jimmy said speculatively, another alternative just occurring to him, “you might be able to get your old job back on the paper. Your dad once said they’d welcome you back anytime.”
That idea hadn’t even occurred to me and I was still considering the suggestion when he added, “And it would be good to have you closer to home.”
I turned to look out through the rain-splattered passenger window so he wouldn’t see the little smile his words had plastered on my face.
