Remember Me: The gripping psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist.

by Lynda Renham

  I’m on my way back. Shouldn’t be too long. How’s it going?

  I hear the removal men chatting at the front door and look around for the dustpan and brush.

  ‘Had an accident?’ the removal man says as he points to the floor.

  ‘Yes, a vase. I don’t think it can be repaired.’

  ‘The perils of moving,’ he smiles.

  I sweep up the bits and then study the bottom piece before placing the rest in a carrier bag and throwing them in the rubbish. A quick search on Google brings up the pottery shop.

  ‘If you send some pieces we can recreate it,’ says the man at the other end of the phone.

  ‘Fabulous,’ I say. ‘It’s for a photoshoot for Vogue magazine. It has to be the identical to the original.’

  ‘How exciting; please have the vase on us.’

  ‘That’s very kind, thank you.’

  I click off the phone and go upstairs. The house is freezing. I search through a suitcase and find a thick jumper. My hand lands on the box and I pull it out carefully. The lid prizes off easily and I stroke my cheek with Nathan’s lock of hair. I rest my back against the foot of the bed and allow the memories to engulf me. It seems like only yesterday I had gripped Tom’s hand.

  ‘How much longer?’ I asked through ragged gasps.

  I could see the hopelessness in his eyes.

  ‘Almost there,’ said my mother but not before I saw her giving the doctor a concerned look.

  It had been almost sixteen hours. I knew that some labours went on a long time but surely something should have happened by now.

  ‘We’re going to have to do a C section,’ the doctor said.

  I turned my head to look at him. Perspiration had run into my eyes and he became a blur in a white coat.

  ‘No,’ I said, but my voice wasn’t as strong as I would have liked it to have been. Fifteen hours of labour had taken its toll.

  ‘I don’t want that,’ I whispered to my mother.

  ‘We have no choice,’ said the doctor.

  ‘They know best,’ said Tom.

  I could see he wanted it to be over. I felt another contraction starting and grabbed Tom’s hand.

  ‘It’s going to be fine,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I heard someone say and felt a prick in my arm and then, there was nothing.

  *

  Mum brought a huge bouquet of flowers.

  ‘I’ll have to take them to the cottage,’ I said. ‘They won’t let me have them here.’

  ‘Have we got enough vases for that lot?’ laughed Tom.

  ‘He’s perfect,’ said Mum holding up Nathan.

  And it was true. How did they manage to produce something so perfect?

  ‘He looks like you,’ said Tom.

  I squeezed his hand. He looked tired and his unshaven face made him look older than his thirty-six years.

  ‘You look how I feel,’ I smiled.

  ‘I felt every contraction.’

  ‘Sweetheart,’ said Mum, stroking my arm ‘There’s something you need to know.’

  Tom looked away but not before I saw the tears in his eyes.

  ‘No,’ I said quickly before Mum had a chance to say more. I could feel things were wrong. A woman knows.

  ‘They had to remove your womb.’

  I tried to block out the words. I shook my head emphatically. If I didn’t accept them, they wouldn’t be true.

  ‘You can’t have any more children.’

  My cheeks felt wet and I realised I was crying. Mum clung to my hand and I thought how pale she looked.

  ‘Couldn’t it have waited?’ asked Tom.

  ‘I’d rather she heard it from us than the doctors.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I mumbled.

  Mum’s tears fell on to my hand.

  ‘We’ll visit the Lakes together,’ I said as though she’d never spoken. ‘As soon as I’m out of hospital that’s what we’ll do, you me and Nathan, okay?’

  Mum nodded. I hugged baby Nathan close to my breast. I wouldn’t think about other babies. Not yet.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  ‘I don’t know why you’re going to so much trouble. We barely know these people.’

  ‘They seem nice. It will be good to have friends nearby,’ I say, checking the Melba toasts. ‘What do you think of the new lamp?’

  ‘It’s okay, if you like it that’s what matters.’

  ‘I saw it at Clare’s. I think it looks good on the landing. We ought to get that light fitting fixed Tom.’

  ‘I’ve got an electrician coming,’ he smiles. He lifts the glasses from my face and pushes them to the top of my head.

  ‘I wish you’d wear your contacts. You look so much prettier.’

  ‘My eyes get sore,’ I lie. My stomach churns. With every lie to Tom another piece of me dies.

  ‘I know,’ he says, turning to the champagne bottles on the table.

  ‘I’ll crack one open shall I?’

  ‘Great,’ I say fiddling with my earrings. ‘Tom, don’t tell them about …’

  ‘Of course not,’ he says.

  ‘Or about the cottage.’

  ‘Why would I?’

  I nod. Of course he wouldn’t but it’s best to be sure.

  ‘By the way, Rachel said she’s been trying to get hold of you.’ He looks at me closely.

  ‘Yes, I keep meaning to call her back.’

  I have tried to call her back. I just never quite manage to hit that final digit.

  ‘She said she misses seeing you.’

  ‘I miss her. It’s just … well you of all people should understand Tom.’

  He nods.

  ‘I’ll get the glasses.’

  I take a deep breath and check the toasts in the oven. I’ll phone Rachel tomorrow. I reach for the tray and burn my finger. I jerk back and lick the burn. A memory rushes into my head and I hear Rachel’s voice.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Shit,’ I muttered. ‘I burnt my hand on the tray. I’ve got no bloody coordination these days.’

  ‘Here let me,’ she said, and pulled out the tray of muffins with ease.

  ‘Nothing to it,’ she’d laughed.

  I pushed the pram into the middle of the garden and breathed in the scent of the honeysuckle. The cottage windows were wide open. I loved it here. The Lakes had always been special to me. Tom marvelled that the sun even shone. It’s supposed to always rain in the Lake District, he’d joked.

  Tom always complained the cottage was too small but I’d loved it from the first day we’d set eyes on it. I didn’t mind the small living room. It was cosy and warm, even cosier now that Tom had set up a little desk in the corner.

  ‘I’m off soon,’ he said, coming up behind me. ‘It’s going to be another hot one isn’t it?’

  I looked up at the clear sky. It was ten in the morning and the sun was already scorching.

  ‘Yes, Rachel thought we might take Nathan to Silecroft beach. Shoot some photos.’

  ‘Sounds perfect, I wish I could join you.’

  ‘Good luck today. I’m sure you’ll win.’

  ‘Nothing is certain but I think I’ve a good chance,’ smiled Tom.

  I loved that Tom was so confident. I kissed him warmly and then watched his car disappear down the country lane. Nathan was sleeping peacefully and Rachel and I decided to take the opportunity to get a few jobs done in the cottage.

  ‘Let’s fortify ourselves first with muffin and tea,’ she said pouring from the teapot.

  We drank from china cups and felt blessed that we had such fulfilled lives. Later we left Nathan in his pram in the sunshine while we filled vases with fresh flowers that we’d cut from the garden. I could see the pram from the kitchen window. I knew he was safe. It was so quiet that if Nathan hiccupped I would hear him.

  Rachel’s gaze drifted to the holiday cottage. She could see someone moving in the garden. I never bothered to introduce myself to holidaymakers. There seemed little point.

  ‘
Don’t you ever wonder about them?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘Not really.’

  Rachel sketched while I tidied the garden. It was an idyllic lifestyle. I knew it wouldn’t last forever. Soon I’d have to return to work but for the moment I was making the most of it.

  ‘Christ, it’s hot isn’t it?’ complained Rachel, wiping the sweat from her brow.

  I poured more water into our glasses.

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘You’re probably not feeling it. Your hormones are up the creek …’

  She stopped and I felt her discomfort. My hormones would of course be up the creek. They’d taken away my womb. I fought the resentment I felt at the doctor. I knew he was only doing his job.

  ‘They sure are.’

  ‘What I meant …’ began Rachel.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said in an attempt to put her at ease.

  ‘Listen, would you and Tom like to come bowling tomorrow? Nachos and beer on us.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll make a great team member but yes, sounds great. I’d better check with Tom though.’

  ‘Ooh yes, it’s a big case he’s on isn’t it? Is he ahead?’

  ‘He thinks so.’

  ‘Fabulous. Shall we say seven, unless I hear from you to say otherwise? God, I hope it bloody rains soon.’

  I wiped the perspiration from my own forehead. I couldn’t help agreeing that a storm would clear the air. My eyes strayed to the holiday cottage. The couple staying there were strolling down the lane. It wouldn’t be much fun for them if it poured with rain. My hair was stuck to my neck and I pulled it back and clipped it with a slide.

  ‘Shall we go to Silecroft Beach?’ Rachel asked. ‘It will be peaceful there. You can take photos while I sketch.’

  *

  I push the memory from my mind and stare at the tray. I ought to get ready, they’ll be here soon. I’m really not looking forward to spending an evening with the bitch but I’ve no choice if my plan is to work.

  ‘I’ll make Bellini’s,’ Tom says as the doorbell chimes.

  I take a deep breath and open the door. Clare’s perfume wafts over me. It has alcohol undertones. Clearly she’s only just put it on.

  ‘You’re wearing Grapefruit,’ I say. ‘I love Jo Malone.’

  ‘It’s one of my few luxuries,’ she says.

  ‘Come in,’ I say as warmly as I can.

  I take them into the lounge where I’ve laid the table. Tom offers around the canapés. Clare protests when I offer her a mango Bellini.

  ‘I’m not drinking,’ she says in her feeble voice.

  ‘Don’t be silly, you’re here to christen the house with us, what better way than with a champagne Bellini?’

  She looks around the lounge, just as I hoped she would. She’ll be looking for her vase. I see her glance at the cards on the windowsill and then at the photos on the wall.

  ‘Do sit down,’ I tell her, pointing to the couch. I miss our old couch with its handmade crocheted blankets. I miss everything. I shake my head. This is not the time for memories.

  ‘The house is lovely,’ Clare says.

  Tom laughs. He knows how hard I’ve been working to get the place to look just right.

  ‘You haven’t seen the upstairs. Everything that hasn’t been unpacked is up there,’ he says.

  Clare studies the photos on the wall.

  ‘Nice photos,’ she says.

  I step closer to her. Her perfume overpowers me.

  ‘I took them,’ I say, pouring champagne into her glass.

  ‘You did?’ says Chris. ‘They’re brilliant.’

  He doesn’t have to sound so bloody surprised. Clare attempts to cover the glass with her hand.

  ‘Oh, no more,’ she says feebly, ‘I really can’t be drunk in charge of a two-year-old.’

  I want to slap her. You’re not fit to be in charge of a goldfish, I scream in my head.

  ‘You’re not with him now,’ I say calmly, removing her hand. ‘I could take some photos of Ben if you like?’

  Her reaction is perfect. She doesn’t understand how I know her child’s name.

  ‘You’re a good photographer,’ she says, but I can see her mind working,

  ‘She should be. It’s her job,’ laughs Tom.

  ‘Really?’ says Chris. ‘Who do you work for?’

  ‘Chris is a town planner. He’s always taking photos of roads. You know, for road improvements,’ says Clare, helping herself to a Melba toast. She seems unsteady on her feet.

  ‘It’s not quite the same,’ says Chris.

  He seems embarrassed. They’re not used to professional people. They’re out of their depth.

  ‘I’m freelance,’ I say. ‘I take fashion photos. I design the sets for fashion shoots. I do a lot of work for Vogue, do you know it? I have a studio in their London offices.’

  ‘But mostly she gets to work from home, the lucky woman,’ says Tom, kissing me on the cheek. ‘Town planning, that’s interesting,’ he adds, turning to Chris.

  ‘These are excellent,’ Clare slurs as she looks at the photos.

  ‘It would be great to have a professional photo of Ben,’ says Chris. ‘Wouldn’t it Clare?’

  I knew he’d take the bait. He’s weak.

  ‘I’d be happy to take photos of him,’ I smile. Chris will be like putty in my hand.

  ‘What do you do Clare?’ Tom asks as he uncorks another bottle of champagne.

  ‘I’m a school teacher. I only do two days a week now.’

  ‘She helps at the local nursery too,’ adds Chris.

  ‘That must be great for Ben,’ I say, trying to keep my voice flat. I don’t want the sarcasm to show.

  ‘We like to get involved,’ says Chris. ‘We’re key holders too, so should there ever be a problem we’re the first on the list.’

  Tom likes Chris, I can tell. God knows why. The guy is an idiot. Poor Tom, if only he knew.

  ‘Lucky you,’ says Tom, clinking Clare’s glass. ‘I feel like I do eight days a week.’

  ‘Tom’s a barrister, so it never really stops,’ I say.

  ‘That must be really interesting,’ says Chris.

  I sip my champagne. I mustn’t drink too much. I need to stay in control. If she asks for the vase I’ll tell her it’s in our bedroom. I’ll apologise profusely and promise to give it back in the morning. I’ll have to tell Tom I lost it. It’s not far from the truth after all.

  ‘Clare is brilliant at interior design,’ I lie.

  ‘No, I’m not really,’ she protests.

  I tend to agree with her but don’t let it show on my face.

  ‘You’re too modest,’ I laugh.

  ‘I’ll get some beers,’ Tom says.

  ‘I’ll get them,’ I say and grab Clare by the arm. ‘I want to show Clare the kitchen.’

  She looks surprised at the mess. I pull a tray of tartlets from the Aga while she looks around.

  ‘The kitchen’s a bit of a tip, I know. I thought I’d wallpaper, what do you think? I really value your opinion.’

  Like hell I do.

  ‘I think wallpaper would be nice,’ she says nervously.

  ‘I’m not sure. Paint is so much easier,’ I say, deliberately confusing her.

  ‘Yes, our kitchen is painted.’

  ‘Do you want a beer?’ I offer.

  She shakes her head. I take a breath and say,

  ‘Perhaps we could go to Liberty’s together. How about Monday? You don’t work Mondays do you?’ I attempt to sound excited but I’m not sure it works.

  ‘How do you know I don’t work Mondays?’ she asks sharply.

  My first mistake but never mind. It has unsettled her so perhaps it was not so bad a mistake after all. I pause for a second to think of a way to recover.

  ‘It was Monday when we moved in. You were home. I just presumed you don’t work on Mondays.’

  ‘Oh, of course, I forgot.’

  ‘We could do lunch too,’ I suggest. This would give me more time with him. />
  ‘I’ll have Ben,’ she says.

  As if I needed reminding.

  ‘That’s okay. It’ll be great to take Ben out. I can take some photos of him. Kill two birds with one stone.’

  ‘Well …’

  I pour more champagne into her glass.

  ‘Let’s get these beers to the guys,’ I say ushering her back into the lounge.

  *

  After two hours Clare is so tipsy that she can’t even find her phone in her handbag. We all respectfully look away as she pulls lots of rubbish from the oversized tote in an attempt to find it. She’s worried about the sitter. She has no need to be. Kathryn is perfect. I’d checked her out thoroughly.

  ‘Can I use your loo?’ she asks.

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘It’s upstairs first on the left.’

  ‘You’ve dropped something,’ says Chris.

  She fumbles around the floor picking things up. I manage to kick the keys behind my handbag before she sees them. I watch her stumble up the stairs.

  ‘There’s no light bulb,’ I call. ‘Turn the lamp on.’

  She doesn’t hear me follow her up. She’s looking at the lamp.

  ‘I got it from John Lewis.’

  She starts. Her cheeks are red from the alcohol and her eyes look bleary.

  Call yourself a mother, I want to shout. Look at yourself. I’d never allow myself to get in this state, but instead I say,

  ‘Sorry, did I scare you?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ she says shakily, and grabs the bannister for support.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ I say pointing to the lamp. ‘I love it so much. I thought I’d put it up here.’

  ‘I’m flattered,’ she smiles.

  ‘You girls okay up there? I’m making coffee,’ calls Tom.

  ‘Clare just saw our new lamp,’ I smile.

  ‘You shouldn’t have such good taste Clare,’ says Tom. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

  ‘We should be going,’ she says.

  I’m relieved. It’s been a strain having them here but things couldn’t have gone better.

  ‘I’ll see you Monday,’ I say, forcing myself to give her a hug.

  ‘You must come to us next time,’ says Chris. ‘Come for dinner.’

  We watch them walk down the drive and finally Tom closes the door.

  ‘That went well didn’t it?’ he says yawning. ‘You seem to get on well with her. I can’t think what you’ve got in common though.’