She glanced at Dr Perrin, who nodded. ‘We're in Basingstoke,’ she said. ‘Hampshire.'
‘Oh.’ I sort of thought I had heard of them, but they were just names, really. Nothing to do with me.
My mother touched my arm. ‘We'll talk later,’ she whispered.
After my mother left, Dr Perrin plonked herself into the empty seat. ‘Right! Do you know what a psychiatrist is?'
‘Yes,’ I said shortly. I wanted to tell her that maybe I didn't know who I was, but I wasn't stupid.
‘Oh, good. Well, I just need to ask you some questions, all right?’ She settled back in the chair, crossing her chubby legs. Picking up a pen, she held it poised over a clipboard. ‘Can you tell me your name?'
I told her, and she nodded. ‘And did you know your name when you first regained consciousness?'
‘No.’
‘Can you tell me what year it is?'
Another black hole. I pressed my lips together, trying to think. ‘Um … 2004?'
I knew it was wrong, but she didn't comment. Her pen scratched on the paper. ‘How old are you, do you know?'
I swallowed. ‘I think – well, I think I'm probably a teenager, but I don't know how old, exactly.'
A hundred other questions followed, on and on. Did I know my address? My middle name, if I had one? Who was the Prime Minister? What was sixteen divided by two? Some of the questions I knew straight off – like sixteen divided by two; that was easy – but most of them I didn't.
There was a pause as Dr Perrin scribbled down something else. I stared up at the stars on the ceiling. They had turned all watery. Out in the ward, some sort of kids’ programme was on the TV. I could hear a little girl singing along to a song about rainbows, and someone else crying. I knew how they felt.
Finally Dr Perrin snapped the cap onto her pen and started to stand up. ‘Right, I think that's all for now, Kathy.'
I sat straight up, ignoring the jabbing pain in my shoulder. ‘But what's wrong with me?'
She hesitated, and then settled back into her seat again. ‘Well – you seem to have a pretty classic case of retrograde amnesia.'
The words felt like spiders crawling up my arms. ‘What's that?’ I whispered.
‘Simply put, it's when you lose your memory of who you are. Sometimes you lose other things too, like things you've learned in school, and that seems to have affected you to a certain extent – you don't know who the Prime Minister is, for instance, but you still know your basic numbers and how to read. Plus you've probably retained things like how to tie your shoelaces, use a knife and fork, and so on.'
She smiled at me, like I should be just so overjoyed that I could still tie my shoelaces. I wiped my eyes, wanting to stab her. ‘But – but I don't know anything about who I am?'
‘No, that's what retrograde amnesia means.’
‘So am I going to stay this way?'
Dr Perrin patted my hand. I bet they taught her that in med school.
‘It's hard to say,’ she said. ‘This sort of amnesia is normally caused by some sort of trauma, which might be the car accident in your case. It's usually temporary, though I've heard of cases where it isn't. You'll probably start to regain some of your memories over time.'
Probably. Great.
I lay curled up in my bed with the curtain drawn, listening to the TV. My cheeks were wet again: hot, stupid tears kept leaking out of my eyes. I swiped my hand across my face. I wasn't sad, I just – didn't feel very good.
I didn't feel good at all, in fact.
Out in the ward, it sounded like someone had grabbed a channel changer and was going berserk with it: Rebel soldiers are thought to have … ‘Tell us, when you found out about your wife, what—?’ … And NOW, for a limited time only …
And then the voices stopped, and the most amazing music floated past. I can't even describe it. It sounded rich, and grand, like – like the ocean pounding against the shore, or like galloping through a forest on a wild horse. I shut my eyes, my muscles relaxing as it carried me away.
‘Not that! Are you barking?’ called someone, and the channel changed again. Cartoon voices filled the ward.
I sat up in bed, leaning over and scraping the curtain open. ‘Put it back!’ I said.
A half-dozen startled faces looked at me. ‘Back where?’ said the girl in the next bed. She looked about my age, with blonde hair. Her leg was up in traction, and she had the channel changer in her hand.
My cheeks burned. I felt beyond stupid, but I had to say it anyway. ‘Back to the music.'
She wrinkled her nose. ’ That? I only put it on to torture the kiddies.’ But she clicked a button on the channel changer, and suddenly the TV on the wall showed dozens of musicians sitting in a semicircle. A conductor stood before them, waving his hands about, and the music crashed and soared.
I sank back against my pillows, drinking it in. It didn't last very long, though. After about a minute, a little boy across the ward whined, ‘Do we have to watch this?'
Instantly, about four other voices piped in with, ‘Yeah, this sucks! Put the cartoon channel back on!'
The girl next to me shrugged. ‘Troops are getting restless.'
‘Fine, change it.’ I tried to sound like I didn't care. When she clicked onto the cartoon channel, I closed the curtain and put a pillow over my head.
When my mother came back later that afternoon, there was a man with curly auburn hair and sideburns with her. He was very tall, and wore a blue jumper with dancing polar bears on it.
‘Kathy, do you know who this is?’ my mother asked, sitting down and pulling off her jacket. Her brown hair looked tousled from the wind, and the tip of her nose was red.
The man picked up another chair and carried it over. He winked at me as he closed the curtain around us. ‘Get it right first time, and there's a prize.'
I almost laughed, even though nothing seemed very funny to me just at that moment. (I can't imagine why not.)
‘Are you – are you my dad?’ I asked. My heart beat faster. I really hoped he was. He had such a nice smile, and warm, friendly eyes.
‘Nope.’ The man dropped into the chair, raking his hair back with a grin. His legs looked like they went on forever in his faded jeans.
A sudden spot of red dotted my mother's cheeks, one on each side. ‘No, he – oh, Kathy, I'm sorry; I should have explained. This is Richard, my partner. Your dad and I are – divorced.’ The red deepened. She quickly looked down at her handbag, dropping her keys into it.
‘Hi,’ said Richard, and held out his hand to me. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ I shook his hand slowly, wondering who my dad was, in that case.
Before I could ask, my mother pulled something out of a white carrier bag. ‘Look, we've brought this to show you – some photos from home. The doctor said anything that might help spark your memory would be a good idea.'
She put a small blue book on my lap and opened it up. ‘This is you when you were three. Does it look familiar?'
I stared down at the photo. A little girl was sitting on a beach in a blue swimsuit, building a sandcastle. She had the same wavy dark hair I had seen in the mirror, and I guess the same green eyes as well, though I couldn't tell – her eyes were narrowed at her castle as though the sun were in them, or maybe like she was concentrating really hard.
I touched the edge of the photo, trying to take in the fact that this was me. A piece of my past from the black hole. But it was just a little girl named Kathy who I had never seen before.
‘Was this in Basingstoke?’ I said finally.
My mother glanced at me. ‘No, Bournemouth … We used to live there. You loved the beach. We used to take picnics down there, and stay all day.'
I couldn't think of anything else to say. I knew I should have a thousand questions, but it just felt completely unreal. The girl in the photo could have been a cardboard cut-out.
Nobody was moving or saying anything, so finally I reached down and turned the page.
My mother craned he
r neck a bit as she looked down. ‘That's your sixth birthday party – see, you got a stuffed panda. Remember? You called him Barney; you used to take him everywhere with you.'
The girl in the photo was taller now, wearing a party hat and hugging a black and white stuffed bear with a huge grin on her face. She had chocolate smeared across her mouth. A dozen other girls crowded around her, waving little plastic dolls at the camera.
‘And Kathy, look. I brought Barney with me – see?'
My mother pulled a scruffy-looking bear from the carrier bag and put it in my arms. She sat back, smiling expectantly. Richard glanced at her, and put his hand on her knee.
I held Barney up, wanting so much to feel – something. But he was just a tatty old toy, grey and battered with age. His ears drooped, and he was missing one of his yellow eyes. Maybe I had thought Barney was fabulous when I was six, but I sure wouldn't be taking him everywhere with me now.
‘Do you remember him?’ asked my mother, leaning forward. Her eyes encouraged me.
I shook my head. ‘Um – could I look at the next photo now?'
Her face fell. ‘Oh … yes, of course.’ She took Barney back from me, her fingers lingering on his head as she put him into the bag.
Richard winked, and I let out a breath and smiled at him. At least he didn't look like it was the end of the world if I didn't recognize a stuffed panda.
On the next page the girl was older again, maybe eight or nine. She stood on a stage playing a violin, wearing a blue dress. Bright lights shone on her face. Her knees were bent slightly, her dark eyebrows drawn together as she played.
I traced the photo with my fingers. ‘I – do I play the violin?'
My mother nodded. ‘You're so talented, Kathy. You know, you reached grade five when you were only ten.'
‘What's that?’
‘It's like a test,’ said Richard. ‘To show how much you know. Taking grade five when you're only ten means that you were a big girlie violin-swot, basically.'
Were? ‘Don't I play any more?'
My mother sighed, and rubbed her cheek. ‘Well, no. You haven't played in a couple of years.'
I stared at the photo. The girl looked so completely intent on what she was doing, so lost in her music. ‘Why not?'
‘I don't know. I guess … I guess you just lost interest.'
I could see tiny grey roots in my mother's hair as she gazed down at the photo. It was like she had gone back in time – back to when her daughter knew who she was, and played the violin like a big girlie swot.
My stomach tightened. I was starting to seriously hate these photos.
Finally my mother turned the page – and I caught my breath. There I was, wearing a black and white uniform and smiling straight at the camera. It was the same face I had seen in the mirror before. Exactly. The same light dusting of freckles, the same eyes and hair.
‘That was taken before Christmas,’ said my mother softly. ‘About two months ago … It's just turned March!'
When I didn't say anything, she cleared her throat and added, ‘You're in Year Nine.'
‘How old does that make me?’ I couldn't stop looking at the photo.
‘Thirteen. You'll be fourteen in a few months.'
I stared down at the girl's flat, smiling face, wishing I could crawl into her head and know what she knew. But there was this mammoth wall around her, with barbed wire and KEEP OUT! THIS MEANS YOU! signs. I shut the album, not wanting to see any more.
Silence. My mother started to say something, and stopped, gazing down at her hands.
‘Just give it time,’ said Richard easily. ‘You'll remember or you won't, that's all. We'll all get by either way, right, Beth?'
My mother nodded, her hair bouncing on her shoulders. ‘Of course! Oh, of course, we didn't mean to – to pressure you. It was just, the doctor said …’ She trailed off.
‘Is that your first name – Beth?’ I pushed myself upright against the pillows.
She tried to smile. ‘Well, Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Beth.'
‘Oh,’ I said. I didn't say what I was thinking, which was that I wished I could call her Beth. ‘Mum’ was too weird. I didn't even know her.
‘What's wrong with you?’ asked the blonde girl in the next bed. She was wolfing her food down like she had been systematically starved ever since she got here.
I took a bite of rice, stalling for time. I was feeling totally stir-crazy after Beth and Richard left, so I had asked the nurse to leave my curtain open while I ate. Big mistake. I knew this would happen. Finally I swallowed, and pointed at my bandaged forehead. ‘I fell.'
The girl's eyes widened. ‘Oh, right. Do you have concussion or something?'
I shrugged, and looked at the TV on the wall. The sound was off, and it looked completely tedious – men in suits talking.
‘What's your name, anyway?’ asked the girl. ‘I'm Sarah.'
‘I'm, um—’ I stopped. Kathy wouldn't come out. It just wouldn't; it didn't have anything to do with me. I looked down at my dinner, poking at the peas with my fork. ‘I mean – well, I'm called Katherine, but—'
Sarah laughed. ’ Katherine! Oh, very proper. Does that explain why you like boring classical music, then?'
I stared at her, a flutter of excitement rustling in my chest. She was right. The rest of my past might still be in a black hole, but at least I knew something about me – I liked classical music. Maybe not all classical music, but I liked what I had heard that afternoon. So I wasn't a total black hole after all.
‘What?’ asked Sarah.
I smiled and looked down, keeping it to myself. ‘No, I'm not called Katherine.'
‘What, then? Kathy?'
I shook my head, and Sarah scraped the last of her custard from its plastic container, licking the spoon. ‘You're going to make me guess, aren't you? OK, let me think. Kath? Katie? Kat?'
Kat. My shoulders relaxed. It felt right.
I grinned. ‘Yeah, you finally got it. I'm called Kat.'
Chapter Two
Kathy
7 January
Today's M-day: moving-in day. I knew it was coming, obviously, but I still HATE IT!!! Why does he have to live here? Why can't they just date, the way they have been? I don't care if he stays over occasionally, I just don't want him to move in! This is OUR house, mine and Mum's, nothing to do with him!
The downstairs is complete chaos now – cardboard boxes everywhere, all over the dining table and the floor. There's even one on the fish tank! I just went down to get something to eat and literally stopped in my tracks; I hardly even recognized the place. Richard smiled at me as he came in the front door carrying still MORE boxes, and said, ‘Oi, aren't you going to help, then?'
Not likely. I didn't say anything to him, I just kept going into the kitchen. Then I came back upstairs and banged my door shut, which Mum obviously didn't hear or else she would have been after me like a shot. I've got Robbie Williams blaring now, so that I don't have to listen to all the commotion going on, and can pretend that everything is the way it used to be.
Later
Mum just stuck her head in to tell me it was almost time for tea. I told her I wasn't hungry, and she looked really irritated and told me to be downstairs in ten minutes, because Richard had cooked a special moving-in tea for us all, to celebrate. Adults are so unbelievably dense sometimes that it's unreal. As if HIM moving in is anything for ME to celebrate!
9 January
Poppy and Jade came round after school today. I was so embarrassed for them to see the downstairs – it's still a tip with Richard's boxes everywhere. Then I was even more embarrassed, because Richard himself came out of the kitchen. I thought he was at work! But no, apparently he took the afternoon off to finish unpacking. Great. He said hi to us and then he started showing Poppy and Jade one of his cringe-worthy card tricks. I wanted to die, but Poppy and Jade were actually enjoying it. I FINALLY managed to drag them up to my room, and Jade said, ‘Wow, he's so nice, you're really lucky.'
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She just so didn't get it. Neither did Poppy. I tried to explain to them how I felt, but Poppy said that her mum's boyfriend was a total waster, and that I should be thankful, because it could have been much much worse. I said, ‘Fine, but your mum's boyfriend doesn't live with you! It's completely different.'
Then Jade said, ‘Ooh, maybe they'll get married and have a big wedding! And you can be a bridesmaid!’ She and Poppy started talking about dresses and what kind of flowers I should carry to go with my hair. I mean, PLEASE!!! I asked them to stop going on and on but they wouldn't, so finally I put a CD on and turned it right up to drown them out.
They took the hint and Poppy tried to change the subject, but then Jade got all stroppy and said I was being selfish, and that my mum was obviously really happy with Richard, so I should be happy for her. God! I'm not trying to stop Mum seeing him – I mean, who cares? He just shouldn't live here. He's not my dad, he's got no right!
But there was no way I could talk about Dad to them. Just no way. They don't have a clue about any of it, and anyway I don't like thinking about it very much. So I just laughed sarcastically and said, ‘Oh yeah, I'm really thrilled that my mum's with some guy who looks like Elvis.'
Jade snapped something back and we went back and forth for a while, the two of us getting really arsey with each other, and Poppy trying to sort of moderate, the way she usually ends up doing. She was taking Jade's side more than mine, though. I could tell that she thought I was being unreasonable. They finally ended up stomping off, with Jade saying that I was being a total drama queen and should get over myself. That is so ironic coming from her, queen of the flounce.
I got out Cat after they left and cried for a bit. I couldn't help it. It's just SO UNFAIR that they're not even trying to understand how I feel! I mean, OK, maybe I haven't told them all the reasons why, about Dad and everything, but they should still try to understand and not just say I'm being selfish.
Later
Tea was a total nightmare. My eyes were red, and I could see Mum noticing, and of course Richard kept talking on and on, cracking his unfunny jokes and trying to get me to smile. Why can't he just leave me alone?? He had cooked lasagne, my favourite, but then he kept making this big deal over it, going on about his special secret ingredients and talking in a phoney Italian accent. I just ignored him. Afterwards, when Mum and I were doing the dishes, she said she knew this must be difficult for me, but that we'd all adjust with time. And meanwhile could I please try to be pleasant to Richard, because he really liked me.
Kat Got Your Tongue Page 2
