by Anna Bell
‘Of course. Get him sorted and then come home and we can gossip properly about what the hell happened with Cara Worthington.’
‘Oh yes, Cara with the big boobs,’ I say sarcastically.
‘He’s going to be fine, Ellie,’ she says, leaning forward and putting an arm around me. ‘He’ll be just fine.’
I nod and give Sasha a big kiss. It has to be OK. Both Sasha and this baby need their daddy just as much as I need my husband back.
Chapter 4
I always think I’m good in a crisis. I’m generally level-headed and not known to panic, but it’s not every day that your husband is treating you like you’re a deranged stalker.
The longer we’ve been in hospital, the more worried I’ve become. I think I expected the A&E staff to tell us we were overreacting but the fact that they gave him a full examination and immediately called for a neurological consultant hasn’t done anything to settle my nerves.
Max, meanwhile, is taking everything in his stride. He’s had a nap, eaten a share bag of M&Ms and flirted with the very pretty doctor that first saw him. I did try and remind him numerous times that I was his wife, but he keeps laughing me away. And when he’s not laughing, he’s pointing to the lack of wedding ring on his finger. I’ve given up telling him that he takes it off when he showers, and nine mornings out of ten he forgets to put it back on, because he’s having none of it.
Judy, on the other hand, is taking the altogether different approach of sitting calmly next to him and not saying a word.
‘Do you think this is going to take much longer?’ asks Max. ‘Only I’m sure I’m missing the football.’
‘Forget about the sodding football,’ I say, pulling out my phone and swiping to find the results. ‘Brighton got beat by Man City 4-0. There, you happy?’
He narrows his eyes.
‘For fuck’s sake, now I know you’re winding me up. How could Brighton be playing Man City?’
‘Because they’re in the premiership now,’ I say, wondering if he’ll at least believe that.
‘Ellie, I think it’s better not to tell him anything about what he’s missed until the doctor comes along.’
‘What? So the bump and I are supposed to sit here and pretend we don’t exist?’
Judy bites her lip and I feel bad. This can’t be easy for her either. Her life has changed drastically in the last few years and it won’t be easy explaining all that to Max again. But it’s infuriating, Max is acting like a bloody teenager. It’s as if he’s forgotten fifteen years rather than five.
There’s a screech of metal as the cubicle curtain is pulled back and another blond doctor walks in. I almost sigh with relief that this time it’s a man and at least I’ll be spared from watching Max flirt outrageously.
‘Now then, Max, what’s been going on?’
‘We’re wasting your time, that’s what’s going on,’ says Max, folding his arms over his chest.
‘It’s OK, Max, I’m Sam, and I’m going to just ask you a few questions about everything. First off, do you know where you are?’
‘County Hospital,’ he says, sighing as if he’s a moron.
‘OK, and what’s the year?’
‘2014,’ he says without blinking.
‘OK, and the prime minister is?’
‘David Cameron.’
‘And Brexit is?’
Max scrunches up his face.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
‘Oh good God,’ says Judy. ‘I want whatever he’s got.’
I suppose I was really naïve when it came to thinking about his memory loss. I hadn’t really considered that it wasn’t just us he’d forgotten about, but everything that’s happened in the world.
‘2014,’ I say slowly. ‘Obama is president?’
‘Uh-huh, who else?’ he says. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be some sort of genius, Spider?’
I flinch at the name and the consultant turns around and looks at me.
‘Are you his wife?’
‘Yes, I’m Ellie and this is his mum, Judy.’
‘She’s not my wife,’ interrupts Max. ‘She’s my sister’s best friend, who I haven’t seen for years. They’re playing some sort of joke on me.’
Sam, the consultant, looks at me before looking back at him.
‘So, you don’t think you’re married?’
‘Of course I don’t, because I’m not. I think I’d remember that,’ he says, spluttering a laugh. ‘Look, no ring.’
I scrunch my hands into a ball, digging my nails into my palms to ground myself with the pain.
The consultant makes a couple of notes on his iPad and then turns to me.
‘Perhaps it’s better if I speak to Max on his own,’ says Sam.
‘But—’
‘It’s often easier that way. There are chairs opposite the cubicle. I’ll come and chat to you when we’re done.’
‘But I really think that—’
‘Please, just a few minutes,’ he says in a tone that makes me pick up my bag and shuffle out.
‘Come on, Ellie, it’s for the best. Give Max a bit of space.’
‘But he’s confused, he’s—’
‘That’s why we need to give him space,’ she says, sitting down.
Judy and I sit in silence at first. I don’t think either of us wants to vocalise the magnitude of the situation. I pull out my phone and ring Max’s best friend Owen, only for it to go straight to answerphone. I leave a message explaining what’s happened and asking him to call me when he gets a chance.
‘Was that your mum?’ asks Judy.
‘No, Mum is definitely not one for a crisis. Besides, she’s somewhere in the Caribbean at the moment. I was phoning Owen.’
‘Oh, good idea. Maybe he might have known what Max was doing in Chiswick.’
I nod and slip my phone back in my pocket and we sit in silence once more.
‘Imagine not knowing about Brexit,’ says Judy eventually.
I close my eyes and wonder what that would be like. Going back to a much less confusing time.
‘Or about Donald Trump,’ I say, thinking about the order of events.
‘Or that David Bowie died,’ says Judy.
I turn and look at her.
‘Bloody hell, 2016 – the year all the good ones died. Max loved Alan Rickman. He insists that Die Hard is the best Christmas film ever and that it’s all because of Alan.’
Judy takes my hand and squeezes it. It’s hard to process how much he doesn’t know.
‘Prince died.’
‘Noel Edmonds,’ says Judy, shaking her head.
‘Noel Edmonds? No, I’m pretty sure he’s still going.’
‘Really?’
‘No,’ she says, quite forcefully. ‘I’m sure he died a couple of years ago. Isn’t that why Deal or No Deal finished?’
‘I think it had just run its course.’
‘Hmm,’ says Judy, unconvinced. She pulls out her phone and taps away. ‘Ah, it was Keith Chegwin. Got the wrong one.’
‘They’re nothing like each other,’ I say, stifling a laugh.
‘They were both on Swap Shop, probably before your time. Gosh, think of all the TV he’ll have missed.’
‘Yes,’ I say, thinking of all the boxsets we’ve watched since we’ve been together and how binge-watching them has become such a big part of our relationship. ‘He won’t remember that he saw Dark Energy and it took me years to convince him to watch it, years.’
Max doesn’t do sci-fi and I had to beg him to watch my favourite cult classics.
‘He’ll be mad about them removing the toffee from the Quality Street box, though, do you remember that?’ she says.
‘How could I forget toffeegate?’ My lips start to curl and a small laugh escapes me, and Judy laughs too. Only when we stop, sadness hits me. ‘How could he forget all that?’
‘This all could be a blip, you know; he could wake up tomorrow and it will all seem like a bad dream.’
Judy’
s ever the optimist. I only hope she’s right.
After what feels like an eternity, the consultant comes out into the corridor. We go to stand but he motions for us to stay put and he pulls up a chair and sits down next to us.
‘So, I’ve had a quick check over Max and the good news is that his test results so far seem good and there’s no obvious outward signs of a head injury. The next step is to do an MRI scan and an EEG to make sure that he hasn’t had a stroke or a seizure of some kind, but I think from the way he’s acting and his blood tests not showing anything unusual, I’m leaning towards a diagnosis of dissociative amnesia.’
‘That sounds serious,’ says Judy; her grip around my hands tighten.
‘It is and isn’t.’ Sam takes a big deep breath before he explains. ‘It’s obviously serious in that he’s missing years of his life, but if the MRI scan comes back showing no signs of physical damage to his brain, it would mean that those memories are still there.’
‘But I don’t understand; if they’re still there, why can’t he access them?’ I say.
Sam takes another breath and puts a reassuring smile on his face.
‘Now, this isn’t my area of expertise, and the psychiatrist will explain better, but we don’t always know why this happens. Usually, people do this when they’ve witnessed or experienced a traumatic event. We think it’s caused by extreme stress in a trauma. What was Max doing earlier today?’
‘He went to work,’ I say, feeling like something isn’t quite adding up.
‘Going to work can be pretty traumatic,’ says Sam, trying to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t. ‘You don’t know if he got in an accident or anything?’
‘No, we don’t know,’ I say.
‘OK. Well, in most cases where this happens, patients recover quickly,’ says Sam.
‘When you say quickly, are we talking days or weeks?’ says Judy.
‘I think generally it’s hours, sometimes days or weeks, possibly even months or years but only in very, very rare cases,’ he says quickly, after Judy and I gasp. ‘I’m going to order for a psychiatrist to consult whilst we wait for the MRI scan.’
‘A psychiatrist,’ I say, shutting my eyes. ‘Doesn’t he need a neurologist like you to fix him?’
‘If this is dissociative amnesia then unfortunately there’s nothing that I can do to unlock those memories. When Max’s memory comes back it will hopefully be in one big bang. Quite often something triggers that bang, like finding out the root of the trauma. But you have to remember that whatever caused him to shut down part of his brain is something that he doesn’t want to relive – so the psychiatrist will probably recommend that he sees a psychotherapist, who would help him through it with counselling in a supportive environment.’
I’m quiet for a minute whilst I try and take it all in.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Judy, speaking her mind as usual. ‘But this sounds like bullshit to me. You’re essentially telling me that my son has hidden his memories.’
Sam taps a couple of times on his screen.
‘Yes, I am. Our brains can work in very complicated ways to protect us.’
‘There has to be more to it,’ says Judy. ‘I mean, if he’s properly lost his memory, why isn’t he bothered? You’ve seen him; he’s not even distressed.’
‘That’s one of the symptoms of this type of amnesia. Generally, if you’ve lost your memory as a result from a problem in your brain, you get upset and anxious as you know something is not right. But in Max’s case, because his brain is hiding something from him, it’s pretending that everything is normal. It might not be the normal as you know it, and he might be acting out of character, but he doesn’t realise that.’
Now it’s my turn to squeeze Judy’s hand.
‘What can we do to help him to find those memories?’ I focus on the cure rather than the diagnosis.
Sam gives me one of his sympathetic looks. ‘Support him with the psychotherapy, perhaps remind him of memories to try and see if anything jogs it. Going about your daily routine might trigger something. But you have to be careful, you want to create as safe and supportive an environment as possible for him to regain his memories. You don’t want to shock him any further, so don’t feel like you need to tell him everything at once. He’s going to regain these memories pretty soon, so I think the best thing you can do is to carry on as normal until he does.’
‘But what about his job?’ I say in a panic. ‘He won’t remember what he’s working on.’
‘I’m sure the psychiatrist will sign him off temporarily. I’ve ordered that consult and the MRI – both are a bit of a waiting game, I’m afraid. Saturday isn’t the best day to be in A&E, especially with sports starting up again after the summer. I’ll leave you to let this all sink in and then I’ll be back to do an EEG a bit later on.’
‘And in the meantime?’ I say, not even questioning what an EEG is.
‘Go and talk to him,’ he says, shrugging and looking at his watch.
‘Thank you,’ I say. He gets up, assuring us he’ll see us after his tests.
I head towards the curtain but Judy pulls me back.
‘Do you think we should decide what to tell him?’ she asks.
‘How do you mean? The doctor said—’
‘I know, but I was thinking about his dad.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘It’s going to be awful for him have to go through that all again.’
‘Which is why I don’t think we should tell him. He’s probably going to get his memory back in a few hours; there’s no point in distressing him.’
I feel uneasy. It’s a pretty big part of his life to miss out.
‘What if this goes on for months?’
‘Then we find a way to tell him, gently. Ease him into the idea.’
‘And in the meantime how are we going to explain that he’s not at your house?’
‘We’ll tell him he’s on a golfing trip with Graham. I really think this is best for Max.’
‘OK,’ I say, staring back at the curtain. ‘And what about Mick? Are we going to tell him that Max has lost his memory?’
She fiddles with the strap on her handbag.
‘Judy, he’s his son; he’d want to know.’
‘I know, I know, but can we wait and phone him in a few days? Let’s just see if he gets his memory back first. The last thing we want is him flying over and upsetting Max.’
I bite my lip. I’m torn over telling Max the truth and causing more upset in the family. The last time I got involved I suggested that Mick be allowed to video call to see Sasha, and whilst Max reluctantly agreed – he doesn’t want to stand in Sasha’s way of having a relationship with her granddad – he always leaves the house when we do it.
‘OK,’ I say, nodding.
‘I’ll text Graham and Rach and let them know what’s happening.’
I step forward and open the curtain to find Max grinning back at me. I hold my breath, hoping his memory is back.
‘You look pleased with yourself,’ I say, hiding the expectation in my voice. ‘Have you remembered?’
‘No,’ he says, ‘but Sam told me that Brighton did play Man City this afternoon. You were right, Spider. Brighton are back in the premiership!’
Judy looks at me and shakes her head. Trust Max to focus on this and not the fact that the doctor has just told him he’s lost five years of his life.
I look at him, and in one way he’s the Max I know and love, but in another he’s not the man I married at all.
Chapter 5
I wake up to the sounds of Sasha muttering and it takes me a few seconds to work out where I am. I roll over and spot her standing up in the travel cot and yesterday comes flooding back to me.
I dread to think how little sleep I got last night. It was late by the time Max was discharged from hospital and we got in and went straight to bed, staying at Judy’s house, given that Sasha was fast asleep there.
I scoop her up and she starts babbling away. I’m trying to listen to her
, but I can hear Max laughing downstairs and I’m filled with hope. I hurry down the stairs and burst into the room to find him opening and closing the cupboard doors.
‘Hey,’ I say, a little breathless.
Sasha wriggles out of my arms and I pop her on the ground and she toddles away.
‘Hey, Spider,’ he says, pulling out a frying pan and placing it on a hob.
My heart almost breaks. Sam did warn that it might take days, weeks or months to come back, but I hadn’t realised how much I’d been pinning all my hopes on him waking up today with his memory back.
Whilst I find it incredibly disconcerting that he’s acting as if this a typical Sunday, the consultant did tell us that that’s how he’d react. I guess I should be grateful that he’s accepted that I’m in his life even if he is ignoring the fact that we’re actually married and avoiding talking about the life we live.
‘I’m making breakfast for Rach if you want some? I make a mean omelette,’ he says.
‘Sure, and Sasha would too,’ I say, sinking down into a chair. In my desperation to check on Max I hadn’t noticed Rach sitting at the table, and she gives my arm a rub, before she holds her hands out to Sasha who’s launched herself at her.
‘OK,’ he says, and I watch him chopping up the ingredients.
‘You’ll have to chop the peppers up small for Sasha, though.’
It seems strange having to spell things out that only yesterday would have been second nature to him.
‘Oh right, OK,’ he says, nodding but not acknowledging her. He’s usually magnetically drawn to her when she enters a room.
‘I just need to find where the herbs and spices are,’ he says, opening and shutting another cupboard.
Rach stands up, still clutching Sasha, and opens a cupboard next to the stove. ‘Here. You know they’ve been in exactly the same place for the last twenty-eight years.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever cooked here before,’ he says. ‘Why would I when Mum does it so well?’
‘You don’t have to brown nose when Mum’s not even here.’
‘Did I hear my name?’ says Judy, walking into the room.
‘They’re just laughing about Max not knowing his way around your kitchen,’ I say, filling her in.
