by Anna Bell
He’s going to hate the house. His old flat in Brixton, where he remembers living, was in a converted school house that had huge floor-to-ceiling arched windows, dark wood parquet floor, minimalist furniture and tech everywhere. It was jaw-dropping – whereas, while this house might look normal from the outside, inside it’s jaw-dropping for all the wrong reasons.
‘Are you sure that we can’t just stay at yours?’ says Max.
‘No,’ says Judy, with a stern voice. ‘You’ve got to go about your normal routine.’
‘But I’m not going to be, am I? Simon won’t let me go into bloody work.’
Max hasn’t taken the prospect well of being signed off work for a month. He thinks that because he still works at the same company – doing more or less does the same job that he was doing five years ago – that he’ll be able to pick up his new projects.
‘You know you’re not legally allowed to once a doctor has signed you off,’ says Judy.
‘Are you sure there was no wriggle room?’ he says, raising a pleading eyebrow at me.
I was the one that had to phone his boss this morning to fill him in on the situation and, whilst the main reason he isn’t allowed back is the sick note, it’s also because they deal with multi-million-pound projects and no client would want him anywhere near them when he can’t even remember his own wife and child.
‘No, but Simon did say that he’d email over some old project briefs and evaluations so that you can see what you’ve been doing over the last few years.’
Max sighs like a sulky teenager.
‘Look, Max,’ says Judy. ‘You need to spend time with Ellie and Sasha alone. Hopefully that way your memory will come back and, the sooner it does, the sooner you can go back to work.
‘Plus, now that Ellie’s on maternity leave you’ll get to spend lots of time together.’
‘She gets to babysit me and Sasha; aren’t I the lucky one?’
I grit my teeth. This wasn’t how I envisaged the last eight weeks of pregnancy. I’d been looking forward to my homeworking, but when I phoned up my boss and explained the situation, she suggested that I start my maternity leave early. I’ve just got to tie up my loose ends and reallocate the reports I had to write. It means that I’ll now have a month less with the baby at the end of my leave, but I just can’t imagine working at the moment with all this going on.
‘So, are we going to go and see this house?’ asks Max.
We all get out of the car and I pull Sasha out of her car seat. Judy reaches out and takes her and I unlock our door.
‘So, um, this is it,’ I say, watching Max’s mouth fall open at the sight of the mural.
‘Whoa,’ says Mick, wrinkling up his face. I’d forgotten that he hasn’t seen the house either. ‘Surely you remember that, Max? No one could see that and forget it.’
He runs his hand over the textured paint and shudders.
‘Did we put this in?’ says Max, squinting at it.
‘Ah-ha, I did it myself,’ I deadpan before I remember he doesn’t know my sense of humour. ‘No, it was here when we bought it. We’ve not had the time since we moved in to get rid of it.’
Mick keeps pulling faces; he’s clearly as horrified by the property as his son.
‘It doesn’t look like it would take you long to change it,’ says Mick, giving away that he’s not seen it before. Judy elbows him in the ribs, but Max hasn’t really heard what he’s said. He’s still looking on with horror.
‘Uh-huh, it’s all cosmetic. Max, you’d planned to do most of the work, as we stretched our budget to buy it. You’ve just been so busy at the office lately; you haven’t had a chance.’
‘Well, I’m not going to be busy over the next month, am I?’
‘Your dad could give you a hand,’ volunteers Judy, and Mick gives her a hard stare. ‘It would be nice to get you out of the house and out of my way,’ she says with the fake laughter that’s fast replacing her normal laugh.
‘OK, I guess it would be nice to spend proper time with you,’ says Mick.
‘Steady on, Dad, you sound like you’re going soppy in your old age.’
‘I just mean that you’ve been so busy working, I haven’t spent a lot of time with you lately.’
‘Let’s hope I haven’t forgotten how to use a paintbrush.’
Max steps into the lounge straight ahead and quickly retreats.
‘It’s bright orange and pink? Who the hell lived here before? Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen?’
I laugh and snort, and Max looks at me in alarm. Usually he takes the piss out of me whenever I accidentally snort, and then I pretend to get offended by it, and then he’ll wrap me in his arms and tell me he finds it endearing. It’s all these nuances that make up our relationship and their absence is going to take a lot of getting used to.
‘So, I think we should be going,’ says Judy, looking over at Mick.
‘Er, right,’ he says, reluctantly.
‘Do you have to?’ says Max, ‘You could stay for dinner. We could get a takeaway or—?’
Judy pats him on the arm.
‘I think you need some time as a family,’ she says. ‘But we’re only round the corner. You can come over anytime. That goes for Sasha too. We’re more than happy to help out and have her whenever we can, during this… uncertain time.’
‘Absolutely,’ says Mick, leaning into Sasha to pinch her cheek, only she turns and buries her head in Judy’s chest.
Judy holds her out to me and she nestles into me straightaway.
‘I’ll give you a ring in the morning, love,’ says Judy. ‘And don’t forget, Gaby said you can always call her too, if you need a doctor’s point of view.’
Max nods slowly and Judy and Mick hug us all before heading out the door.
We wave at them as they drive off and we step back into the house and close the door.
Max looks at me and my heart starts to beat faster. This feeling reminds me of the time when we were teenagers and I’d bump into him at Rach’s house, when I’d get nervous at seeing him.
‘So, um…’
‘So,’ I say, unsure what we’re supposed to do or say now. I’ve been so reliant on his family to talk him through our life; now that it’s suddenly just us, it hits me how much of a stranger I’ve become to my husband. ‘Sasha probably needs to go to bed. I guess I’ll bath her and put her down and then we can talk.’
‘Sure, OK,’ he says, smiling uneasily. ‘I’ll, um, wait in the kitchen.’
I point him in the right direction and take Sasha upstairs.
‘Come on then, poppet,’ I say, thinking how nice it must be to be oblivious like her.
An hour later, I walk into the kitchen and find Max sitting at the table, his head in his hands. I don’t want to disturb him at first, he looks like he’s deep in thought. My mind is being completely blown by what’s going on, I can only imagine what’s going on in his and how confusing everything must be for him.
He senses me and lifts his head, giving me a little smile.
‘Hey,’ I say, walking over and leaning against the worktop.
‘Hey. Is she asleep?’
‘For now. Sometimes she wakes in the night, but it’s been a busy day so hopefully not.’
‘Right,’ he says.
There’s an awkwardness in the air as neither of us know what to say.
‘Do you want a drink?’ I ask.
‘Desperately,’ says Max, and it makes me laugh.
‘Gin?’ I say, reaching up to the cupboard and pulling out his favourite rhubarb and ginger gin.
‘Can’t stand the stuff,’ he says. ‘Have we got any Jack Daniels?’
I shudder as I’ve never been able to stand the smell of JD.
‘Trust me, you drink this all the time,’ I say, opening a can of ginger beer from the fridge and pouring it over his gin. I put the rest of the can of ginger beer in a glass for myself.
I sit down opposite him and slide his drink across.
‘Mmm,’ he says,
taking a sip. ‘That’s actually pretty good. You really do know me better than I know myself.’
‘Just temporarily,’ I say. There’s another pause.
‘So, this is a bit of a head fuck, huh?’ he says eventually.
‘Such a head fuck.’
‘You and me, this house. I mean, what’s this place all about? I know that you said it was structurally sound and I’m glad that we’ve managed to be in the position of owning a house, but still…’ He looks at the mismatched kitchen units. ‘And it’s in Fleet; I never imagined I’d end up living here again.’
‘Me neither, but things changed when we had Sasha. I guess we saw things differently. And Fleet’s got a lot going for it, and it’s only fifty minutes from London.’
‘It feels like a world away, though, doesn’t it?’ he says.
‘It was voted one of the best places to live in the UK.’
He scrunches his face up. ‘But I love living in Brixton. I love everything being on my doorstep. I just feel like I’m missing something.’
‘You are. Five years’ worth of somethings.’
Out of all the years he could have forgotten, he can’t remember the most eventful years of his life: his parents splitting up; Rach coming out; him growing tired of serial dating; us meeting and marrying; having Sasha.
‘Before we got married, we moved to a slightly bigger flat in Herne Hill. It was close to Brockwell Park and the whole area has a bit more of a family feel to it. But when Sasha came along…’ I shrug. ‘I don’t know, we loved it less and less. We started to get tired of the neighbours that rolled in at two a.m. and threw parties when we’d just gone off to sleep, or when we wanted to get anywhere and it was such a nightmare taking a pram on public transport. We’d come down and visit the parents here and we’d walk around the pond, or stroll up to the high street with the pram, and it just seemed so much easier.
‘I guess we just remembered how nice it was growing up in a relatively small town and we wanted Sasha to have a similar childhood to us.’
‘But surely we could have found a house up there, or somewhere that was near the end of a tube line?’
‘I guess we could have done, but we didn’t really look. When we thought of suburbs we both thought of here.’
He blows through his teeth. ‘I never thought I’d be one of those people that moved back.’
‘Me neither,’ I say with a shrug.
We sit there in silence whilst he seems to contemplate it.
‘So, you, Spider, how did we…?’
‘Ellie, you’ve got to call me Ellie. I haven’t been Spider for a very long time.’
‘Sorry, old habits. Of course, I guess that wasn’t the nicest of nicknames.’
‘Not really.’
‘It’s just whenever I see you, I think of you and Rach and how you used to be. You were round our house so much when we were kids that I almost felt like you were my sister. I don’t understand how we went from that to this. I mean, we have a daughter who’s sleeping upstairs, so I presume we… you know, and the fact that we’ve got another one on the way means…’
‘We did it twice,’ I say. If this wasn’t so tragic it would be funny. ‘You know, I’ll let you in on a little secret: we do it quite a lot.’
His cheeks pink and then he coughs.
‘But presumably when we met up again a few years ago I did still see you as my kid sister’s friend at first?’
‘Oh yeah. When we met we were very drunk and had a quick kiss and fumble before we passed out, then the next morning you told me quite clearly that you thought of me like a sister and that we should just be friends.’
Max is nodding as if he’s thinking the exact same thing now.
‘Only the second time we met up, let’s just say you saw my boobs and pretty much gave up on thinking that I was like a sister to you.’
He looks shocked but there’s a small smile creeping over his face.
‘Well, maybe they’re the key to this whole thing,’ he says. ‘Perhaps you should give me a quick flash now and it all might snap back into place.’
It’s exactly the type of cheeky thing my Max would say and it’s so hard to reconcile that this isn’t him – or at least, not the him that I know.
He’s raising an expectant eyebrow and has a little wicked grin on his face. He’s seen me naked hundreds, if not thousands, of times before, but it feels different now.
‘It’s hard because you’re still the same Max, yet you’re completely different.’
‘I’m guessing you feel like you’ve lost a husband.’
‘I hope I haven’t,’ I say, a lump catching in my throat. ‘Perhaps more temporarily mislaid him.’
He smiles at me with pity and my heart breaks a little more.
‘I’ve just never been the long-term-relationship kind of guy. I’ve never really felt the need to settle down and move in with someone. I’m happy in my flat, hanging out with my mates and going out and…’ He shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted to hear. I’m just trying to be honest.’
I blink back a tear. It’s not like I expected him to come home and for us to magically get back to how we were, but I guess I hadn’t really considered that he wouldn’t want to try to reconnect with me.
‘Ellie,’ he starts, but there’s a soft knock on the front door.
‘I’ll get that.’ I’m relieved to be able to leave.
Max reaches out and touches my arm, causing me to stop as my whole body tingles from his touch. I wonder if he feels it too.
There’s another knock at the door and I pull myself away. I walk down the hallway wiping my glistening eyes with my sleeve.
I open the door and I’m so relieved to see Max’s best friend Owen standing there that I throw myself into a hug.
‘I’m so glad to see you,’ I say.
‘Sorry, we were in the New Forest for the weekend and the signal was crap. I only got your message about an hour ago, and when I called back you didn’t answer, so I thought we’d stop off en route home as we passed on the motorway.’
The word we startles me; it’s then that I notice the redheaded woman behind him.
‘Oh,’ I say, pulling away from him and trying to compose myself. ‘Hi, I’m Ellie.’
‘Claire,’ she says, rocking on her heels like she’s nervous.
‘So, is it true? Your message, about Max… he’s really lost his memory?’
‘Yep, last five years,’ I say, causing Owen to blink rapidly. ‘Come on in, see for yourself.’
‘I don’t understand,’ says Owen, and, as I usher them inside, I fill them in on the past twenty-four hours.
‘Mate,’ says Max, with a sigh of immense relief when we walk into the kitchen.
He walks up to him and gives him a hug and Owen’s a bit taken a back.
‘Thanks for coming.’
Owen doesn’t say anything at first; he’s too busy looking between me and Max.
‘This is real?’ he says. ‘I can’t get my head around it.’
‘None of us can,’ I say.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Max, walking up to Claire. ‘I’m sure I probably know you, but seeing as I’ve lost the last five years, I can’t remember meeting you.’
‘Actually, we’ve never met,’ she says with an awkward smile. ‘I’m Claire.’
‘Claire, nice to meet you,’ he says. ‘That’s actually good. You’re the first person I’ve met since this has all happened who I’m not supposed to know. Are you two an item or…?’
‘Yeah,’ says Owen, not elaborating.
I didn’t realise he was seeing anyone, certainly not anyone he’d go on weekends away with. I wonder why Max hasn’t mentioned it.
‘I’m having trouble with all of this. If you don’t remember the last five years, does that mean you don’t remember getting together with Ellie?’
‘Nope.’
‘Wow, you don’t remember your own wife?’ says Claire, tucking her hair behind her ears
.
I feel a bit sorry for her being thrust into this situation when it’s the first time she’s meeting us.
‘I know, it’s been quite the weekend. Hey, why don’t we all go and grab a pint? Where’s our local, would it be The Station? We can get to know Claire properly. It’ll make a change to learn all about you rather than my missing years.’
‘We can’t go out, Max. Sasha’s in bed upstairs,’ I say.
‘Oh right, yeah,’ he says. ‘I keep forgetting you have a daughter.’
‘We have a daughter,’ I say, frustrated that the new reality isn’t sinking in. ‘But look, why don’t you go for a drink?’
‘We’re not just going to leave you on your own, Ellie,’ says Owen. ‘Why don’t I put the kettle on?’
‘The kettle?’ says Max.
‘I’m driving, mate,’ says Owen.
It’s odd because there’s an edge to his voice that’s not usually there.
‘OK, well, Claire – you’ll have a beer with me, or one of these gins that I’m drinking, won’t you? I have to drink with someone and Ellie can’t because of the baby.’
Claire looks a little torn and glances at Owen, who gives her a shrug, before she smiles back at Max.
‘Sure, I’ll have a beer, thanks.’
He goes into the fridge, takes one out and pops the lid and hands it to her.
‘Right, shall we sit down in the lounge and get to know each other properly? I warn you that you might want to put your sunglasses on to sit in there,’ he says, pointing at the ones on top of her head. ‘Come on.’
Claire looks nervously over her shoulder at Owen.
‘Go, we’ll be there in just a second.’ He gives her a quick kiss on the top of her head and she smiles back at him. The show of intimacy makes my heart pang as Max would usually do something similar when he left a room.
Owen shuts the door gently behind them as they leave.
‘What the hell is going on, Ellie? He’s acting like there’s nothing wrong?’
‘I know, it’s a symptom of this type of memory loss.’
‘And it’s genuine? He’s not putting it on?’
‘Why would he?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says, letting out a deep breath.
‘He’s definitely not putting it on. His dad flew in today and they’re acting like they’re the best of friends.’
