by John Moralee
She was dressed and ready to go to school when the rest of her family got up. On mornings with good weather, she often walked the two miles to her school, but she was in no mood for a soaking. The weather seemed to be turning worse – now the black clouds were overhead. Her mum was getting Keeley ready to take to the primary school, which was in the opposite direction from Saffron’s school. She couldn’t ask her for a lift, but there was another alternative.
“Dad, can I get a lift this morning?”
“Yeah, us too,” her older brother Shane added for himself and Gordon. They both went to the same school as Saffron – Shane was supposedly doing his end-of-school exams this year - though she rarely saw her brothers at school. They had turned truancy into an art form.
“Whatever. Just be ready when I’m ready,” their dad grumbled while brushing his teeth over the kitchen sink. Henry Hardcastle was a car mechanic at a garage on the other side of Hobley. The garage wasn’t far from her school, not in a car.
Knowing it would be another ten minutes before her dad changed out of his pyjamas into his clean overalls, she went back up to the attic to check her messages.
There were no new messages from Ryan.
“Saffron! Are you coming or not?”
“Yes, Dad!” she shouted down.
She and her older brothers got into their dad’s car. Before they had strapped themselves in, he was accelerating out of their street like he wanted to break warp factor ten. Saffron hated her dad’s driving. He thought the brake was to be used only in emergencies. He thought traffic lights were there just as a suggestion. She held on for her life every time they turned a corner.
Ten minutes later, the car screeched to a halt outside the school gates. Hard rain spider-webbed down the windscreen, making the school almost invisible. Hobley had been a mining town when there was coal in the hills, but that had been mined out forty years before she was born. Her school stood on the site of the old colliery, which some people said was dangerous because the whole building could collapse one day. She’d had no such luck so far. The ugly concrete building had been built in the 1970s on a design similar to a giant breeze-block.
“Go on, get out!” her dad said. “Learn something useful, you lot.”
The three of them stepped out into the driving rain just before her dad careered off.
Despite the rain, her brothers rushed off to join in a game of football on the pitted concrete playground. Saffron could see Ryan was already playing. Most of the players were fifteen or sixteen, like Shane and Gordon, and much larger than Ryan, but he wasn’t stopped from taking part by the older boys because his skills had given him a well-deserved reputation. Whichever team picked him had an instant advantage.
Saffron wasn’t a football fan, but she admired Ryan’s talent. She hoped one day he’d fulfil his dream of playing professionally like his dad. She remembered how his death had hurt Ryan so much because there had been nothing, nothing he could do.
She wanted to talk to him, but now wasn’t the right time.
They could talk later.
Feeling the cold rain spitting in her face, she hurried into the school, where it was dry and warm. The corridors smelt of disinfectant. Her friends Sunita and Daniella were in their classroom, eager to tell her about a party on Saturday at a friend of a friend’s house. She sat down with them at her window seat and faked interest in the party, secretly watching Ryan playing outside until the bell started the day.
Ryan was drenched when he showed up for registration period, but he looked happy. He wasn’t smiling in that fake way today. He was with some of his classmates, Joshua and Steve, laughing and joking. They sat in the middle where they usually did.
She was going to leave her seat to talk to him just as their teacher arrived carrying the registration book. Her name was Miss Kadinski. She was an overweight woman in her fifties shaped like a Russian doll. She had been born in the Ukraine when it was part of the USSR, but had come to England after the Cold War ended to teach History. In her classes, she often mentioned the end of communism as though she missed it. She never smiled or showed any sign of actually liking children.
Saffron suspected her of being an ex-member of the KGB.
“Everyone sit down and be quiet!” she yelled.
Maybe she was still in it.
The class obeyed.
Miss Kadinski stood behind her desk, looking at the door for stragglers. She ordered the last student Adrian Jones to close the door. “Okay, time for register. I read out name, you say ‘here’. You not here, I very mad.”
She began reading out names in alphabetical order.
“Addison?” she said.
“Here.”
“Ali?”
“Here.”
“Armstrong?”
Armstrong was the class bully, a big thug who lurked at the back so he could throw things at the heads of others. His stomach bulged like her dad’s beer belly because he stole the lunches from other students. He never learnt anything in school, which made Saffron wonder why he bothered showing up. His only goal in life seemed to be to make other students miserable. He was an expert at it. He was flicking saliva-soaked balls of paper at the small black boy in front of him, who looked too frightened to complain. Armstrong wasn’t prejudiced: he hated everyone. To make his mates laugh, he burped the word “here” very loudly.
Miss Kadinski didn’t look amused. “What was that?”
“Sorry, Miss,” he said, though he clearly didn’t mean it. “Had a curry last night. A real toilet-buster.”
His buddies grinned, but the rest of the class looked revolted. It was no doubt the reaction he was looking for. Armstrong considered himself the class clown – if the class clown was Steven King’s It.
“Barnes?” the teacher said.
“Here.”
“Brewster?”
“Here,” Ryan answered.
The teacher ticked his name off her register. She continued reading out names. Saffron was watching Ryan with acute attention. His expression seemed to be normal – he wasn’t smiling oddly like in the car - though she couldn’t be sure without talking to him herself – something she was reluctant to do in case he was the same as yesterday.
She tried approaching him after registration, but he slipped out into the corridor ahead of her. He was gone before she reached the exit. Was he avoiding her?
Her next opportunity wasn’t until lunch. She caught up with him on his way to the cafeteria. “Ryan?”
He was with his friends, but he said, “See you later,” to them and stepped out of the mass of students hurrying to lunch. A smile blossomed on his face – a genuine one, as far as she could tell. She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the nearest empty classroom. She closed the door.
“We have to talk,” she said.
“What’s up?” he said.
“First, did you get my email?”
“Your email?” He shook his head. “No. I didn’t check my computer – why?”
“About yesterday,” she said. “What happened?”
“When?” he said. He looked puzzled.
“When?” she said. “Yesterday.”
He still looked puzzled.
“After school,” she added. “In the house. What happened?”
“Oh, then?” he said. “Nothing much. I watched that Matt Damon action movie. You should come around and see it.”
“I’m not talking about what happened at your house,” she said. “The house on Willow Lane.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Saff. What house?”
“The house! You went in like yourself, but when you came out of you were really weird. And so was Rachel. What did Lucas Ravencroft do to you?”
Ryan looked like he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. “Who’s Lucas Ravencroft?”
“Don’t joke around,” she said. “You remember Lucas Ravencroft. You met him after you lost your football.”
“Saff, I don’t kno
w what on earth you are talking about. I don’t know anyone called Lucas Ravencroft. I didn’t lose my football. I know exactly where it is. It’s in the corner of my room where I saw it this morning.”
“Yes – because you got it back.”
“This conversation is making no sense, Saff.”
“What about the girl?”
“What girl?”
“The one I saw at the window. Dark hair? You do remember her? Mona Lisa?”
His face registered no recognition. “Saff, none of that happened. You must have dreamt it. Don’t you remember we were studying the Mona Lisa in an art class a couple of weeks ago?”
She did remember that ... but she hadn’t been dreaming. “Yes, but –”
“It sounds like you had a really convincing dream,” he interrupted, in a reasonable, rational tone. “That’s all. A dream.”
“No, no. It was real. I can prove it.”
“Prove it how?”
“Rachel’s phone.”
“What about it?”
“It’s broken, isn’t it?”
Ryan frowned suspiciously. “Yes – she discovered it was broken when we were eating breakfast this morning. She doesn’t know how it got like that. Did you break it by accident?”
“No, I didn’t break it. He did.”
“This Ravencroft guy?”
“Yes!”
“Why would this guy I’ve never heard of do that?”
“I don’t know the reason – I didn’t go inside his house, like you did. You and Rachel went in looking for the girl. Don’t you remember?”
He shook his head, looking bemused. “I’m sorry, but that never happened. You’ve just imagined it.”
She slapped him.
(It worked in the movies.)
It didn’t work now.
“Ow!” he said, touching his reddened cheek. “Why’d you do that?”
She slapped him again.
“Stop it!” he said.
“Don’t you see? He’s given you some kind of brainwashing. Try to remember, please! It’s really important, Ryan! Remember!” She grabbed his shoulders and started shaking him harder and harder. “Remember, remember, remember!”
Tears of frustration pinpricked her eyes.
He pulled away. “Quit doing that! Are you on drugs?”
“I’m not on drugs,” she said through gritted teeth. “It really happened. Why won’t you believe me? Have I lied to you before?”
“No,” he admitted. “I believe you believe it. But, Saff, I swear to you, it didn’t happen.”
“That’s because he wiped your memory. He must have used hypnotism or some kind of powerful drug. He’s controlled your mind.”
She knew she sounded like a character in a cheesy science fiction film.
“Yeah, right.” Shaking his head like she was the crazy one, he opened the classroom door. “Keep away from me until you’re feeling better, okay?”
*
During Mr Patel’s science lesson, Saffron spent most of the afternoon staring out of the windows at the rain dancing on the playground. Her lab partner Sunita had to do their electricity experiments practically all by herself because Saffron was so distracted. She was wondering how she could unlock Ryan’s memories, though a part of her also wondered if she should even try. A selfish part of her didn’t want Ryan to remember the other girl. She had felt jealous when he called her beautiful.
For some time, Saffron had been in love with him, but she had never told anyone. Ryan didn’t know. Couldn’t know. They had been best friends for so long she could not bear the thought of destroying their friendship by telling him the truth in case he didn’t feel the same way. She had fallen in love during the months they’d spent together when his dad was dying. Each day she wanted him to tell him how she felt, but something stopped her from revealing her secret. Unknown to Ryan, she had felt a thrill when he’d called her as cute as a button, even though his mother had put the words into his mouth. The compliment had filled her body with a warm feeling from head to toe. She had just wished he had said it voluntarily.
How did he honestly feel about her?
Did he love her?
Or did he just think of her as his friend?
She wished she knew he answer.
What if she helped him get his memory back, then he fell in love with that other girl?
Right now, she had a better chance of making him fall in love with her.
Why bother helping him remember “Mona Lisa”?
After all, the girl wasn’t her problem.
(But the girl had been crying ...)
She hated herself for being jealous.
My best friend needs my help, she thought. I have to try to get his memory back, regardless of what happens.
(Even if he falls in love with her?)
“Even if,” she said.
“What?” Sunita said.
“Nothing,” she said.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Sunita observed. “Is there something outside you’re looking at that’s more interesting than this experiment?”
“No,” she said.
“Good,” Sunita said. “Maybe you’d like to help me fix up this thingy to the other thingy?”
“Sorry,” she said. She turned away from the window and saw the mess Sunita had made on their desk. Sunita wasn’t good at science. She needed her help. “What can I do?” she asked.
*
At three-fifteen when Mr Patel asked for their homework assignments to be handed in, Saffron realised she had forgotten to do hers. She felt guilty when she sneaked out the door without putting an assignment on the pile on his desk. It was the first time she’d not completed her science homework. Science was one of her favourite subjects. Mr Patel was always saying she had a scientific mind, telling her she’d be a good scientist. She felt like she had let him down personally as she rushed after Ryan as he headed outside.
“Ryan! Wait for me!”
The rain had turned into a light, sporadic drizzle by the end of school. He heard her and stopped at the school gates. He looked at her warily.
“Hey! I’m sorry about earlier,” she said. “I must’ve been freaking out or something. Didn’t get much sleep last night. You know my family.”
He seemed to accept her explanation with good grace. “Forget about it.”
Said the amnesiac, she thought.
“Thanks,” she said out loud.
“Just don’t slap me again, okay?”
“Okay,” she said. “No slaps.”
Hobley was a miserable town at the best of times, but in poor weather the streets were duller and greyer than normal. Ryan suggested waiting for a bus, but she shook her head. The bus didn’t travel on Willow Lane. “It’ll be ages. Let’s walk it, save some money.”
They walked down the high street, passing the shops, eventually reaching the corner of Willow Lane. Until yesterday, they had turned up that street because it was the shortest route to their estate. But not this time. When Ryan reached the corner, he hesitated for a second, then chose to continue along the high street. They never walked that way. Saffron didn’t want to go the usual way, but she suspected that if he could not remember anything at all, he would have gone their ordinary route.
“Where are you going?” she asked him.
He looked as her as if the answer was obvious. “Home, of course.”
“That way?”
“Yes,” he said.
“This is the shortest way,” she reminded him.
“I know but ... I don’t want to go that way.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“It’s just a feeling,” he said. “I don’t like that street.”
“Why?” she persisted.
He shrugged.
“Come my way,” he said.
“Don’t be silly – you come this way. It’s shorter by half a mile.”
“No,” he said firmly. “
I can’t go that way.” He began rubbing the back of his neck like it was itchy. “This way is better.”
She grabbed his hand. “Just come with me, okay? You’re not scared, are you?”
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” he said.
“Good,” she said. “Then you’ll come my way?”
“Fine,” he said. “But I don’t need you to hold my hand like I’m a baby.”
Angrily, he pulled his hand free.
They walked in silence up Willow Lane until the house came in sight near the top of the hill. Ryan stopped. Sweat appeared on his forehead. He looked around – at anything except the house.
“Let’s go the other way,” he said.
“Do you remember that house?”
“What house?”
“That one,” she said, pointing. “Look at it!”
He glanced at the house, shaking his head. “No, no, I don’t.”
She didn’t believe him. He did remember something at some level of consciousness. Hoping to re-awaken his memory, she grabbed his hand and pulled him along the street.
“Hey! What are you doing? You’re not freaking out again, are you?”
“This is Ravencroft’s house,” she said. “The man who brainwashed you. Don’t you remember, now?”
“You’re mad!” he said. “I’m going home!”
“Ryan –”
“I’m not listening to you!” he cried out.
She dragged him towards the gates, refusing to leave go. The closer they got to the gates, the more Ryan resisted. Finally, with a furious jerk, he loosened her grip on him. But he was now standing in front of the gates.
He froze. His eyes were riveted on the house. His breathing grew laboured, then speeded up until he was hyperventilating. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. His nose began to bleed. It ran down his chin and splashed on the pavement, drip, drip, drip.
“Ryan?” she said gently. “Are you all right?”
He paled to a sickly green. He shook his head, no. His hands went up to his mouth and nose, and he staggered away from the gates. He ran around the corner like a drunken man. Saffron went after him. He had not gone far before he slowed down. He stopped suddenly and bent over at the waist. A heartbeat later, he was violently sick against the high wall.
