Latent Memories

by Charlotte Mills

  Latent Memories

  By Charlotte Mills

  Latent Memories

  First Edition copyright 2016 Charlotte Mills

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without the written permission from the author. The characters, incidents and dialogue herein are fictional and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Editor: Hayley Sherman

  Cover Design: MP Designs

  Titles by the same Author

  Unlikely Places (2014)

  Journey to you (2015)

  Out of the Blue (2016)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 1

  Parking up in front of Bell’s Letting Agents, I gave Murphy a quick ear rub before remembering I had to be firm with her when I’m about to leave her alone in the van. I managed to wipe the smile off my face in favour of a nonchalant look; not easy when you’re faced with the cutest ten-month-old, black Labrador puppy in the world. Ashill-on-Sea looked pretty quiet for a Saturday in spring, with only a couple of shoppers in the distance along the high street. Very different from my home of central Manchester, from which I had just temporarily moved.

  The letting agent’s office had half of a large bell fixed to the shop front. Walking inside, I smiled as I saw the other half attached to the back wall. I wondered if it were one of those team work things; every time you got a sale you rang the bell to boost the productivity of your colleagues. The agency was empty apart from a mature woman behind a corner desk. I nervously introduced myself.

  “Hi, I’m Robin Carson. I’m here to pay the rent and pick up some keys.”

  Before I had finished my introduction, the woman was swift with the paperwork quickly to hand. I surreptitiously checked the time on my watch, almost 2.00 p.m. Maybe she’d drawn the short straw having to wait until I’d been before she could lock up for the day. In only a few minutes, the paperwork was all signed and payment made. She provided me with a copy, along with the keys to my new abode.

  Returning to the rental van, I keyed our final location into the sat-nav while trying to avoid the foray of movement next to me. Selecting the address from the screen, it worried me how much I had come to rely on it since my accident. Previously, I’d have glanced at an A to Z or google map, then set off and hoped for the best. Now, after my near-fatal car accident, I needed the security of knowing I would get there efficiently. It meant I could shut down the part of my brain that became flustered about whether I’d get there at all. I knew it wasn’t logical, considering how independent I used to be, but none of it was. It felt like someone had planted Japanese Knotweed in my brain. Twelve days in a coma with intracranial haemorrhaging had allowed it to grow unabated, paralysing parts of my brain, rendering them useless for the most part, or so it felt at times. It had been sixteen months since the accident that had changed the direction of my life.

  Meandering through residential streets, I double checked the sat-nav as I pulled up in front of the bungalow that would be our home for the next six months. I had managed to rent out my flat in Manchester, which, due to its central location, would more than cover the rent for this place until I had decided what I wanted to do after the six months were up. The bungalow looked smart on the outside, much like the pictures I had seen online. I just hoped the inside was the same. Spotting the driveway, I reversed into it, giving me a shorter distance to unload my worldly possessions.

  “A new place, a new start,” I said to myself again as I looked at my accomplice on the seat next to me. Two bright, shiny eyes were staring back at me. They had a slight wobble to them, telling me her tail was wagging wildly. It had been my mantra for the last two weeks after I had accepted the new part-time, seasonal gardening job in Ashill-on-Sea, on the Suffolk coast. Since my failed attempt to return to my old job, I had decided I needed to do something a little less cerebral and a bit more practical. After mulling over various options, I decided to fall back on my practical, hands-on skills that didn’t need to be discussed in endless meetings, tendered for or even mocked-up with amazing graphics programmes.

  During my six months in the rehab centre, I had spent long hours working in the grounds. At first it was difficult as I struggled to regain the delicate control and dexterity of my limbs. It had been a big part of my recovery, assisting in the re-building of my confidence. Another was Murphy, my four-legged friend; she had needed a routine, which had also given me one. Regular walks had strengthened my muscles and helped me reconnect with the world.

  “I know, I know. Here at last.” I turned to look at Murphy. “I promise we’ll go on a nice long walk as soon as we’ve unpacked the van. Okay?”

  Her winey growl in reply told me the last leg of our journey, after an overnight stay in Cambridge, was possibly a step too far for one little puppy. I watched her pace around in the seat of the rental van. I had totally written off my Roadster during my accident. Thankfully it had been replaced and was being transported down here ready for when I started work next week.

  Grabbing the keys, I opened both windows slightly before opening my door. The cool March air made me tug down the sleeves of my top as I unlocked the front door located at the side of the building, spying the sizable back garden in the process. The bungalow was spacious for the two of us, although it wouldn’t have been my first choice for accommodation, but I hadn’t realised how difficult it would be finding somewhere that accepted dogs.

  I couldn’t resist looking at the two-bedroomed bungalow with a developer’s eye; a wall moved here and there would give more open-planned living, extend into the loft like one of the neighbours, keep the garden intact, maybe add some patio doors and decking. I mentally rolled my eyes at myself; one too many daytime TV, house improvement programmes during my recuperation and unemployment. I shut the door on those ideas and began to concentrate on the fact that it was clean and tidy. Not that that would prevent me from putting on my OCD hat and scrubbing the place to within an inch of its life. It’s always preferable to be surrounded by your own dirt rather than someone else’s. I knew that from spending too much time in hotel rooms for work. I always refused the maid’s service in favour of breaking in the room just the way I liked it.

  After dropping off all the boxes and bags in the front room, I dug out the map I’d purchased of the local area. Finding my location, I looked for the quickest route to the beach while Murphy whined as she paced around my feet. Unable to cope with the noise any longer, I folded the map and grabbed a number of poo bags, shoving them both in my pocket. Slipping Murphy’s lead on, we went off in the direction of what I hoped was the beach.

  As we walked, I pondered my situation. I still couldn’t really explain why I had come here; there was something in the back of my mind, something that I couldn’t quite get hold of. Both my parents and James had questioned my choice of job and location, both concerned I was walking away from my support network. I felt bad, but that was part of the problem; I had recovered as much as I was going to. My parents, more pointedly I felt, were preventing me from getting on with my life. This was my opportunity for a fresh start or at lea
st that’s what I told them. I couldn’t tell them that I somehow knew this place, even though I couldn’t actually remember ever being here before. It was something to do with the blonde from my dreams. I knew it, but I just couldn’t explain it. The dreams had continued since my time in rehab, almost like movies playing in my head. Sometimes they were playful, other times they were more intimate, just flashes of situations. They seemed so real, yet I had no recollection of them actually happening. I still couldn’t place her in any facet of my life. I had even asked James if he recognised her during one of his visits. His reply was short and sweet, dismissing it as one of my amorous flings. The dreams were persistent, haunting me, leaving me with more questions than answers each time.

  My therapist had told me on a number of occasions that I may never recover my memories prior to the accident, although a previous doctor had told me he expected me to fully recover my memories at some point if I opened myself up to remembering. The truth is nobody knows, but getting myself back into a daily routine could go some way to helping it to happen. Thanks to Murphy, I had a reason to get out and about, but that still left me with a lot of time on my hands. I wasn’t used to sitting about all day. I had worked pretty much solidly since leaving university, more so since starting the Eco-Scape business with James.

  As I thought about James, I recalled our conversation when I had told him about this job and where it was. He seemed surprised at the distance, no doubt worried I wouldn’t be on hand for any business he wanted me to be involved in. There were of course a number of landscaping or gardening jobs available all over the country, but as soon as I saw the name Ashill-on-Sea, I knew it was where I had to go. Although in many ways I was over qualified for the position, I managed to rope James into helping me with the application. We were, after all, still business partners, even if I wasn’t currently working there. After seeing my continued struggle to acclimatise back into work, he understood my need to try something else at least for now. At least this way I wouldn’t be surrounded by people expecting me to work at the same level I had before my accident.

  James performed his usual application magic, making me sound capable of all the basic requirements, offering them additional skills in light surveying and arboriculture, which they may find helpful in the future. Whatever he wrote, it worked; the interview was a breeze. I was the only female to be interviewed, as far as I could see on the day; maybe they had a quota to fill. I didn’t care. I was here, with a few days to settle in before joining the working population once more.

  We walked along residential streets until we found the cut through to the beach. I was excited to see Murphy’s reaction to the sea. She had never been to the beach before. Following a well-trodden path through the low dunes, we came face-to-face with the sea. It must have been on its way out. I made a mental note to get the tidal information tomorrow as I planned to spend quite a lot of time here. Murphy was chomping at the bit as I stood there taking in our surroundings.

  Letting her off the lead, she bolted towards the sea, rushing into the water so it just covered her paws. She ran back out as the next wave came towards her. I laughed at her, much to her annoyance from the look she gave me.

  “Okay, okay.” I figured she needed some back-up. Bending down, I slipped off my trainers and socks, leaving them in a pile on the hard sand along with her lead, before rolling up my jeans. “It better not be too cold or you’re on your own,” I said to her rear end as she led me into the North Sea. I wasn’t hopeful and even the sand felt chilly on my feet as I headed towards the shallow, lapping sea. Murphy seemed to take some courage at my presence as she bravely walked in alongside me, stopping as the water covered the first two inches of her legs. I ploughed on with gritted teeth at the freezing numbness emanating from my feet and lower legs, stopping when the water lapped just below my knees. I turned back at Murphy as she nervously edged towards me until she saw another wave coming her way.

  “Come on, silly sausage.”

  Her response was to run in towards me, only to backpedal and bark at the next oncoming wave. Her bark, which was quite deep for a dog her size, had sparked the interest of several onlookers now as they passed by.

  “Come on, you. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

  I rounded her up and attached her lead, then rolled down my jeans replacing my shoes and socks on my now frozen feet, we headed back to the bungalow.

  Chapter 2

  After dropping off the hire van, I spent the next few days settling into our new abode and familiarising myself with the area, working out where the local amenities were. I was used to living in a city with a mini supermarket on every corner; it took me a while to figure out where the best places were located.

  The first thing I unpacked was my weekly planner. It was large, almost the width of the fridge-freezer. Each day had a box large enough to write several reminders or appointments. In the beginning, it gave me comfort to be able to read it from a distance away, which I frequently did at my flat in Manchester. I could glance at it and see my week planned out. Previously, I had kept a detailed appointments diary, but I had also relied on my memory. The accident had put pay to that certainly in the early days when I became easily confused over what I was doing each day. The planner had become more of a backup or security blanket now, not always necessary, but it felt good to know it was there if I needed it. The weekly planner, along with list-making, was a suggestion from my neurologist. He said it would help to organise my brain. I was already an avid list-maker, purely for the thrill of crossing things off, only now, instead of clients to email and contracts to finalise, the lists were a little more mundane and functional, telling me to get shopping or put the washing on.

  In an effort to establish a routine for myself and Murphy that I could stick to when I started work next week, I blocked out my expected workdays of Tuesday to Thursday on the weekly planner. This had the potential to change as work dictated, but at this point I just needed to create a schedule. After leaving rehab, I had found myself with a lot of free time. Not wanting to undo all the hard work I had put in during physio, I began improving my fitness levels with light jogging, at first a couple of times a week. I now regularly ran up to ten kilometres two or three times a week, something I hadn’t had the time or energy to do since university. I filled in Monday, Wednesday and Friday as potential days for a run.

  Fishing out the paperwork containing my new work address, I plotted it on the large local map I had pinned to the wall in the spare room. I had already marked out the nearest shops and routes to the beach and local parks. I needed to be able to visualise the area to prevent confusion. I had already planned to drive by my new work place a couple of times to ensure I was confident of the journey time from home.

  While the rest of the rooms in the bungalow were more sedately decorated, the bathroom was painted an unsavoury shade of hot pink, possibly a last ditch attempt at self-expression by the last occupier. Luckily, the tiles and suite were white, so I purchased some white paint and set about taming the room. I was used to the starkness of the white after living in my flat in Manchester, which was largely uncoloured throughout. I liked the clarity it brought.

  Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I almost jumped. I still struggled to recognise myself with short hair. I constantly worried it was too short at three or four inches long. I hadn’t had short hair since I was a small child, but wearing my hair up irritated my scars from the accident, leaving me with little choice.

  I looked no different from before the accident, so naturally most people thought I would be exactly the same person. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. I struggled with many aspects of the job I had happily juggled easily before. My colleagues were almost apologetic for my behaviour, which just made it worse. The more frustrated I got, the more I knew I had to leave, get away and start something new without the constant looks of pity. The shorter hair gave me a new look, a signpost to others that I was different, I’d changed, and not just on the inside.

&nb
sp; By the third day, most of the unpacking and decorating was completed. I decided to take the day off and spend a few hours beach-combing with Murphy. Dressed in my workout gear, I planned to go running and do some much-needed training before Murphy totally lost her ability to respond to me. Once on the beach, she did her customary battle with the waves as they broke along the shoreline.

  Checking my watch, I could see we’d jogged for almost forty minutes. Slowing to a standstill to catch my breath, Murphy returned to my vicinity to circle me. Pulling out a bag of treats, I began with some basic obedience, getting her to sit and stay while I walked away before calling her back to me. After about ten minutes, we’d obviously reached the end of her attention span as she ran off as soon as my back was turned. I watched in frustration as she darted off to the high-tide line, struggling to grab a large piece of driftwood in her mouth. I watched in horror as she dragged it behind her, cutting off the path of the unsuspecting jogger that appeared in front of her. The shock made Murphy as giddy as a kipper as she danced around the jogger’s feet. No matter how much I yelled, my voice was swallowed up by the wind. I imagined someone further down the beach receiving a tongue-lashing that wasn’t meant for them at all. I walked towards them at pace in an effort to get control of the situation. As I got closer, I could see the dark-haired woman was smiling as she attempted to pet a still-bucking bronco. Murphy still had the puppy exuberance, thinking that everyone wanted to meet her, and no comprehension that some people are just not dog friendly.

  “I’m really sorry … She’s not quite got the hang of training yet,” I said apologetically.

  “No problem. I was running out of steam anyway.”

  I could hear the breathlessness in her voice as she spoke.

  “Not much of a swimmer yet, then?” she said as I watched her still trying to pet Murphy.