I Found You

by Lisa Jewell

  He shakes his head, apologetically, realising the implications for Alice of his failure to remember.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ she said. ‘I’d been secretly fantasising about you waking up fully restored back to factory settings.’

  ‘Me too,’ he replies.

  ‘Clothes look nice.’ She nods at the outfit. ‘You look … very fresh.’

  He looks down upon himself. ‘Thank you. I’m so, so grateful. Honestly.’

  She shushes him and tops up their wine glasses. A peal of raucous laughter echoes down the staircase. She tuts. ‘I’m afraid we’ve been infiltrated,’ she says. ‘Kai’s off to a party later and half the town’s population of fourteen-and fifteen-year-olds is convening in his bedroom. There’s about thirty of them up there. In his ten-by-eight bedroom. Doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  ‘Al!’ Derry calls from the kitchen. ‘Something pinged!’

  ‘Sprouts,’ she says to Frank. ‘Be back in a minute. Help yourself to wine.’

  Frank stands and observes the warm flicker of the tea lights on the table for a while. He realises that they are scented in some way. He struggles for the smell. Something floral. He sees a white flower, with small blossoms. Then he notices a box on the sideboard behind him.

  Jasmine and lily.

  A huge thump reverberates through the low ceilings of the dining room, followed by screams of hilarity. A door opens and closes. ‘Christ’s sake! What the fuck are you doing in there?’ And then there are soft footsteps on the stairs. Jasmine walks into the dining room and stops when she sees him standing there.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Your mum’s in the kitchen,’ he says, wanting to stanch her awkwardness for her.

  ‘Great,’ she says, ‘thanks.’

  She’s tiny, with a head slightly too big for her body. Her black hair is twisted into a small bun over each ear and she’s wearing a fitted black mini-dress under a baggy grey cardigan that hangs down the backs of her calves.

  ‘Mum!’ he hears her complaining. ‘They’re being mental up there. Seriously. You need to stop them!’

  Frank can’t hear Alice’s response, but a moment later Alice reappears, followed by Jasmine, Romaine and Hero, and yells up the stairs: ‘Food! Food!’

  Within fifteen seconds a dozen teenagers have stampeded down the stairs, slowing gently as they pass the grown-ups, filing in and out of the kitchen with paper plates piled with sausages and mash and onion gravy. They take the plates to the sitting room and close the door behind them.

  Frank looks at Alice in surprise. ‘You fed all those children?’

  ‘Lining their stomachs. They’ll go out empty otherwise and puke up everywhere. Besides, just some cheap sausages, on special offer. No big deal. Don’t worry,’ she continues, ‘nice rib of beef for us. And vegetables.’

  ‘I’d be happy with cheap sausages.’

  ‘Yeah, so would I. But after all the crap we’ve been eating the last few days I thought it was time for something decent. More wine?’

  Derry appears holding two steaming bowls which she deposits on the table before disappearing back into the kitchen. Romaine and Jasmine pull out chairs and sit down. Hero and Sadie both settle themselves expectantly on the floor by the table, their noses twitching.

  ‘Can I do something?’

  ‘No,’ says Alice. ‘You’ve had a shock. You just sit down. Me and Derry will sort it.’

  A large piece of meat is brought to the table, a dish of buttered mashed potatoes, jars of mustard and horseradish and ketchup. A teenager appears with a pile of used paper plates and asks Alice where they should go.

  She tells him and then calls after him, ‘There’s Oreos on the side. Take a couple of packets through.’

  Alice tops up glasses with more red wine and sends Jasmine into the kitchen to get a second bottle. One of the dogs is making a low-level whining sound, like a distant car alarm.

  ‘Shut up, Hero,’ says Alice.

  Frank sees Romaine drop a piece of sausage at her feet and watches Hero pounce on it stealthily. He looks at Alice but she hasn’t seen.

  They’re talking about Alice’s parents, who have been witnessed on the webcam trying to remember the names of their children. ‘“The nice one,” my dad kept saying. “You know. Lovely girl.” And then my mum was saying, “You mean Alice?” And my dad was saying, “No, not that one. The other one. You know? What’s her name?” And my mum just shook her head and said, ‘Well, there’s two. I know that much.”’

  Derry laughs and says, ‘At least they still know they’ve got kids. That’ll go soon.’

  Frank watches and listens and wonders about his mother, the one whose arms he remembered. Is she alive? Is she well? Is she senile? Is she missing him? Is anyone missing him? He slices through the meat and puts it in his mouth.

  ‘Lovely beef, Alice,’ says Derry, looking meaningfully at Frank.

  ‘Mm,’ he says, through his mouthful. ‘It’s beautiful. So tender.’

  Alice smiles at him and touches his hand. ‘Good,’ she says. ‘I’m glad you like it.’

  There’s a small and slightly uncomfortable silence as Alice gives his hand a last squeeze before letting it go. The gesture has been observed and, in the cases of Derry and Jasmine, disapproved of.

  ‘I was wondering,’ he says. ‘It’s been four days now. Has there been anything, do you think? Anything on the news about a missing man? I mean, I seem like a decent type. It seems strange that there’s no one to miss me. Doesn’t it?’

  ‘I’ve been checking,’ says Alice. ‘National news and the local London news. There hasn’t been anything. But that doesn’t mean you haven’t been reported missing. It just means that it’s not a story. And you know, the only way we can find out if anyone’s reported you missing is to go to the police.’

  ‘I really …’ His fingers fluster with his cutlery and a prickle of discomfort runs through him. ‘I really would like to remember a bit more. For myself. Before, you know …?’

  ‘But what if you don’t?’ snaps Jasmine and everyone turns to look at her.

  ‘Jasmine …’ says Alice.

  ‘No. Really. What if you don’t remember anything and there’s, like, a whole family down south missing you and wondering where you are and feeling sick with worry? It’s not fair on them. Is it?’

  ‘I don’t think …’ he mutters. ‘I don’t know, but I don’t think there is anyone. I just don’t feel …’

  ‘There must be someone,’ says Jasmine. ‘Everyone has someone.’

  ‘Well, not necessarily,’ says Alice.

  ‘That’s not the point. It’s not the point and you know it.’

  ‘Then what is the point?’ says Alice.

  ‘The point is that “Frank” belongs somewhere. And no one seems to be making any effort to find out where it is. The point is that “Frank” doesn’t belong here. You know, if you’d found a stray dog on the beach that day you’d have done everything you could to find its owners; you’d have taken it to the vet to see if it was chipped; you’d have put posters up. You wouldn’t have just started treating it like it was your pet. Not without knowing.’

  ‘Jasmine,’ says Alice again, looking at her daughter with concern, ‘you have to trust me here. I’ve lived a long and peculiar life and I’ve known enough bad people in my life to recognise one when I see one. And trust me, Frank is one of the good guys.’ She glances at Frank, throwing him a reassuring look. ‘I just want to help him, OK? And clearly there is some mysterious reason why he ended up on our beach and if he’s not ready to confront his real life then we have to give him some time to feel ready.’

  ‘It’s nothing personal,’ Jasmine says to Frank with a flash of her heavily liquid-lined eyes. ‘Genuinely. I’m sure you’re really nice. I just …’

  Frank smiles. ‘I understand,’ he says. ‘I do. I feel …’ He looks for words that won’t make him sound ungrateful. ‘I feel bad being here. I feel bad for taking up your personal space. I feel bad for your
mum spending money on me. I feel bad for not being a real person, for making you feel uncomfortable in your own home. And I feel bad that I’m so weak and so needy. I feel … very strongly … that I’m not really like this. That the real me is nothing like this. But right now I have no gumption and guts. I’m like a … limp rag. And hopefully this will pass, this big blackout blind in my head will spring open and I’ll remember and then I’ll feel strong. And I’m hoping it will be really soon. I mean’ – he turns to Alice – ‘your mum found something today …’

  ‘I know,’ says Jasmine, ‘she told me. You fainted.’

  ‘Yeah. So, I don’t know, that could be the start of unravelling my story.’

  Jasmine nods. ‘Like I said,’ she says, her eyes downcast. ‘Nothing personal.’

  Frank exhales. He has not uttered so many words in such short succession since he lost his memory. He feels simultaneously depleted and euphoric, as though he has grown himself a new layer of muscle. ‘Thank you,’ he says.

  He notices Derry and Alice exchange a look and then Derry says, ‘By the way, after you passed out earlier, me and Alice, we kept on looking. Couldn’t find anything else about the Anthony Ross thing, but I emailed the editor, asked if maybe they had contact details for whoever wrote the piece. Or if they had any other stories.’

  Frank catches his breath and waits for the rest.

  ‘Haven’t heard back yet. But then, you know, it’s Saturday. Maybe we’ll hear something next week.’

  He exhales. Nothing new, but the potential for something new, at least. As the conversation warms up again and moves away from him he gazes down at his hands folded around his knife and fork, examines the angles and the creases, the freckles and the hairs. He wonders where these hands have been, whom they’ve touched, what they’ve done. And as this thought passes through his mind, he suddenly feels it again, the heaviness of someone against him, the feeling of hot breath against his face and his hands, these hands, tight around a throat, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing. He sees the blurry beginnings of a face, a man’s face. A thatch of black hair, dark-blue eyes bulging from a handsome face.

  Twenty-five

  1993

  ‘So,’ said Gray, ‘what happened last night?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Kirsty replied defensively.

  ‘You know my window is right over the front door, right?’

  ‘Yeah. And?’

  ‘I heard what was happening. I heard him being arsey with you.’

  ‘What do you mean, arsey?’

  ‘He got all dark and twisted when you wouldn’t kiss him. And after you went inside he kicked the wall. Really hard. Didn’t look like the date of the century.’

  She shrugged. ‘I just wasn’t really in the mood. You know.’

  ‘My point exactly. At this point in a beautiful new relationship you should be all over each other like a rash, unable to keep your hands off each other.’

  Kirsty tutted and raised her eyebrows at him. ‘What would you know?’

  ‘I know what love’s young dream is supposed to look like, I’ve seen enough movies, and it’s not you two, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Life isn’t like the movies, Gray.’

  He sighed. ‘Listen, Kirst, I’m not trying to get at you, I’m just looking out for you. This is your first boyfriend and I’m getting all kinds of bad vibes about it. About him.’

  Kirsty blinked and stared at the floor.

  ‘It’s just, you need to know that you’re allowed to say no. There’s no law that says you have to go out with someone just because they asked you. He’s a big grown-up guy, he can cope with rejection. He’ll get over it. And he’s going to be coming over here any minute now trying to persuade you to spend the day with him and you need to decide now what you’re going to say to him.’

  ‘I know,’ she hissed and Gray knew he’d hit the mark.

  ‘So?’

  ‘Can you tell him?’ she said. And there she was again, the baby sister coming to him with a scraped knee. ‘Can you tell him I’m ill?’

  Gray held back a victorious smile. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I can do that.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t like him. I do. It’s just …’

  ‘You’re not ready.’

  She looked at him first crossly and then softly. ‘Kind of. I guess. I mean, he’s maybe a bit old for me. And he’s really intense. About everything. And maybe I should be with someone who’s a bit more fun.’

  ‘I concur. Wholeheartedly.’

  ‘But it’s just that he’s so good-looking. I keep thinking about my friends. How jealous they’d be if they saw us together.’

  ‘So, not shallow or anything then?’

  She frowned and then smiled. ‘I know. And it’s not like they’d ever see us together anyway.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I can’t quite envisage Mark pitching up in Croydon somehow.’

  As Gray spoke they both became aware of a movement behind them, a shadow across the low window that overlooked the street. Kirsty gasped and clamped her hand over her heart. It was Mark, hands cupped against the glass, peering in at them. He smiled grimly as his eye caught Gray’s.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Gray muttered. He turned to Kirsty but she had slipped, fast as light, under the table and was crouching on the floor at his feet.

  ‘Tell him I’m sick,’ she hissed.

  ‘But he’s seen you.’

  ‘He might not have.’

  ‘Of course he has!’

  ‘Just go and tell him. Please.’

  Gray sighed and pushed back his chair.

  Mark stood at the door in jeans and a baseball cap. The baseball cap looked like a rushed afterthought, something he’d thrown on at the last minute because maybe his hair hadn’t looked plastic enough. ‘Yo.’

  ‘Er, yo.’

  ‘Can I have a word with your sister?’

  ‘She’s not well.’

  ‘But she’s …’ He pointed behind Gray at the dining room to the right.

  ‘She went back to bed.’

  ‘Oh, come on …’

  ‘I don’t know what you want me to say. She was sick. She went back to bed.’

  ‘Do you really expect me to believe that?’

  ‘Yes. I really do.’

  There was a dark silence, a few seconds long.

  ‘She was fine last night.’

  ‘Yes, well, maybe she ate something that didn’t agree with her.’

  Mark rolled his eyes and started to push his way past Gray and into the house.

  Gray pressed his hands into Mark’s chest. ‘Er, I don’t think so.’

  ‘I just want to see her,’ Mark said, his voice reedy with annoyance.

  ‘She doesn’t want to see you.’

  ‘How do you know? Did you ask her?’

  ‘Yes. I asked her. She said, “I don’t want to see him.”’

  ‘I don’t believe you. Kirsty! Kirsty!’ He began pushing himself against Gray’s body again.

  Tony appeared on the bottom step then, wrapped up in a towelling dressing gown, his hair wet from the shower. ‘Morning, Mark,’ he said genially. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘I was hoping to see Kirsty,’ Mark said. ‘Your son seems to think she’s ill.’

  Gray threw his father a warning glance.

  ‘Oh,’ said Tony, clearly lying, but Gray didn’t care. ‘Yeah. Bit of a sore throat.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Mark. ‘Two minutes ago it was that she’d been sick. For God’s sake. I’m not an idiot.’

  ‘Listen, Mark,’ said Gray, ‘it doesn’t matter if Kirsty’s ill or not. The fact of the matter is that she doesn’t want to see you. OK?’

  Mark fell back a step, snatched the baseball cap from his head and rubbed his hair back into place. ‘Whatever,’ he hissed, the cap twisted inside his hands. ‘Seriously. Whatever.’ He backed away another step before taking one more forwards and saying, ‘Tell her I called. Tell her I’ll be waiting for her at my aunt’s. When she’s fee
ling better.’

  ‘We certainly will,’ said Tony, still upbeat. ‘Sorry for the wasted journey.’

  Mark gave both of them a furious look before pulling the cap back over his hair and striding away from them, muttering loudly under his breath.

  Gray and his dad looked at each other.

  ‘See?’ said Gray. ‘Do you see now?’

  Tony shook his head disbelievingly. ‘What a total dickhead.’

  Kirsty appeared from her hiding place under the dining table and then their mum poked her head down the stairs. ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Gray, ‘just Mark not being able to take no for an answer. He’s gone now.’

  The four of them stood together for a moment, gathered around the front door, the backdraught of Mark and his strange anger holding them together like fence posts.

  Twenty-six

  Lily puts on all the lights, even the ones beneath the extractor hood in the kitchen. She cannot bear the darkness for another moment. She switches on the television, finds a movie with a dog in it and then she makes herself eat something. It’s nearly ten o’clock and she hasn’t eaten since her breakfast with Russ. The bread in the breadbin is green so she microwaves herself a packet of basmati rice and eats it with butter. She watches the movie about the dog for a little while, but the couple in it make her feel sad so she turns over and finds a loud dating show instead. Then she pours herself a glass of wine and readies herself for the thing she has known she must do since she was told that her husband didn’t exist. She arranges Carl’s mail into a neat pile and stares at it for a moment. Then she picks up the first letter and she opens it.

  Junk mail from an estate agent.

  The second letter is a statement for his current account. She skims it, fast. Everything is recognisable to her. Payments for meals in Kiev, for the hotel where they’d spent their wedding night, then drinks in Bali, airport shopping, the off licence by the station, Marks & Spencer, the railway company, the dry cleaner’s, the pub in the country where they’d had their lunch last weekend. Then more bits and bobs of local spending, ending with a contactless payment of £2.20 to a coffee shop in Victoria in Tuesday afternoon. Then nothing. No more spending. A flat line and a beep.