by Lana Newton
With reverence Claire held up the photograph to the light. Her 15-year-old self was wearing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and her hair was a shade lighter, a touch longer and curlier. But it wasn’t herself she wanted to see. As she looked at her mother’s face, once again her eyes filled with tears. It was like looking at herself, only two decades older. Her mother had the same slim build, the same light hair pulled back into a bun. She radiated joy, while the Eiffel Tower was a misty silhouette behind her. Claire wondered if the joy was genuine. Didn’t everyone look happy when posing in front of the Parisian icon? Her father didn’t. He seemed gloomy, as if Champ de Mars in autumn was the last place he wanted to be.
‘Your mother loves her shopping, especially in Paris. And you love the museums. Every day it was a battle between the two of you, trying to decide where to go and what to do. I never took sides. No matter where we went, I’d get bored and complain. You called me a grumpy old man. You’d ask why I bothered to go away in the first place. I’d tell you it’s because I wanted to be with you. And you’d say, “but if you want to be with us, does it matter where we are? So quit your complaining and enjoy the three-hour shopping spree or the five-hour tour of the Louvre.”’
‘We look like a happy family.’ And they did. They looked like they wouldn’t be out of place on a Hallmark card.
‘We are. I’ve always made sure of it.’
Claire felt her heart soar. Yes, she didn’t remember the people in the photograph. She knew nothing about their relationship with one another, their life together, their hopes and dreams. But she had a family. She was a part of something bigger than herself. There was meaning to her life, even if she didn’t know what it was.
‘You can keep the photo if you like,’ said Tony.
‘Are you sure? What about you?’
‘I have it in here.’ He pointed at his heart.
Affectionately Claire squeezed Tony’s hands and stood up. ‘I wish I could stay longer.’ She realised how much she meant it. ‘But Paul needs to get back to work.’ She hugged him goodbye and added, ‘I know you’re putting your brave face on for me. You don’t want to upset me. But I need to know. How do you really feel?’
He was silent for a while. She couldn’t see his eyes. He was hiding them from her. When he finally looked up, she saw the truth. She saw sadness and pain as if something inside him was broken. Tony had a smile on his face but it wasn’t a happy smile. It broke Claire’s heart. ‘I feel like I’m living my worst nightmare. If only I could stay asleep forever,’ he murmured.
‘I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m sorry you feel this way.’
‘Don’t be. God has a plan for all of us. We all go through dark times. Every once in a while, we find ourselves standing over an abyss. The darkness is mesmerising. It pulls us in. Some people will want to jump. Others will find the strength to move away from the edge.’
‘Do you want to jump?’ she asked in a tiny voice.
‘Only time will tell.’ As she was about to walk through the door, he added, ‘Next time you visit, bring me something to read.’
‘Of course. I’ll see you later, Dad.’ I love you, she wanted to add but didn’t dare. It seemed to her that she had only met him for the first time today. And yet in her heart she felt like she had known him her whole life. If only she could remember. As she looked at him in silence, she felt so sad, but also warm inside. She was no longer a raft adrift in the ocean, a blank slate of a life with no past, no present and no future. She had her father. She was loved. She belonged.
* * *
Claire stepped outside her father’s room and into the waiting area, nauseous and dizzy, as if she was not on firm ground but on a ship swaying on stormy seas. When she looked up, she saw two police officers walking down the corridor towards her. A man and a woman, they looked like twins in their identical uniforms, both ginger and short, their faces tired and drawn, as if they had seen too much in the line of duty. Claire faintly remembered being questioned by them shortly after the accident. But she couldn’t recall what they had asked, nor what she had said to them. She couldn’t even remember their names. The first week at the hospital had been a blur.
They smiled at her in recognition and nodded in unison, then marched into her father’s hospital room without much ado or so much as a knock. Claire retraced her steps, stopping outside her father’s door, peeking through the gap.
The police had their backs to her but she could see her father’s face. What if he could see her too? Even though he wasn’t looking at her, his eyes on the police officers, his face stretched into an uneasy smile, Claire shifted her body slightly to the left, so that she was no longer by the door but leaning on the wall next to it. Nurses and doctors rushed past her, visitors and patients walked by at a more leisurely pace. None of them paid the slightest attention to a pale young woman with her hands clasped nervously and her eyes wide. She could no longer see her father or the police officers but she could hear them. The man introduced himself as PC Stanley. The woman said her name was PC Kamenski. Claire was surprised they had different surnames. They looked so alike, she expected them to be related.
‘Is this a good time? You seemed like you were sleeping,’ said the woman.
‘I was trying to. Couldn’t sleep last night,’ said Tony.
‘We can come back later if you want to rest.’
‘I’ve rested for two weeks. It’s been a regular holiday resort.’
The cops laughed uncomfortably. ‘Is it okay if we ask you a few questions?’
‘That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?’ Her father sounded exhausted, and suddenly Claire felt a wave of anger so strong, she almost gasped. Why couldn’t the cops see how ill he was? Why wouldn’t they leave him alone? Didn’t they have real crime to solve and real criminals to catch?
‘Can I start with your full name, please?’
He told them.
His date of birth, address, occupation, marital status.
He told them.
And finally, ‘Where were you on the fifth of March at four o’clock in the afternoon?’
‘That was the day of the accident. I believe I was driving. But you already know that or you wouldn’t be here.’
‘Were you drinking that day? Taking drugs?’
‘Why don’t you ask my doctor? They would have done a blood test.’
‘Please answer the questions, sir,’ said PC Stanley in a voice that sounded tired rather than annoyed.
‘No, I wasn’t drinking. Or taking drugs.’
‘Who was in the car with you?’
Tony didn’t say anything at first and then coughed, clearing his throat and asking for a glass of water. Claire felt her body lean forward involuntarily, waiting for his answer. She held her breath.
‘There you are,’ she heard a loud voice behind her. Turning around sharply, she saw Paul approaching her form the direction of the doctor’s office. She almost groaned out loud. She desperately wanted to hear what her father had to say but at the same time she didn’t want Paul to see her eavesdropping outside Tony’s hospital room. What would he think? She moved away from the door and smiled at Paul. He asked, ‘How did it go with your father?’
‘Wonderful. I have no memories of him but I feel like I’ve known him my whole life. Did you talk to the doctor?’
He nodded. ‘Your father will need extensive physiotherapy. He has to work hard if he wants to walk again. His recovery might take a long time. He was upset and confused when he woke up. Pulled his IV out, scared the nurse. But he seemed to recover quickly. He remembers who he is, remembers what happened, which is extraordinary.’
‘Poor Dad. I wish I could have been there for him when he woke up.’
‘Are you ready? I have fifty minutes for lunch before I need to get back to work.’
Paul was already walking towards the exit and Claire trailed behind him, trying to keep up, when out of the corner of her eye she saw the police officers leaving her father’s room. ‘Can you wait f
or me for a minute? I want to speak to the police.’
She caught up with them near the reception. They seemed desperate to leave the hospital and who could blame them? When they saw her, they slowed down but didn’t stop. She walked with them. ‘Do you have a moment? I want to ask you something.’
‘Of course, anything,’ said the woman.
They found some empty chairs in a waiting area outside a room that wasn’t her father’s. Claire was glad. She didn’t want a nurse to wheel Tony out in his wheelchair only for him to see his daughter speaking to the police. For some reason she felt he wouldn’t like that. PC Stanley and PC Kamenski moved from side to side, trying to get comfortable. Although lacking in height, they were both wide-shouldered and looked out of place on the small hospital chairs, like grown-ups sitting in toddler seats. The woman took out a notebook and scribbled something down. Claire noticed her glance at the clock above their heads. There was only one question she desperately needed to ask. But she didn’t know how to bring it up, so she coughed and cleared her throat, just like Tony did moments earlier, and said something else entirely. ‘I’m concerned about my father. How did he seem to you? Was he confused? Having problems remembering?’
‘On the contrary. He seemed quite sure of himself.’
‘If you are concerned, why don’t you talk to his doctor?’ asked PC Stanley. He, too, glanced at the clock. Of course, thought Claire. It was lunchtime for them. The last thing they wanted was to be stuck in a hospital waiting area, talking to her.
‘Thank you. I will,’ said Claire. The police officers rose to their feet. Before they had a chance to say goodbye, she added, ‘One more thing. I’m not quite sure I was in the car on the day of the accident.’
‘Did you remember something?’ Both of them were staring at her now, all thoughts of lunch seemingly forgotten.
‘Not really. It’s more …’ She hesitated. She couldn’t tell them the truth. She didn’t want to contradict anything her father might have said to them. ‘It’s just a feeling I have.’
‘You are still confused. It’s understandable,’ said PC Kamenski softly.
‘Are you sure I was in that car?’
‘Positive. I pulled you out myself.’
Claire tried to imagine her fragile, broken body trapped in the back of a car on the side of a motorway somewhere. Tried to imagine the pain and the fear, police sirens blaring, strong arms yanking her out, and couldn’t. In her mind she couldn’t see anything other than this hospital waiting room, her father’s immobile body in a bed down the corridor, herself alone and afraid and searching for answers. Maybe her father was right. Maybe she hadn’t been in that car after all.
PC Kamenski was looking at her with suspicion and Claire felt tears perilously close. She almost opened her mouth and told the police officers everything. All her fears and misgivings and how confused she was. But she doubted they wanted to hear.
The man stepped from foot to foot impatiently. The woman closed her notepad. ‘If you remember anything, please don’t hesitate to call. Here is my direct number,’ she said, reaching into her pocket and placing a card in Claire’s hands.
Long after they were gone, Claire stared at the card but couldn’t see the writing from the tears in her eyes, couldn’t hear her husband’s voice from the noise in her head. She was lost in a maze with no way out.
* * *
On the way home, Paul suggested lunch at Claire’s favourite restaurant, Thai Basil. Having heard of it from Gaby and hoping it would trigger a memory, she agreed. Thai Basil was a red oasis in grey and rainy London. The furniture, the walls, the carpets, even the ceiling were a variation of that colour. Dotted around the room were porcelain elephants with their trunks pointing up – for luck, Paul told her. Claire relaxed into her ruby cushion, fighting to stay awake. Suddenly the day had become too much. Too many new faces and places, too much new information to process.
Taking a deep breath to stave off the panic, Claire closed her eyes and thought of her father. Immediately she felt better. The warm feeling she’d experienced earlier was back. He was just as confused as she was, even though he tried not to show it. And just like her, he clearly had trouble remembering the accident. She wasn’t alone, and neither was he.
‘I didn’t realise ballerinas ate Thai food,’ she said to her gloomy husband when the starters arrived. Although everything looked delicious, she didn’t seem to have much of an appetite. It surprised her. Other than the sandwich in the morning, she had had nothing to eat, so nervous was she about meeting her dad. The sandwich was a distant memory now.
‘Your diet consisted of grapefruit and Thai once a month, for which you punished yourself at the studio for days,’ replied Paul.
‘Sounds healthy.’
‘It wasn’t.’
‘I was being sarcastic.’
‘Oh.’
They were seated at a corner table, away from the other diners. Pouring some tea, she said, ‘What do you do for a living?’ Once again, she felt silly asking this question. She felt like she should already know the answer.
‘I’m a heart surgeon at the hospital.’
‘Which hospital?’
‘Yours.’
She wanted to ask him why she had only seen him twice in two weeks if he worked at the same hospital where she had been a patient. But she didn’t want to upset him. They sat in silence for a while. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, while Paul absentmindedly checked his phone and glanced at his watch, as if he would rather be anywhere but sitting across from her at a restaurant table. Frantically she searched her mind for something else to say but couldn’t think of anything. Finally, Paul said, ‘Try these spring rolls. You love them.’
‘They’re delicious.’
‘Have another one. Have them all if you like.’
‘What about you?’ She pulled the plate closer.
‘I prefer this satay chicken.’
She picked up a stick of satay chicken, took a quick bite, took a bite of the spring roll and looked at him like he was a madman. Paul filled both their plates with stir-fry.
‘Tell me about our marriage. Are we happy?’ she asked when the food was gone – all but the fish cakes which she didn’t like.
‘Very,’ he said.
‘We don’t have any …’ Claire hesitated, trying to think of the exact word Gaby had used. ‘Issues?’
‘Of course not. What makes you think that? We are one of those rare couples who never argue.’
‘Tell me stories. Something to jog my memory. How did we meet?’
He squinted his eyes as if appraising her. Then he said, ‘The night I first noticed you, you literally danced into my life. I saw you through the window of your dance studio. You were practising the same sequence of steps over and over. I was transfixed. I think I forgot where I was going. It took me four days to find the courage to talk to you. Four evenings of watching you from the street like a common criminal.’
‘What did you finally say to me?’
‘Can I bum a cigarette?’
‘You asked a ballerina for a cigarette? What did I say?’
‘You said you didn’t have one but you could ask the janitor at the studio. And you did. Then I had to smoke it in front of you. I didn’t even smoke. It was horrible.’
‘But worth it?’
‘Absolutely. Six years later we were married.’ He spoke of what was possibly the most romantic memory of his life with a detached expression on his face, as if reciting a poem he had been forced to memorise.
‘And what is our life together like?’
‘It’s wonderful. We are very much in love.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘I wish I could stay longer but I have to rush.’
Perplexed at this change of subject, Claire watched his face as he paid the bill and led her outside, opening the car door like the perfect gentleman she knew he was. When they were slowly navigating the London traffic, she asked, ‘Do you know what happened on the day of the accident?’
&
nbsp; ‘You went to visit your parents that morning, like you do every Saturday. You were going to meet some friends for lunch afterwards. I don’t know how you ended up in the car with Tony. As far as I know, you’d made no plans with him.’
Paul dropped her off outside their house, and when she was about to walk through the front door, she turned around. He was still there, his hands on the steering wheel, the engine running, watching her intently, as if making sure she got home safely. She wondered why he felt the need to do that. It wasn’t like she was going to run away the minute his back was turned. She smiled at herself, at how silly that sounded, then waved and he waved back, before finally turning the car around and speeding away.
Chapter 3
From her balcony on the first floor, Claire watched as night bus after night bus pulled up opposite and groups of drunken passengers spilled out, stumbling, laughing and shouting. Claire envied them, wishing she too could be merry and carefree. It was past midnight and she’d spent most of the night staring at her mother’s face in the photograph, searching for answers. Eventually, she must have drifted off because she dreamt her mother stepped out of the picture and leaned over her. Angela’s lips moved but Claire couldn’t hear the words. She leapt up in her chair and looked around, half expecting to see her mother. But she was alone. All was quiet, and only the wind made the leaves whisper.
She returned to bed but couldn’t sleep, and at eight in the morning she got up. Gliding like a ghost from room to room, she felt like an actress hired to play a part of a stranger she had never met before. She questioned everything – the way she moved, the way she talked, the way she stood. Would the old Claire pause by the mirror as she made her way downstairs and study her face for a few seconds too long, as if she didn’t know it? Would she stand under the hot shower for five minutes, ten, fifteen, hiding from the world?
Waiting for her on the kitchen table was a note from Paul. Her heart quickened.
Breakfast in the fridge, someone from the hospital is coming to check on you at 9.30.
