This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental.
I have based the tragic incident in the first chapter on a real event, and I salute those public servants and volunteers who worked so hard to manage the event, from every angle.  My heart goes out to those directly and indirectly involved in the whole horrible affair, and I hope that I can, in some small way, pay homage to those who sought to bring relief and help.

I dedicate this work to the police officers, fire fighters,
paramedics, doctors and nurses and all the other
professionals and volunteers who give of themselves
on a daily basis for the sake of others.

Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism and for that reason alone.  Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone.  If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia.  If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
If you enjoyed it, then please Email me and tell me.  If you hated it, Email me and lie.
I will always welcome contact.   tanya_jaya@yahoo.co.uk

The legal stuff.
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically.  Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose.  Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.

Every Little Girl's Dream

by Tanya Allen

Book One

Chapter One The Night Before

November 2004

A young Police Constable’s head popped round the open door of my office just as another airborne firework exploded some distance away from the station, illuminating the trees and buildings nearby. I didn’t like November, as it was always a noisy bloody month.

“Inspector Stewart, what should we do with the vehicle?” he asked. He advanced into my office; thereby proving his head was properly attached to a body.

I attempted to disengage my brain from the report I was writing, rejoining the rest of the real world. Taking my reading glasses off, I looked at him.

“What?”

“Sir, the car used in the robbery.  It’s still at the scene, what should we do?”

I frowned, why was he asking me?  I was the duty Inspector; the Sergeant should be around to help with this.

“Where’s Sergeant Bevan?” I asked.

“Sir, he’s taken an IRU (immediate response unit) to the rail crash just the other side of Reading.”

“Ah.” I remembered now.  A train had hit a car on a level crossing about an hour ago and there was chaos on the track. The westbound express had derailed causing fatalities and serious injuries to the passengers.  As it happened at 18:45 on a Saturday, it was a miracle there weren’t more deaths.  I dreaded to think what kind of mayhem would have been caused on a packed weekday commuter train.

“As the car was used in crime and we have two suspects, recover the car for SOCO. Seize clothing from the suspects and make sure you tag SOCO so they can get it done as soon as possible.  Have you searched the car?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Then get that done, carefully, so as to avoid cross contamination. I don’t want officers involved in the arrest at the search scene. If you can get a SOCO there now, that would be brilliant, but I doubt there will be one on at eight o’clock on a Saturday evening. Don’t forget the search pack.  As far as the law is concerned it is a premises and I need to sign the authority to search.”

“Yes sir, thanks, sir.”

The PC looked relieved.  He was very young, younger even than my own children.  I shook my head.  Twenty-nine years and six months I had been a copper and I was so glad that the end was now in sight.

I wondered about the crash.  Annie, my daughter, was twenty-two and a nurse at a hospital in Reading.  She would probably be dealing with the horrendous aftermath of this incident, so I was tempted to call her.  Then I decided not to, as she’d have enough to do without her silly old Dad fussing at this time.

I called Maria, my long-suffering wife and soul mate.

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Hi you.  What’s up?” she always sounded so pleased to hear from me, my heart warming at the sound of her voice.

“Have you heard about the train crash?”

“It was on the news.  I suppose they’ll take all the casualties into Reading,” she said.

“It’s the nearest.  Is Annie working this evening?”

“She called, she was on the early shift and they’ve kept her on.  It’s likely to be madness in there.”

“Poor kid.”

“Tom, she’s not a kid anymore.  You’d been a copper for two years by the time you were her age.”

“I know, but she’s still my little girl.”

“You big softy.  Are you involved?”

“With the crash scene? No, there’s enough to do here without that.  Besides, that’s the Transport Police’s patch.”

“You’ll help out though, won’t you?”

“We’ve sent a Sergeant and six from here and I guess other areas will do the same.  It’s Saturday night in Slough and I have to lose men I can’t afford to lose!”

“Will you be late?”

“Probably, I’ll let you know.”

We said goodbye and I hung up.

Maria was almost two years my junior.  She was a dark-eyed Latin beauty who, at forty-seven, still retained her slim figure and wonderful, long, dark hair that had attracted me to her all those years ago. We had met in 1975, just after I’d finished my training and was pounding my first beat in Reading. I’d been called to a disturbance on the farm where she had been brought up. 

There had been a break-in at the farm shop where she worked, so I spent some time reassuring her. Afterwards, I dropped in for tea whenever I passed. I’d found her attractive then, and still found her so today.  To see her was to adore her and our initial friendship developed into something much deeper. I invited her to the Christmas dance.  I proposed two months later and in 1977 we were married.

Her father had been an Italian POW, a Colonel in the Italian Army. Captured in North Africa in 1942, he was sent to a camp deep in the wilds of Berkshire.  Unlike the Germans, who were disruptive and needed constant careful supervision and high security, the Italians were the opposite and willingly walked in and out of the camp, working on farms and market gardens throughout the war.

It was while helping on one such farm that he had met an attractive little lass called Jean Francis who, at just seventeen was very young and naïve.  He was tall, very distinguished with excellent English.  Jean’s father, Ron Francis, was too old to go off to fight in the war so, missing his usual farm hands, was simply grateful for any help he could get.  He used to make his own beer and wine and Colonel Francisco Callibretti had actually owned and managed his own vineyard before the war.

The Italian fell for the little English rose, yet was mindful of proprietary and the stigma of what would happen if seen to besmirch the honour of the English girl through fraternisation. Francisco bided his time and became firm friends with Ron.  Jean was equally smitten and would use any excuse to spend time with the tall and sophisticated Italian.  He was highly educated and intelligent, but was flattered that the girl found him good company, particularly when there was tough competition from younger and much more eligible allied servicemen. However, Jean found the local lads all too young and immature, lacking the finesse and grace the tall Italian seemed to possess.

Jean was the youngest of five children.  Her two brothers were already in the services and so she and her sisters were put to work on the land.  It was a hard life, but far better than working in wartime factories.

Jean’s sisters snagged boyfriends who were either serving British or American servicemen.  Indeed, Pam, the eldest, eventually married an American pilot and settled near Phoenix after the war.  Susan’s fiancé was killed in France shortly after the D Day, but after a mere six months of mourning she met and subsequently married a British army Lieutenant who was recuperating after being wounded on the push for Arnhem.

The day the war in Europe ended, Francisco formally requested permission from Ron for his youngest daughter’s hand in marriage.  There was a twenty-year age difference, but that seemed not to matter. They married and in the next twelve years had six children.  Maria was born in 1956, when her father was fifty-six.

Ron and Francisco went into partnership and the farm expanded, diversifying into greenhouses containing tomatoes and other more unusual soft fruits and vegetables.  They built their own farm shop, which expanded until, on Ron’s death in 1964, they owned two local supermarkets as extra outlets for their produce.

Francisco died in 1982, but Maria’s mother was still alive today, living in the house that she and her husband had built a couple of hundred yards away from her childhood home.  Jean was now in her eighties, still an active woman, wonderfully involved with her family. The two supermarkets were bought out by a large chain in the early seventies, giving the family sufficient capital to guarantee a comfortable retirement. The farm shop was still in the family, as was the farm itself. Maria’s eldest brother still ran the farm, earning a decent living by all accounts.

 It had been a different world, almost a different life, back then. I sighed and went back to my report.  It was a complaint against police, and once again, I was pleased to be finishing soon.  This particular complaint was simply over a parking ticket.  An officer had given the man a ticket, and he had objected, claiming he’d stopped to answer his mobile phone.  The officer had watched as the man’s wife or girlfriend had alighted from the vehicle and entered the shop adjacent to the car some five minutes earlier.

Whilst the man had an altercation with the officer, the woman returned and swore at the officer.  It ended up with her being warned to curb her foul language and the man was given the ticket.  He then claimed the officer assaulted him and he wanted the ticket voided or he would press charges.

I warned the man that to make a malicious complaint was as much an offence as the alleged assault and, in any case, I was not authorised to void the ticket.

He eventually backed off, declining to make a formal complaint, but it took an hour of my time, caused excessive stress to the officer and there were many more important matters I could have been dealing with.

I concluded the report, printed it off and sent it through dispatch to Professional Standards Department.  My phone rang; it was the Custody Sergeant.

“Yes Pete?”

“Boss, two reviews are due in the next half an hour.”

“I’ll be right down.”

I went down to the Custody block, which was teeming as usual.  I reviewed the two detainees, writing up the details on their log sheets.  I then authorised four search packs and sorted out yet another complaint at the front desk.

The Custody alarm went off, so I dashed back in to find a young female officer struggling with a large black man, twice her size and obviously off his head with crack-cocaine.

I shoulder barged him to the floor and then grinned as Pete leaped on him as well.  Together we managed to restrain him and, with another couple of officers, dragged him to the cell and deposited him there.

As Pete and I recovered over a cup of tea, we were both panting like a couple of foxhounds after a hunt.

“Shit, Tom, we’re too old for this fucking about!” Pete said. He was about my age and due to retire at much the same time.  He was overweight and balding and, like him, I was certainly not in the same shape I’d been in when I’d joined the job. We’d been good friends for years.

I just nodded.  My breath was a long time coming back.

I then attended a fight at a pub near the Britwell estate, where two young constables were in danger of receiving a good hiding after trying to break up a drunken squabble.  A small crowd had gathered, so I threatened anyone hanging about with arrest and found myself rolling on the ground with an inebriated Irish bricklayer.  With the two constables, I managed to subdue my man, placing the three detainees in the van when assistance eventually turned up.

Exhausted and dishevelled, I gratefully returned to the station to hand over to the on-coming Inspector.

“Bloody hell, Tom!  What have you been doing?” Inspector Alan Evans asked, as soon as he saw me.

“Don’t ask.  What a fucking day!”

I then told him about the crash and that six of his night shift had already been called in to go to assist at Reading.

“On a Saturday night?  They must be having a laugh,” he said.

“No laugh.  They’ve pulled in a few off a rest day as well. If you need some of mine to stay on, let me know now and I’ll keep them on until 02:00.”

“That’d help.  We are so short at the moment.”

“Aren’t we all?” I said, sighing deeply.

He looked at me.

“Are you okay?  You look rough.”

“I’m just knackered.  This is a young man’s game now, Alan, and I’m tired. The shift-work fucks my system.  I don’t recover nearly as well as I used to and my sleep pattern is shot to hell.  I eat all the wrong food and don’t get enough time at home. I just can’t wait for retirement.”

“Well, don’t overdo it.  Old Steve Edgeson died two days before he was due to retire!”

“Not me.  I intend to live a hell of a lot longer yet!”

I put my kit away in my locker and drove home.  We lived in a small village called Shiplake-on-Thames in Oxfordshire.  We’d been here for the last twenty years and I was amazed at how much our house had appreciated in value since we’d bought it.  I’d just managed to pay off the mortgage and it felt really good!

I was tempted to stop off at the Baskerville Arms for a quick pint, but felt too knackered.  I just wanted to get home.

Maria was watching some inane drivel on the TV, but she kissed me warmly.  I was only half an hour late and that was a bonus.  I had two days off now and was looking forward to them.

“You look awful, Tom, what have you been up to?”

I told her and she tut-tutted for a bit, but then her attention was drawn back to the television.

“Any word from Annie?” I asked, as I took a beer from the fridge.

“No, but I wasn’t expecting there to be, not for a while. How many have died?”

“Half a dozen, or there about. I expected there to be more, for some reason.”

“Do you know what caused it?” she asked.

“I think some dickhead drove onto the track deliberately to kill himself.”

“Did he?”

“Oh yes, but he killed others in the process.”

“Who was he?”

“I’m not sure.  I think he was a chef at a local pub.  He was a bit of an odd character, by all accounts, and somewhat unpredictable.  An off-duty police officer witnessed it and tried to prevent it.”

“Poor man, is he okay?”

“As far as I know.  At least he’s not hurt, but I can’t see him sleeping well for a while, can you?”

She shook her head and I wandered into the study.  I sat at the computer and logged onto the Internet.  I went straight to Sapphire’s Place, and indulged my secret life for a while.

I was nearly fifty, and for the last forty-six years I had lived with the certain knowledge that God had made a mistake.  I should have been born a girl.  Every night, as a youngster, I had prayed to wake up a girl and every morning I had been disappointed.

I was six foot four and very much a man’s man.  I enjoyed all those aspects of life that men were supposed to enjoy – rugby, golf, DIY, mechanics, the occasional beer or six, and being a father. Hell, before I married I was the drummer in a rock and roll band.  Now, although those days were long gone, I was going to be a grandfather very soon.

The guilt I carried sometimes threatened to overwhelm me and yet nothing I did seemed to rid me of my overpowering desire to be a female.

I had left school, joined the army and from there gone into the police. I had shut my feelings away securely in my subconscious and tried to be the best man I could.  I think it had worked, as I had married, had a family and was now successful in my chosen career.

My son, Matthew, was twenty-six and married himself.  Sally, his wife, and he were expecting their first child in the New Year and we were all excited for them.  He and Sally were teachers, and it was so rewarding to see one’s kids with solid lives of their own.

I had become aware of my inner problem very early, but had neither the opportunity nor the courage to do anything about it.  I was a product of the 1950s, so my family circumstances were such that there was no way I could ever have considered a sex change.

The disruption to my family would have been too great, an only son, after four miscarriages and a stillbirth, I shuddered to think of the reaction from my very proud and old-fashioned parents.

Then, at eleven, I had started to grow.  By sixteen, I was over six foot and broad across the shoulder.  I had never dressed as a girl, simply because I knew I’d look a freak and I wasn’t prepared to be a public spectacle. I wasn’t interested in short bursts of sexual release in women’s clothes.  It wasn’t the outward appearance that mattered to me; it was the inner identity being the same as the outer!

So, it had lain deeply hidden, successfully too, for most of my life.  But now my parents had died, the kids were away leading their own lives and retirement beaconed, the feelings had less restraining them.  In a way I was dreading leaving the regulated life the police brought me.  I would be free, but free for what?

Maria wanted to stay in the village, but I was tempted to move to warmer climes where my pension would be worth more. She had a life here, whereas I had simply slept here and ventured forth to my place of work.  I had few close friends and once one took the job away, there was little to keep me here.

I read a couple of new stories and sighed deeply.  I so wanted to be a woman and yet I knew that after half a century of being a bloke, the chances of it happening were very slim. Even if it did, being able to live amongst that alien race successfully would be so hard as to be almost impossible.

If I was anything, I was a realist. I was only too well aware that there was so much more to being female than just wearing the clothes and walking in the high heels.  Some of the stories on the web were sexually orientated, to allow an outlet for those who existed in such a fantasy world.  Some stories, however, were written by those who clearly knew what it was really like. I could readily identify with them and their tales.

No, I wouldn’t ever do it, as I didn’t want to be a construct with a foot in neither, or both camps.  For me the dream was to be a perfect and complete woman, with all that entailed.  Half measures were not acceptable to me.  I was neither brave nor desperate enough, and besides, there were too many people to hurt in the process and I wasn’t ever going to allow that to happen.

I was feeling pretty grotty, so I went and kissed Maria.

“I’m knackered, I’m going up for a bath and have an early night,” I said.

She looked at me.

“You look knackered.  Are you okay?”

“I feel pretty awful, but then I was pretty active today.”

“Why don’t you go see Doctor Milne on Monday?  You haven’t been for a check up for ages.”

“Maybe, I think it’s just a spot of heartburn.  I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”

She smiled and my heart lurched. I couldn’t betray her love for me.  Not after nearly twenty-eight years of marriage.  I felt a real fool.

Just as I went to the stairs, the phone in the hall rang.

It was Annie.

“Hi Dad.”

“Hello sweetie, how’s things, busy?”

“A nightmare. It was chaos for ages.  It’s still rough, but I’ve been relieved after seventeen hours.  It’s really awful, Dad.”

“I’m sure it is. Many dead?”

“No, thank God.  It was amazing, only five at the moment.  I think one or two have serious injuries and may die, but there could have been so many more.”

“I understand the train driver died?”

“Yes, and the silly sod in the car.”

“So what were you doing?”

“There’s one girl, only sixteen, brought in with crush injuries and a fractured skull.  She’s still in a coma, but her mother was killed.  She needed constant attention and her Dad is really cut-up.  The problem is that her brainwaves are virtually nil and yet her other life signs are reasonable.  I had to look after her and it was really hard, Dad.”

“I know what it’s like.  Often the relatives are harder to deal with than the casualties.  Is there any hope?”

“The doctor says if she is still not showing any brain life after another couple of days, they’ll pull the plug. It’s so unfair, Dad, she’s only sixteen and so pretty.  Her name’s Jenny and she should have her whole life ahead of her.”

“Yeah, it’s a real sod, that’s a fact.”

“How are you Dad? You sound rough.”

“I’m just tired, sweetie.  It’s been a tough day.”

“Have you seen your doctor recently?”

“You sound just like your Mum.  I’m going to make an appointment on Monday, maybe.”

“Oh Dad, you are so stubborn.  I don’t want to lose you!”

“You won’t, sweetie, I’m a tough old bird.”

“How’s Mum?”

“Ask her yourself, here she is.  Bye.”

“Bye Dad, I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetie.”

I gave the phone to Maria and went up to have a bath.  I smiled.  Annie was a sweet girl, she’d inherited her mother’s dark looks, but more my build.  She was several inches taller than her mother and at five eight, she was strikingly attractive. She was totally committed to her job and didn’t seem to have time for a social life at the moment. There was a time I had been like that.

After getting out of the bath, I felt slightly dizzy and had to sit on the edge of the bath to recover.  Once I got to bed, I went to sleep almost immediately.

I slept in until almost ten and felt as tired as when I had gone to bed.  I had a lazy Sunday, just pottering about the house.  I watched the news and saw the horrific sights of the rail disaster.  Iraq was still in the news, with more soldiers from the Black Watch being killed by a suicide bomber.  It was such a shitty world.

Matt called and I had a long chat with him. It was unusual, as he was never as chatty as his sister, but it was nice.  He was clearly excited at being a potential Dad and I was so pleased things were going so well.  We all adored Sally, she was perfect for him and I couldn’t have picked a better girl for him if I’d had to.

I still felt awful when I went to bed, so Maria persuaded me to make an appointment with the doctor in the morning.  I tossed and turned for ages, finally slipping to sleep at about two am.  I had a surreal dream.

I was standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down to see there was no bottom below me.  It was just a dark void.  I looked up and there was a bright light in the sky.  I was drawn to the light, but I became aware of a presence beside me.

It wasn’t a person, for it had no form.  It was just an awareness of something there.

I looked at the light again and for some reason I knew that it represented love, peace and warmth.

The void was suffering and pain.

“You’ve carried the burden for a long time, you deserve the light!” the presence thought at me.

I knew that I was an open book, with everything about me and my life, there for all to see.  I said nothing.

“There is an alternative.”

I tried to see the form that wasn’t there.

“Oh?” I said.

“There is one who needs the light greater than you.  You have strength and she has none.”

“So?”

“You could still make a difference!”

“Oh?”

The presence was silent.

I knew, somehow, that I was being given a choice.  I wasn’t sure of the details of that choice, but the light meant rest in death and the other was life, but not as I had known it.  Somehow, my life experience was such that it had prepared me for whatever was expected of me.

I was intrigued.

The presence knew of my secret burden, of that I was certain.  To live as a female, was that the opportunity being offered?

I was not certain of anything in this place.

The other choice?

Death?

Chapter Two               The Morning After

I awoke and immediately panicked.  Something was down my throat and I felt enormous pain in my chest and head.  I had that feeling that I’d been dreaming, but with everything that was going on, that sense fizzled away into forgotteness.

I gagged on the tube that was down my throat.

“Patient’s awake, Doctor!” said a female voice.  I noted that there was a lot of surprise in her tone.

“Bloody hell! Remove the ventilator, blood pressure?” replied a male voice and he too sounded surprised.

“Steady, eighty over one sixty.  Heart rate normal and we have alpha back on the scope.”

“Where the hell has she been?”

A face wearing a mask swam into my field of vision.

“Welcome back, you gave a lot of people quite a scare.  How do you feel?” he asked.

“Sore,” I croaked.

“Where does it hurt?”

“Chest and head.  Back of the head, and lower left side of the chest.” I was really disorientated and my voice sounded really odd in my ears.

Was I still dreaming?

The man nodded and I saw the skin around his eyes crinkle, as if he was smiling behind the mask.

“Can you remember anything about the crash?”

I frowned.

“Crash?”

“You were in a train crash, what can you remember?”

“I remember going to bed,” I said, now confused.

I could see I was in hospital, so I concluded I must have had a heart attack.  I looked round and could see no one I knew.  I immediately wondered where I was, as I was certain I knew someone who was a nurse, but my memory was really fuzzy.

“Do you remember your name?” the doctor asked.

Of course I did.  I opened my mouth and closed it again.

It was so frustrating, I knew my name, but for some silly reason just couldn’t remember it.

Tears of frustration came to my eyes and that made me cross. I shook my head to try to clear my mind and that hurt, so the tears came more rapidly.

“It’s all right, really it is.  You’ve had a really nasty bang to your head and your skull is fractured, so don’t worry, people often forget things.

Other people forget things.  I don’t!

In my mind’s eye, I could see faces and yet I couldn’t put names to them.  I started to panic some more and this must have shown on the monitors as some form of distress.

I suddenly felt all sleepy and drifted into oblivion once more.

I didn’t so much wake up as became increasingly aware that I may not be still asleep.  In that nether world of neither sleep nor fully awake, I thought of the dreams I’d had. As I tried to remember those things I’d forgotten, the panic returned as I found I still could not remember them.

That single fact convinced me that I was awake and not dreaming.

It was with a feeling of dread that I opened my eyes and forced myself to become aware of the world around me.

I was still in hospital, as an I/V drip was attached to my left arm.  Monitor leads were attached to my head and fingers.  I had an oxygen mask over my face and curtains were pulled cutting me off from the rest of the world.

I felt uncomfortable down below and saw a tube disappearing under the bedclothes.  I assumed it was a urinary catheter. However, I felt so woozy that I didn’t really care.  I closed my eyes again, but noises intruded.

“Hello, awake again?” said a pleasant female voice.

I turned towards the voice and felt the ache from the back of my head.  I must have groaned, for the nurse who had spoken frowned.

“Careful, sweetie, you’ve got a nasty wound on the back of your head.  How to you feel?”

“Confused,” I mumbled from behind the mask.

She leaned forward and removed the mask.

“Confused,” I repeated.

“I’m sure you are.  Can you remember anything yet?”

I shook my head and, to my shame, I felt the tears returning.

What was happening to me?

“It’s all right; it’s very common to forget things when you get a nasty bang on the head.  Don’t worry, I’m sure the memories will come back,” she said.

Another nurse came in through the curtains and smiled at me.

“Hi, I’m Hannah, I’m taking over for the day shift. How are you feeling?” she asked.

“She’s confused, poor dear, but she is looking so much better today,” said the first nurse.

“You certainly are, and I’m sure the confusion will clear up.”

Hannah went to the foot of my bed and picked up my chart.

“I thought Annie Stewart was on days today?” the first nurse asked.

“Haven’t you heard?  Her father had a heart attack. He was brought on Sunday night, but they couldn’t save him.  She’s on compassionate leave, poor thing, she’s really cut up.  He was only forty-nine!”

“No?  I met him last Christmas, wasn’t he a copper?”

“That’s him.  He had a heart attack at home in bed, but by the time they got him here, he’d gone.”

I stared at them.  I knew it had a bearing on me, but couldn’t seem to think what it could be. The constant use of the female pronoun in relation to me completely baffled me and I wasn’t sure why.

Hannah looked at me and smiled.

“Your Dad will be in later. He’s having a sleep at the moment,” she said.

“My Dad?” I echoed, somewhat stupidly.

Hannah glanced at the other nurse and they exchanged a strange glance.  Something stirred deep in my muddled brain and a weird conversation seemed to leap out at me, disappearing before I could grasp its context.

It was so frustrating not remembering anything. However, the name Annie struck a chord and somehow I knew that she was inexorably connected to me.

“What happened, why am I here?” I asked.

“There was a crash.  The train was derailed and you were in one of the carriages with your mum. You got a nasty bang on the head, do you remember?”

I shook my head. The nurses exchanged glances.

“My Mum’s dead, isn’t she?” I asked, certain now that that was why the two nurses were behaving so oddly.

They exchanged glances again, and I knew I was right.

“Do you remember?” Hannah asked.

“No, but otherwise you’d mention her.  I think I must have overheard a conversation, sometime.  She is, isn’t she?” I asked.

It was really odd, but it was almost as if I was playing a role and I knew that my real mother wasn’t involved.  I still had a sense of loss attached to a vague image of my mother, but it seemed too well established to be fresh.  I also tried to picture her, but failed.

The tears of frustration started again but they were misinterpreted by the two women.

“I’m so sorry, Jenny.  I’m sure they didn’t mean for you to find out like this. You were actually very ill and probably no one thought you could hear.  You so nearly died!” the first nurse, whose name I read on her little name badge as being Karen Horton.

I nodded, so cross with myself for crying at the slightest thing.  Then it dawned on me – she called me ‘Jenny’.  That elusive conversation floated through my consciousness once more and I grasped only one word – train.

“We were on a train?” I asked. 

“Yes, dear. You were both in the carriage that split open and bent in half. Can you remember now?” Karen asked.

I shook my head and both nurses looked quite upset too.

“I must go,” Karen said. “It’s lovely to see you better.  I’m so sorry about your Mum, but your Dad has at least still got you and you’ve got him!”

I nodded, trying unsuccessfully to control my tears.  The annoying thing was I didn’t really know why I was crying.  I felt guilty, as if I was expected to cry, for some strange reason.

Karen walked out through the curtain and Hannah smiled at me as she fussed about, making sure I was as comfortable as possible.

She was a tall woman, in her late thirties and with short red hair.  She wore a wedding ring on her left ring finger and had a lovely smile.  Green eyes twinkled humorously from under her fringe and she had that complexion that many redheads were blessed/cursed with, involving freckles that probably burned dreadfully in the sun.

She sat in the chair next to my bed, on the right hand side.  She took my hand.

“This must be awful for you.  I really am so sorry to have had to tell you the bad news.  Your Dad has been here since just after you were brought in and he’s really upset too.  You so nearly died, your brain stopped for a while, the doctor thinks, so don’t worry about not being able to remember things, it is very normal.”

I felt curiously detached, as if this wasn’t happening to me, and I was a spectator on the inside.

“I’m okay,” I said, and actually felt it.

She smiled and squeezed my hand.

“Good girl.  Try and be strong to get better, especially for your Dad.  Men are such softies.  They appear so hard on the outside and yet the crumple so easily when bad things happen.”

I smiled and nodded.

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked.

“We’d better wait for the doctor to tell you,” she said.

“Please?” I said.

She smiled again.

“You got a really nasty bang on the head.  Your skull was fractured, and you’ve had to have some bone removed.  They put a small plate across the hole, so you should be fine now.  Your chest was crushed and some ribs were fractured.  We thought a lung was pierced, but it was just squeezed a little so it deflated.  You’ll feel sore for a while and you’re all strapped up, but you should be right as rain in no time.  The biggest worry was that your brain sort of stopped.”

“Sort of stopped, what do you mean?”

“Well, they attached a monitor and there was very little brain activity.  You’ve heard of the expression, brain dead?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you were brain dead.  They had you on a ventilator, but there wasn’t a squeak out of you until the early hours of Sunday morning. It was quite exciting really, as you sort of came alive just about the same time as another patient died.  So you surprised the heck out of the emergency team.”

“Was that the policeman you were talking about?” I asked.

“Yes, poor man.  His daughter is a nurse here and she was looking after you all day on Saturday.  Anyway, it’s so horrid when someone dies, so it was so nice that we were able to save one of you.”

I thought for a moment.  Trying to get my brain to focus on a single strand for any length of time was really hard, yet something niggled me about the policeman who died. Strange thoughts flitted about like will o’ the wisp and I felt cheated out of my memory.

“The doctor will be doing the rounds in a while, would you like a wash later?”

I nodded.

“He might allow you to eat something, but I’m sure you can have a drink.  How about a carton of orange juice?”

“That’d be lovely, thanks.”

She smiled and left me alone, drawing the curtain so I could see the rest of the ward.

I was in one of four beds in a kind of side ward, and two of the others were empty.  An old lady was asleep in the opposite bed. She had a mask over her face and thingies attached to her arm.  Her wrinkled skin was a sort of yellow grey colour, while her breathing was harsh and laboured.  She looked awful.  I saw her false teeth were in a container next to the bed. They looked rather gruesome.

It was grey outside and I hadn’t a clue what time it was, or even what day.  If the accident had been on the Saturday, as the nurse had said, that meant that this was Sunday or maybe even later.  If the policeman had died on the early hours on Sunday, then I came round shortly afterwards, the first time, passing out again.

I hated not knowing anything.

I was propped up with several pillows and there was one blanket over the top sheet.  It was warm in the ward, but I felt quite cold.  I struggled up slightly and felt a real ache in my ribs.  My head swam and I felt dizzy.  I suddenly had a memory of sitting on the side of a bath.  As soon as it was there, it went.  I got a sudden picture of a green sponge on the bath, in the shape of a spider.

Hannah came back with a small carton of juice with a straw.

She saw me struggling.

“Do you want to sit up a little?”

“Am I allowed to?”

“I don’t see why not.  How do you feel?”

“Achy and a bit dizzy.”

“Come on, but gently. If it hurts, stop. Okay?”

She helped me up, propping another pillow behind me.  I felt a little dizzy, but it passed as I lay back and closed my eyes.

“What day is it?” I asked.

“Tuesday.”

I must have looked surprised and she smiled.

“You came round on Sunday and then the doctor gave you a sedative because you were in some distress.  You’ve been sleeping like a baby.  Your colour is so much better and your brain waves are normal now.”

I looked at the monitor and saw the wavy lines.

“Where’s my Dad?”

“He’s in one of the relative’s rooms.  We have some rooms of seriously ill patients whose families live too far away to keep travelling in, or there’s some other reason.  Although your home isn’t far away, he had the room because of everything that has happened.  He is very shocked, so the doctors didn’t want him driving.”

“Oh. Where do I live?”

“Can’t you remember?”

I frowned and tried to, but couldn’t.

“I don’t even remember my name,” I admitted and the tears started again. She took my hand and held it quite tightly for a while.

“It’s okay, sweetie, it really is.  It happens all the time.  You’re over the bad bit and so all you have to do is get better.  Try not to worry, as stress can make it more difficult.  I know that’s so easy to say, but believe me; try to look forward and your memories will come back gradually.  Some people even get it all coming back in a rush.”

I smiled, but it was so frustrating.

There was some movement down the ward and a couple of doctors appeared.  One of them was the man I’d seen earlier, I think.  It’s hard to tell when they wear masks, but I recognised his eyes. He had nice eyes and a pleasant smile.  He looked to be about thirty and had short sandy hair.

“How’s my miracle girl this morning?” he asked.  He was very well spoken, exuding confidence. I liked him immediately.

“I’m not sure.  I can’t remember anything.”

“How’s the head?”

“Aches a little and I feel a bit dizzy when I move.”

“That’s to be expected, you took quite a wallop.  Ribs okay?” he asked, pulling the sheet back.  Hannah pulled the curtain around the bed, shielding me from public gaze.

The doctor rolled up the hospital gown, exposing my lower torso.  I stared at it as if it was the first time I had ever seen it and I felt a curious excitement well up inside me.  I also noticed my breasts that wobbled slightly under the gown.  The excitement grew and then I felt inexplicably elated.

“The catheter can come out now, nurse,” the doctor said, and Hannah nodded.

He gently placed his hands on my rib cage and asked me to move slightly.  It hurt, but not sharply.

“Hmm, that’s fine.  How’s the breathing?”

“Fine, I don’t notice anything wrong,” I said, frowning.

“Your lungs were compressed when debris and bits of carriage crushed you. At one point, we thought they’d both collapsed.  But they seem fine now.”

He pulled the nightgown back down, moving up to my head.  He took the dressing off, peering at the sutures.

“Very clean.  We had to shave your scalp, I’m afraid, but there should be no reason why your hair won’t grow back in due course.  I’m sure the hairdresser can come and do something to make it even.  It’ll look odd for a while, but you should be fine.  Your skull was fractured and a piece of bone was pressing on your brain.  We had to take the bone out, I’m afraid. You’ve a piece of titanium in there, so you may bleep every time you go through airport metal detectors.”

I lay back when he’d finished.

“Well, you don’t need to be attached to all these monitors any more.”

He pointed to one of the two I/V bags.

“We’ll take away the pain relief. This is a morphine-based drip, so if you feel pain, we’ll give you something orally and it’s slightly less potent.  Do you feel up to eating yet?”

I shrugged.

“You’ve already had a drink, was that okay?”

I nodded.

“Excellent.  I think you’re young enough to repair very quickly.  So, eat a little and drink as much as you like.  If you want the loo and feel up to it, I’m sure the nurse will help you.  You need to regain your strength as soon as possible, but don’t overdo it, okay?”

I smiled and nodded.

“Okay.”

The doctor smiled and sat on the bed.  He took my hand.

“I’ve just seen your Dad, he’s having some breakfast.  I’m not sure if anyone has told you, but you need to be aware that you mother was in the same accident, and I’m afraid she wasn’t as fortunate as you. I’m sorry, Jenny, but she was killed.”

The tears came unannounced and I tried to fight them.

I nodded.

“I know.  I think I overheard it earlier.  The nurses told me.”

The doctor looked at Hannah.

“She seemed to already know, doctor, and asked a direct question,” she said.

“I’m so sorry, Jenny. If it helps, it was very quick, she wouldn’t have known anything,” the doctor said.

I read his name badge.

Howard Rimmer.

I smiled and immediately thought of Red Dwarf.

I remembered something!

“Red Dwarf!” I said.

The doctors and nurses looked surprised and I had to stop myself from giggling.

“Your name, I remember Red Dwarf!” I said.

The doctor blushed slightly and Hannah burst out laughing.

“That was Arnold, my distant descendant,” he said with a grin. “At least that shows you still know how to read.”

I was so pleased at remembering something that the death of my mother was pushed to one side.  I grinned inanely as if I had achieved something tremendous.

“That is a super sign, Jenny, but try to relax, you’ll find that things will come back when you least expect them to.”

“Just like that?” I said, and then giggled.

He frowned.

“What’s so funny?”

“Tommy Copper – Just like that!” I said.

He smiled again.

“Good girl, that’s the way.”

He moved off and Hannah unplugged the various I/Vs and catheter.  I was overly interested in what went on down there and watched spellbound as the long catheter was removed.

“There’s always a chance of a urinary infection when these are removed.  If you get a burning sensation when you have a wee, let us know.”

“Whee! Thanks a bunch,” I said sarcastically and she grinned.

“You don’t happen to remember if you are due on again soon, do you?”

“Due on?” I asked, frowning.

“The curse, your period?”

I shook my head. Once again, my mind went into a whirl.  This wasn’t real. I didn’t have periods, as they were for women!

Then what the hell was I?

I glanced at my pubic area, with fine fair hair curling delicately over the obviously female genitalia. The swell of my breasts beneath my gown was very real.  I couldn’t deny the evidence of my own senses.

I frowned.

They weren’t mine!

They must be, they were attached to me and no one else was claiming them.

The feeling of excitement returned. Obscurely, it seemed as if I was suddenly granted something that had been previously withheld.

“Are you okay?” Hannah asked and I was jolted back to the real world.

Real world?

I was no longer sure of what was real or what wasn’t.  It was like living through a dreamlike state, where reality and fantasy seemed inseparable.

“Oh, my God, Jenny. Thank God, you’ve woken up!” a male voice said from a little way off.

I stared at a complete stranger as he walked towards me.  I pulled down my gown and straightened the sheet.

Chapter Three.         The Father

He was a big man in his late forties, with greying fair hair and a couple of days’ growth of stubble.  He looked very drawn and tired; his eyes were red, as if he’d been crying. He was wearing a pair of casual trousers and a blue checked shirt that looked creased.  A brown leather jacket was slung over his shoulder.

“Dad?” I asked, slightly hesitantly.

“Oh, my love, you don’t know what it means to me to see you awake!” he said, promptly bursting into a mix of tears and laughter.

Hannah pulled the chair over and he sat next to the bed.

He took my right hand.

I smiled, somewhat bemused. I’d never seen this man before in my life.  I looked at Hannah. She smiled and nodded slightly.

“Mr Adams, Jenny is still very fragile, so please be gentle with her.  Her head injury means she is suffering some amnesia. She has very little memory of anything before the crash.  Please be aware of this.”

“The doctor told me, but you remember me and Mum, don’t you, Jen?”

I shrugged and to my dismay the tears were back.  I couldn’t control them at all.

“I don’t remember anything.  They tell me I’m called Jenny, but I don’t know.”

“Oh, my poor little love.  I’m so sorry.  Things will be all right now, we’ve still got each other,” he said, glancing at Hannah.

“I’ll be at the nurse’s station if you need me.  Don’t tire her out, Mr Adams, she is still very weak.”

Hannah left us and my Dad looked at me so tenderly that the tears kept flowing.  I didn’t understand why I kept crying.

“Jenny, has anyone told you about Mummy?”

I nodded and he looked even more miserable.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I feel so helpless,” he said.

I stroked his face.

“It’s okay, Dad. As you’ve just said, you’ve still got me!”

He openly wept then, burying his head in my blanket.  Now I felt utterly helpless and looked around to see if anyone was watching.  I still felt curiously detached, as if this wasn’t really happening to me, but I had to make the right responses for some reason.

He took a few minutes to regain control and we just held hands without speaking.  I even dozed a little. 

“What can you remember?” he asked, at last.

I shook my head.

“Very little.  I get glimpses that don’t really firm up as anything I can recognise. I only know my name because they call me Jenny.  I don’t remember where I live or how old I am.  I don’t remember you or Mum, or whether I have any brothers and sisters.  I can remember anything about school or whether I go to work.  It’s really awful!”

He then told me that his name was Robert, Rob to his friends, and I was the elder of his two children.  I was sixteen, with my birthday on April Fool’s day – the 1st April 1988. I had a younger brother called Richard who was thirteen.  Dad’s parents lived in Wiltshire and were looking after Richard while Dad was visiting me and staying at the hospital.  Mum’s parents were travelling down from Scotland to visit.  They were understandably upset and it was an awful time for the whole family.

I had just started back at school for my first sixth form year, and had been on the way back from a day in London with Mummy.  We’d been doing some Christmas shopping and so the crash had now completely ruined our Christmas.

We lived just outside a small village with the unlikely name of Goldfinch Bottom, not far from Newbury, in Berkshire. Dad told me he was an airline pilot working for British Airways and he had met Mummy when she had been a stewardess back in the 1980s.

It was nice to know, but my memory still didn’t kick in. I became aware that my bladder needed emptying.

“Daddy, I need a pee.  I’ll have to call the nurse,” I said, interrupting his flow of facts.

I pressed the buzzer and Hannah came over.

“I need the loo,” I said.

“Okay, gently does it.  Do you want a bedpan?”

I shook my head.

“No, I’d like to try to get up.”

Daddy looked worried and Hannah smiled.

“Swing your legs over and then give me your hands.  We’ll get up to a sitting position and see how we get on.”

I did as I was told and experienced real pillow spin. I giggled.

“I haven’t even had a drink!” I said and Hannah frowned.

“How do you know about that?” she asked with a smile. I shrugged.

My head ached dully, but my ribs really hurt as I tried to stand up.

“The muscles are all very tender,” Hannah said.

“I feel as if I’ve been kicked in the chest by a mule.”

“No, just a train,” Hannah said.

She helped me to my feet and the world spun slightly.  My ribs hurt and I could feel the blood pounding in my head.  I felt slightly queasy.

“Okay?” she asked, worried.

I nodded and raised a hand, indicating I just wanted to stay still for a moment.

“Fucking Norah, this is weird!” I said, and both Hannah and Daddy looked shocked.  Where the hell did that come from?

I grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry, I’m not sure where that came from,” I said, quite truthfully.

Leaning heavily on Hannah’s arm, I tottered down the ward to the loo.  She helped me in and I sat down.

“Do you want me to go?”

I shook my head and she smiled and watched me.  I then grinned and looked sheepish again.

“I can’t seem to go with you watching me, I’m sorry,” I said.

“I’ll be right outside.  That cord is the bell, okay?”

She left me and I was able to release the pent up fluid.  Even this sensation seemed odd, as if I had never been for a pee before.

I tore off some loo paper and wiped, conscious of the very sensitive nature of my genitalia. I brushed my hand over the lips, shivering slightly as I touched something that almost gave me an electric type shock.

The excitement bubbled up deep inside me and I smiled.  I felt a deep-seated feeling of contentment that went far beyond anything to do with family, train crashes or injuries.  I couldn’t explain it, but for some obscure reason, I felt amazingly happy.

I wondered if it was the drugs they’d given me, but then Hannah interrupted my thoughts.

“Finished?”

“Yup.”

“Problems?”

“Nope.”

“Good.

She helped me up and we tottered together to the basin.  I washed my hands and then stared into a mirror.

An utter stranger stared back.

I moved my head and she mirrored the movement.

I concluded that she must be me.

I was very pretty and had blue/grey eyes.  A bandage was wrapped round the top part of my head, but some golden hair was escaping out at the side.

Full, naturally red lips parted in shock and white teeth gleamed evenly behind them.  The high cheekbones emphasised the large eyes above and my heart shaped face was blessed with a very pure complexion, which was very pale at the moment.  Dark circles under my eyes made me look tired, yet as I smiled, the whole face lit up.

“Are you all right?”

“It’s weird, seeing oneself for the first time,” I said and she smiled.

“You don’t even remember what you looked like?”

I shook my head.

“I’m quite pretty,” I said, and she laughed.

“Yes, Jenny, you are, but don’t let it go to your head.”

“When does this bandage come off?”

“You’ll have to ask the doctor.  I should think another few days yet.”

“Will I be able to wear my own clothes, this gown sucks!”

She smiled.

“You are getting better, aren’t you?”

She helped me back to the ward and I was quite relieved to get back into bed.  I was exhausted.

“Well, if you’d told me you’d be walking about this quickly, I’d never have believed it. You were at death’s door a couple of days ago,” Hannah said.

“Such is the power of prayer,” said my Dad.

“She wants some of her own clothes.  If you get a chance, could you bring in an overnight bag and don’t forget makeup and toiletries?” Hannah said to him.

“Already? Gosh, I didn’t think that would happen for ages.  Yes, it’d be a pleasure.  I’m going to have to go home this afternoon, as Eleanor’s parents are arriving at tea time and it’s all a bit fraught.”

“Do you want to speak to someone, I’m sure there’s a counsellor you could see?”

“No, I’ll be all right.  Now I’ve got my daughter back, I think I’ll manage,” he said, looking at me through tear brimmed eyes.

We chatted for another hour and then I really did feel sleepy.  He kissed my on the cheek and left.  I dozed for a while, to be woken up by an auxiliary asking whether I wanted some lunch.

“Am I allowed any?”

“Your chart says you can,” she said.

“Okay, what is there?”

“Macaroni cheese, fish and chips, or chicken Tikka.”

Somehow, I knew I liked all of them.  How was that possible?

“Macaroni, please.”

“Do you want sponge and custard or fruit salad and ice cream?”

“Fruit and ice cream, please.”

The woman left me, and I felt normal for the first time.  I was bored.

I rang for the nurse.

Hannah came along a few moments later.

“Jenny?”

“I’m sorry, but is there anything to read?”

“What sort of thing would you like?”

“I’m not fussed, anything.”

“Are you sure you remember how to read?” she teased.

I just smiled and she walked off chuckling.

She returned with a couple of old Readers Digests, a dog-eared Bella Magazine and a month old Cosmopolitan.

“There’s a library trolley that’ll be round tomorrow.  You might be able to pick up a book, or order something from the lady who runs it.  What books do you like?” Hannah asked.

I shrugged again.

“I don’t know.  It might be quite fun finding out.  I can read something I’ve already read and never realise it.”

“That’ll be the same with films, then?”

I smiled.

“I suppose so.  I hadn’t really thought about it.  Why is it that I can remember how to speak, but not my own name?”

“Different part of the brain, I guess.  You can ask the psychiatrist when you see him.”

“Will I have to see one of them?”

“You know what a psychiatrist is?”

I nodded.

“A nut doctor.”

She laughed.

“You’re getting better all right!” she said, leaving me to see what another patient wanted.

I read the Readers Digests first. I enjoyed the ‘Life’s like that’ and Laughter the Best Medicine’. There was an article about a young boy trapped in a car crushed in an earthquake in South America.  The harrowing story was a little too close to comfort, so I put it down and read the Cosmo magazine instead.

The letters page and advice column made me smile. I read a fascinating article about female multiple orgasms.  I was so engrossed that I was unaware that lunch arrived.

The food was pretty ordinary, but I enjoyed it.  I ate everything and as I picked up my magazine again, I looked round for my spectacles.

I stopped.

I read the first lot without any difficulty and didn’t need specs, so why was I looking for them now?  I looked about the ward, realising that I could see perfectly.  Both my long distance and close distance sight was perfect, so why did I think I needed glasses for reading? - force of habit?

I rang for the nurse, feeling guilty as I wasn’t properly ill or anything.

It was a different nurse who came, looking a little stressed.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, but could I have a pen and some paper?  I need to make a note of stuff to ask my Dad and the doctors.”

Her face softened and she gave me one of the two cheap ballpoints in her top pocket. 

“I’ll get you some paper in a second.  Is there anything else?”

“No, that’s all, thanks.”

She walked off and returned with a small memo pad.

I wrote.

Do I wear specs?

I picked up the magazine and read some more.  I then felt bladder pressure again and looked up the ward for the nurse.  Not wanting to be a pain for the busy nurses, I struggled into a sitting position, managing to swing my legs over the bed.  Holding onto the bed, I hauled myself upright and waited for the dizziness to pass.

Keeping to the furniture, I negotiated my way to the loo and managed to sit down by myself.  My ribs hurt and the tummy muscles screamed at me.  However, I felt an enormous sense of achievement having done this by myself.

I had a pee and was once more fascinated with my body.  It was like some wonderful Alien Life Form and I adored the feel of it.  I felt strangely guilty, as if someone was about to find me out and make me go back to being whatever I should be.  I just knew that it was all very strange.

I had just finished and was gearing myself up for the return journey when Hannah opened the door, making me jump.

“Oh thank God!  There you are.  Don’t you dare do that again! What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry, but you were busy with really sick people.”

“Jenny, you little fool, don’t you realise it? You are a really sick person. Now, lean on me and we’ll get you back to bed.  Your father is back and your grandparents are with him.  You gave me the scare of my life. I told them you’d popped to the loo, so hopefully they aren’t too concerned. Now, these are your Mum’s parents, so they’re really upset already, just so you know.”

I smiled weakly.

“Thanks.  Hannah?”

“What?”

“Why don’t I feel more upset?”

She smiled and stroked my cheek.

“Poor Jenny, you will.  When everything comes back, it’ll all hit you and so don’t worry about it now.  Let’s get your body fixed, then your mind and then we’ll let you get upset.  Sometimes the brain knows what’s good for you and it may be you don’t need worry just now.”

“It’s just that I feel like someone else and that none of this is happening to me,” I said, as we left the loo.

“You’d better believe it, girl, this is happening to you!”

We walked back to the ward and I saw the man who believed he was my father with an older couple.  The woman was clearly upset and had been crying. The man was doing a remarkably effective impression of being miserable.

As soon as she saw me, the woman started to wail and launched herself at me.  Hannah managed to run an effective block, telling her that I was very delicate and not to hug me tightly.

I knew I looked a sight, with my bandage wrapped round my head.

“Oh, Jenny, you poor mite, thank all that’s Holy, you are all right!” she wailed and drew me close to her.

“Careful Gran, I’m a bit sore!” I said and she burst into tears.

“Poor Jenny has amnesia.  Her head injury was very serious and she can’t remember anything of before the crash,” Dad explained.

“What, nothing?” my grandfather asked.

“Not even her name,” Dad added.

I smiled weakly and felt a real fraud.  These were very nice people, but they weren’t my people!

“Is it permanent?” Grandpa asked.

“We hope not.  The doctors are hopeful that she’ll make a full recovery.  Doctor Rimmer calls her his miracle girl.”

“Why?”

“Well, she was brain dead for a while and suddenly came back to us.  He’s never seen anything like it in twenty years.”

Gran finally released me and I slipped back into bed.

“I brought some of your stuff from home, sweetheart,” Dad said, and plonked an overnight bag on the bed. He passed me a CD player and a bag of CDs.  I looked through it and didn’t recognise any of them.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“These had come for you.  There are several cards from your classmates and teachers and some from the orchestra.” He passed over a pile of cards in their envelopes.  I started to open them, but my Gran kept holding my hand and crying.

“Orchestra?”

“You play the clarinet in the school orchestra.”

“Do I?” I asked, and Gran started to sob.

I read the cards and the names meant nothing.

I read one…to a special girl, love Tim.

“Dad?”

“What, sweetie?”

“Have I got a boyfriend?” I asked, reddening slightly.

He smiled and even Gran stopped snivelling slightly.

“You seem to have about six or seven at the last count.  But you seem to like Tim Barton best.”

I looked back at the card.

“I can’t remember any of them.”

“Oh, you poor lamb!” wailed Gran and she was off again.

I remembered my note.

“Dad, do I wear specs?”

“What?” he asked, startled.

“Do I wear specs?”

“No, why?”

“It’s just that I was reading this afternoon. When I wasn’t concentrating, I put the magazine down to eat and then when I picked it up again, I looked around for specs.  I just wondered.  I might just have seen someone else do it, I don’t know.”

“No, you’ve never worn glasses.  Your brother wears them, but you don’t.”

“Oh.”

I put the card on the side.  I’d have time later to put them up properly.

Gran was really upset, and I was at a complete loss to know what to say to her. Dad was struggling to keep on an even keel and Grandpa looked shell-shocked.

I touched him on his arm.

“It was ever so quick.  She wouldn’t have felt anything!” I said and he smiled weakly and nodded.

“I know.  It was as if our whole world came crashing down when your dad called.  Then it got even worse when he called to say you might die too.  It was like a little burst of sunshine when he phoned to tell us you had pulled through!” He had a lovely deep voice with the faintest Scottish burr.

As the afternoon progressed, I began to find that Gran’s constant crying and whimpering started to make me feel depressed.  I had started the afternoon on a high and now she was making me miserable.  I then felt guilty, as I knew her daughter was dead and yet I still felt that although they were lovely people, they weren’t my people!

I said goodbye to Hannah as she went off duty and was sad to see her go.  She’d built up a rapport with me and I trusted her.

Dad noticed my expression and decided to take his parents-in-law away.

“We’ll come back tomorrow, Heather, Jenny’s getting tired,” he said, kissing me goodbye and ushering them away.  Grandpa gave me a wink.  He never said much, but not a lot escaped him.

Chapter Four         Family and Friends

I felt simple relief when they’d gone.  I opened the bag that Dad had brought and pulled out a small bag.  Inside were some alien artefacts - Cosmetics. I pulled a sort of whirly brush on a stalk out of a tube of blue stuff and guessed it was for eyelashes.  There was lip-gloss, eye shadow and all manner of weird tubs, pencils and tubes.

I found a little paper covered cardboard tube and opened it. I stared at it for ages before it dawned on me what it might be.  I went bright red and put it away quickly. It was as if I had never handled a tampon before.

I was definitely confused, as I had an awareness of life and yet no memory of how I obtained such knowledge or awareness.  Without thinking, I inserted a CD into the small player and listened to some music.

I stopped it almost immediately and changed the CD.  After trying all the selection, I decided that my taste in music was crap. It had lots of throbbing bass rhythm and an unintelligible alien language as lyrics.  I put it away again.  I may not know who I was, but I knew what I didn’t like!

My ribs still felt as if an elephant had stepped on me, but my headache had gone.  I only realised it was there when I knocked the wound accidentally.

I read the Cosmopolitan cover to cover and then picked up the Bella magazine.

There was a crossword on page six, so I picked up the pen and had a go.

Surprisingly, I found it easy and, before I knew what had happened, I had finished it.

Then I felt a little panic.  It was a cryptic crossword.  I had managed to solve all the clues and still I didn’t even know who I was.  They told me I was Jennifer Adams.  My mother was dead and I had met people who said they were my father and grandparents. Still, I felt like it was surreal and I was simply along for a ride.

The late shift nurse came over to me.

“Hi, how do you feel?”

“Bored,” I said, quite honestly and to my relief she laughed.

“That’s a good sign.  Last time I saw you, you were unconscious.  You look much better, I must say.”

“Thanks.”

“How’s the head?”

“Okay.  I only know it’s there when I bang it by mistake.  I keep forgetting.  The bandage is hot, is there any chance I can take it off?”

“Let’s have a look.”  She unwrapped the bandage and changed the dressing.

“That’s looking really neat.  If we put a clean dressing on, you can leave off the bandage until bedtime.  Before you go to sleep we’ll put on a lighter covering, just to protect the wound, okay?”

I nodded.

I dug out a mirror from my bag and looked at my head.  They had shaved the area around the wound and left the long hair everywhere else.  It looked silly now.  I said as much.

“There’s not a lot anyone can do about that, I’m afraid.  You’ll just have to wait until it grows out again,” she said.  I found out she was called Sarah and was a student nurse in her final year.

“So, should I have it all cut short?” I asked.

“It would all grow back at the same rate if you do,” she said.

“Hmm,” I said, unconvinced.

“Why don’t you put on your own nightie and some makeup?” she suggested.

“I don’t think I know how,” I admitted.

“The nightie or the makeup,” she asked, teasing me.

“The makeup, I can’t remember how to do it!”

She looked at the crossword, lying on my table.

“You do this?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you a pickle?”

“Why?” I asked.

“One minute you solve a cryptic crossword and then you say you can’t remember how to apply makeup.”

“I can’t help it. It’s just the way it happened.  I didn’t want to lose my memory!” I said, and felt emotions well up again.

She smiled and touched me on the arm.

“I didn’t mean to sound patronising, it’s just very weird,” she said.

“Tell me about it!” I said.

She stayed and showed me what each little tub and tube was for. As I watched in the little hand mirror, she applied a little make up for me. It was like a whole, new world.  Heck, it was a whole, new world and I began to feel that somehow, for some unknown reason, I was privileged to be blessed with being allowed to have something special.

She allowed me to cast off the rather nasty hospital gown and wear my own nightdress. It was nothing slinky, just a cotton one with characters from SouthPark all over it. I stared at Kenny and Cartman, and wondered how I knew their names, when I still didn’t really know who I was.

Sarah brought me some more magazines, including a crossword book. Some of which had been partially completed by someone else.  The tea-lady gave me some tea and a piece of fruitcake, so then I read for a while.  I looked through the cards again, in the hope that something would click in my mind.  It didn’t, so I arranged them neatly along the windowsill next to the bed.

The doctors came round again before supper. There were three of them; one, who was a little older, was probably more senior. I didn’t recognise them, but they seemed surprised to see me sitting up doing crosswords.

The older one asked me loads of questions and made notes on my chart.

“Howard tells me you still don’t remember much before the crash, is that right?”

I nodded.

“Even your name and other personal details?”

“Nothing.”

He smiled.

“Well to be honest, we didn’t expect you to pull through, so for me to be sitting here talking to you is a miracle.  In my experience, this type of amnesia is temporary and you will find most of your memories will come flooding back in time.  The only bit that you might not get back is of around the actual incident.”

“It feels frustrating, not knowing, I mean.  I feel as if I am a stranger and even with people who tell me that they are my family.  It’s not a very pleasant feeling,” I said.

He smiled at me.

“I’m sure it isn’t.  I’ve asked Doctor Phillips to come and have a chat with you tomorrow.  This is his field,” The man said.

“Is he a psychiatrist?”

“As it happens, yes.  He specialises in major brain trauma cases and so he is very good at helping people remember things.”

I smiled uncertainly.  I almost felt that I didn’t want to remember.

The doctors left. I was give a light supper of a sandwich and some fruit.  I ate it, but didn’t feel that hungry. I had just finished when I saw my father coming down the ward.  There was a younger man with him, as he got closer I saw he was more a boy really, about sixteen or so.  He was quite tall, with curly brown hair, swept back and gelled.  He looked as if he fancied himself.  Although I thought he was quite good looking, it was the fact he obviously knew it that didn’t endear him to me instantly.  I hoped this wasn’t my boyfriend!

“Hi Princess,” Dad said, kissing me. “You’re looking even better than earlier.”

“I’m okay.  How are the old folks?”

“Your Gran is taking things badly, as expected.  Reg is stoic, but I know he is deeply upset as well.  It gave them a real boost seeing you.”

“I know, but Gran’s snivelling didn’t help me and I feel so guilty.”

“It’s all right sweetie.  I brought Mike Wallis from the orchestra, just in case you needed a memory jolt.  Strike a chord?”

I stared at the young man.  He grinned at me, but had an uneasy expression in the eyes.

I shook my head.

“Nope, sorry,” I said and he looked a little crestfallen.

“If it’s any consolation, Mike, she didn’t even recognise me!” Dad said, with a sad smile.

“Hell, I don’t even recognise me,” I said, and both looked surprised.

“I looked in a mirror and it was as if I’ve never seen me before in my life!” I admitted. “I have absolutely no memory of before waking up in hospital. I know how to do crosswords, I even remember the names of the SouthPark characters, but I can’t remember anything about me or my life!”

“Wow, that’s heavy!” said Mike. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.  I get funny sort of fleeting memories without any substance.  But they seem very transient and elusive, never hanging about long enough to focus on properly.”

They both bombarded me with questions about these funny ghosts of memories and I did my best to answer them all.

I noticed that Dad frowning.

“What?” I asked.

“You, you’re using words and phraseology far more advanced than you used to.”

“Am I?” I had a feeling of danger here.  I couldn’t explain it, but it was as if I was an impostor whose real identity was about to be revealed.

They drifted off the subject of my memory and chatted about anything other than me, my Mum, the crash or death.  I could see Dad was struggling to keep a brave face up and wondered if he’d had an opportunity to have a good cry yet.

Two more people arrived, a man and a woman. I stared at them in the hope that a spark of recognition would suddenly enlighten me as to their identities. Mike stood up.

“Hi Mum,” he said and I was disappointed once more.

I said hello to Mike’s parents. It seemed odd, as they so obviously knew me well. Mr Wallis gave me a box of glazed fruits and Mrs Wallis, Gina, put some flowers in a vase she obtained from one of the nurses.

They didn’t stay long, as my condition made it hard to have a conversation.  They left after half an hour, taking Mike with them.

After they’d gone, two nurses went to the old lady opposite me and pulled the curtain around her bed.  A doctor and another nurse arrived, and there was a bit of coming and going for a while.  Then a porter arrived, they put her on a trolley and pushed her out of the ward.  It was quite a sobering experience.

I took Dad’s hand.  It seemed so odd, as he was still a stranger to me, but I had to pretend to be his daughter, for his sake.

“Dad, it’s all right for you to cry, you know?” I said.

He looked at me and very slowly his face seemed to crumple.  The tears started and just fell without any restraint.  It was as if a tap had been turn on. He just put his head on my bed and cried.  I rested my hand on his head and waited for him to finish.

One of the nurses came past, saw us and smiled at me.  She mouthed the question, ‘ARE YOU ALRIGHT?’

I nodded and smiled back.

It took a while, as he had all that grief and stress to release.  Not that this was the end of it, but he needed to get rid of this lot first.  I felt detached, still, as if I was this spectator, allowed to view the world from a ringside seat.  It was rather like one of these virtual reality computer games and I almost felt that if I could work out how to switch it off, I’d return to normal.

What was normal?

Was I mad?

Why didn’t I feel that I didn’t belong in this body?

Why did I feel that I wanted to be here, but that it was cheating, somehow?

The questions just went on and on, with no answers I felt frustrated. With the weeping man I didn’t know, mourning the mother I couldn’t remember, I found my tears of frustration joined his and we made a right pair.

It must have done him some good, as he looked a little more cheerful once he had regained control and dried his eyes.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I feel a real wimp!” he said.

“Don’t be silly, you’ve more reasons than I to feel dreadful, why shouldn’t you express yourself?”

 He stayed for a little longer and then told me he had to get back to see my brother Richard and his own parents.  I tried to picture my brother, but failed.

“Dad, are you going to bring Richard in to see me?” I asked.

“I will now.  I wasn’t going to before because I was told there wasn’t that much hope you’d survive.  My whole world came crashing down after one phone call and then the moment I saw you sitting here, looking so alive and pretty - it brought me some sunshine again!”

I nearly lost it again and he gave me a very gentle hug.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.  Ricky is still out of school, so I’ll bring him in. Do you feel up to seeing Gramps and Granny?” he asked.

“They’ll probably want to see me, so bring them if you feel they’d like to come,” I said and he looked at me with a strange expression.

I smiled.

“What?”

“You.  It’s as if you’ve suddenly become someone else.  You sound the same, you look the same, but you seem so much older and wiser.  It’s hard to explain.”

“Ah, that’s what happens when you get biffed on the head and can’t remember bugger all!” I said. His shocked expression informed me I’d said something I shouldn’t have.

“Sorry, slipped out,” I said and grinned.  I saw in his eyes that he would forgive me anything right now and my heart gave a little lurch.  It was so tough knowing that he loved me so completely and I really didn’t know him.

He left with a smile on his face and for that I was grateful.  I had another trip to the loo, under the careful eye of a student nurse, once again marvelling at my ‘new’ body. Everything was new, but with no memory, I suppose that’s what you get.

They gave me a painkiller so I could sleep and I slipped off without difficulty.

Chapter Five           The Shrink

Dreams are very funny things.  When you are in them, even the silliest situation can appear real and serious.  But when you dream serious things, it’s hard to know what is real and what isn’t.

I dreamed.

I was dimly aware I was dreaming, yet at the same time, I didn’t want to stop it in case I could learn something about myself.

I was at a funeral.  I was standing in a church looking at a coffin resting on trestles up near the altar.  I was aware that people I loved were standing beside me, but for some obscure reason, I didn’t want to look at them.

I was looking down at an open hymnbook that I was holding.  The letters are out of focus and I’m holding the book far away so I can read it. I could see my cuffs and I had a white shirt on, with a dark coat or jacket over the top.  I had a black leather wristwatch strap on my left wrist, and a flash of gold informed me I was wearing a ring on my left ring finger, the wedding finger.

My hand was palm up, so I couldn’t see whether it was a plain wedding band, or had a stone or engraving plate on it. They seemed quite large calloused hands, but I knew that they were definitely mine.

I looked at the coffin, with the many bouquets of flowers that adorned it.  I turned to my left and saw, across an aisle, a woman dressed in black.  She was middle-aged, yet was crying almost uncontrollably.

I knew her.  I should do, because she was my sister.  I knew her name was Kathleen and she was married to a man called Bob, whom didn’t like very much.  I looked back at the coffin and knew that inside, lay the lifeless body of my mother.

I woke up gasping for air and sweating. For a few moments, I was completely disorientated and forgot where I was.  It dawned on me that I was still in hospital, and then, strangely, my hand went to my crotch, to check whether I was still a girl.

That action concerned me, particularly as I felt inexplicable relief to discover I was female.  Indeed, on feeling the now familiar softness between my legs, I relaxed completely and the stress of my dream abated.

I scrabbled for my pen and notebook and wrote down what I could remember: -

Sister – Kathleen 40 -50???, married to Bob.. I don’t like him.  Mother dead. Wedding ring? Black watchstrap.

Specs for Reading?

Now my father told me I had a brother called Richard.  Why did I suddenly dream I had a middle-aged sister called Kathleen? She was older even than Dad, so it made no sense. I could still picture her face from the dream. It was as real now as it had been in the dream.

The ward was quiet.  The old lady hadn’t returned to her bed opposite, so I was alone in my little cul-de-sac.  It was dark outside, so I had no idea of the time.  I was sleepy but aware that I needed another pee. There was a wall clock, but it was further up the ward. I slung my legs over the edge of the bed and sat up.

The ribs still hurt a lot, but my head was better.  I waited in case the dizziness returned, but it didn’t. I considered buzzing the nurse, but decided to have a go on my own.  I stood up, holding onto the bedside cabinet, set off slowly, keeping close to something to grab hold of should the need arise.  As I passed the clock, I noticed it was only five a.m.

I reached the loo and as I approached the toilet itself, I had an overwhelming urge to pee standing up.  It was silly, as the seat was down, yet I almost reached out and raised the seat as if I was on automatic.  I resisted the urge and, lifting my nightie, sat down. 

I tried to think what had made me do that.  I was half-asleep, so I felt it was an unconscious action, born out of conditioning.  That meant my feelings of not really belonging were right, and that somehow I had been male and woke up in this slightly battered, but otherwise very beautiful young girl’s body.

The frustration of just not having any memory was almost tangible. The dream was still very real and I tried to focus on the face of the woman I knew was called Kathleen. It was the first single memory of anything and I didn’t want to lose it.  As I sat there, I suddenly had another flash of memory involving the same woman, but a lot younger.  She was dressed as a bride and was getting married.  She was laughing, and there was another woman with her.  I closed my eyes and the woman’s face turned towards me.

It was my mother, - our mother, Kathleen’s and mine. She was a small, slightly plump woman, with a big smile and greying hair. I smiled, as I could almost hear her voice…almost.  I felt the warmth of her affection and it made me cry again.

I opened my eyes and the memory faded.  It was still there, as my only memory so far, I wasn’t going to let it go!

I finished my pee and examined my new body.  Although I have no idea of whom I really am and certainly no clue as to who I might have been before, I had to admit I was more than happy with the situation.

I did feel that I didn’t belong in this body, as much as I didn’t belong in a brand new Ferrari.  That didn’t mean to say I didn’t like being in it, and could certainly get used to it!

In the absence of an irate owner demanding I quit and hand it back, I began to have a proprietary feeling about it.

I slipped my nightie off and examined as much of me that I could see.  Limited somewhat by the restrictions of bandages and pain, I was able to appreciate what I could see.

I was about five foot six.  This was another factor in my belief that somehow I had been someone else.  I had a vague impression that I had been taller, quite a bit taller in fact. I had to stretch to see my breasts in the mirror and an involuntary smile came to my lips when I saw them.  I was slender, with a very narrow waist, and hips that curved out gently.  With long slender legs, bereft of hair, topped with that jewel nestled at their union. The smile became broader.

Whoever I had been, this was who I had always wanted to be, of that I was completely certain.

Feeling slightly chilly, I dressed and returned to my bed.  My absence had gone unnoticed, so I snuggled in to warm up again. I must have dropped off, because the nurse woke me up to take my temperature and blood pressure.

“How’s the pain, this morning?”

“Okay.  Still there, but bearable.  I went to the loo in the night and it was okay,” I replied.

“That was naughty.  Why didn’t you buzz me?”

“I didn’t want to bother you, besides, I was fine.”

“What if you’d have fallen?”

“I didn’t.”

“You could have done.”

“I didn’t, so it’s not a problem.”

She shook her head and smiled, then wrote down my readings on the chart. She wandered off to deal with someone else and so I dozed.

Hospitals aren’t really good places to rest or sleep.  Armies of cleaners and all kinds of people come clattering in from six thirty onwards.  But it was pleasant lying back and not feeling pain for a while.

As I semi-dozed, I recalled the dream when I was standing on the edge of a void.  I couldn’t remember when I dreamed it, but the feeling of being given a choice was very strong.  There was light and warmth and then there was the void.  That was all I could remember.  I thought about my other dream, and I wondered how true they both were, or whether I was just suffering the after-effects of being battered on the head, or given loads of drugs.

As it started to get light, the reality of my flesh, my pain and my senses seemed to over-ride the silly notions of being someone else.  Everything inside me told me that was impossible and I concluded that it was all due to my bang on the head.

I still had no memory, except a picture of a sister called Kathleen, and a mother who loved me and was now dead.

I was roused by the arrival of another patient.  It was a young man and he was unconscious.  They lifted him off the trolley and onto the bed next to me, carefully, so as not to disturb the two legs that were in plaster.  I saw steel pins sticking out of the side of both plasters, at various intervals up both legs.  One arm was plastered, as was his other wrist, while his neck was in a neck-brace.

They pulled the curtains round as soon as the trolley was removed. Hannah came over to me.

“Hi Jenny, how are you today?”

“Okay, I think.  What happened to him?  He looks a real mess.”

“Motorbike accident.  He’s been in surgery for hours.  He was another one who very nearly died.”

“How many bones has he broken?”

“Lots,” she said, picking up my chart.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Oi, Miss Nosey, it’s none of your business,” she said.

“Go on, it’s really dull in here.  The only excitement yesterday was when the old lady was taken out.  Did she die?”

Hannah looked at me for a moment.

“Yes, Jenny, she did,” she said.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I felt terribly guilty all of a sudden.

She read my chart for a few moments.

“Well?” I asked.

She shook her head and smiled.

“He left the road near Sonning and ended up in some trees.  No one else was involved, and a passing motorist called it in.  Happy now?”

“Was he going too fast?”

“Probably.”

“Is the bike a write off?”

“I have no idea, but if he’s anything to go by, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“What make of bike was it?”

“Jenny, I have no idea.  I think I’ve answered enough, don’t you?”

I grinned.

“Do you want breakfast?” she asked.

“Yes please.”

“Any memory come back?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, unsure whether to share what little I did have.

“Oh?”

“It may be nothing, but I remember going to a funeral.”

“That sounds cheerful. Is that it?”

I nodded.  For some reason, I felt cautious and didn’t want to say too much.

“You’re to see the psychiatrist this morning.  Maybe he can help.”

“I hope so, it’s really awful not knowing anything.”

“Do you want a wash?”

“Yes please.  Can I have a bath?”

“Not yet.  We’ll give you a bed bath, okay?”

“I suppose so, it’s better than nothing.”

By the time the psychiatrist arrived, it was nearly eleven o’clock and I was actually tired.  I’d had breakfast, a wash, seen the doctors on their round, been to the loo, had a hair cut and put some makeup on under Hannah’s supervision. The last bit had been a real hoot and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

The hairdresser simply gave me a very short cut all round, leaving a reasonable fringe at the front.  I felt a lot better when she had finished, as I only had a small dressing covering the wound on the back of my head now.

A young man wearing jeans and an All Blacks Rugby shirt appeared at my bed.

“Hi, Jenny Adams?” he asked.  His accent was in line with his shirt.

“So I’m told,” I said, feeling impish.

His face fell a little.  He was a good-looking man, in his late twenties, with dark hair and a rugby player’s build.

He sat down.

“I’m Bruce Phillips, you’ve been referred to me because of your amnesia,” he said, holding out his hand.

I shook it.

“You’re the shrink?” I asked.

He grinned and nodded.

“So I’m told,” he said and we both smiled.  Touché.

I sat and looked at him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Physically, a bit stiff, sore and somewhat restricted.  Mentally, I feel frustrated, angry, confused and bored out of my brain.”

He laughed.

“Okay, let’s forget the physical side, the other doctors tell me you’re getting better, and I can see that for myself.  So, one at a time, what’s frustrating you?”

“I can’t remember anything before waking up with a tube down my throat.  A man came in and told me he was my father and that I’m called Jenny Adams.  I don’t even recognise myself, let alone anyone else.  I’ve thirty-eight cards from people who know me and I can’t picture any of them, even my supposed brother and boyfriend. Yet, I managed to do a difficult crossword, I can remember the food I like and don’t like, and I know I just don’t have the same taste in music than I did before the crash.”

Bruce was writing everything down on a pad.

“I’m writing this down, because my memory is awful, okay. What about anger, why are you angry?”

“Because I can’t remember.”

“That’s it?”

“It’s enough, isn’t it?  I mean, I’m told my mother died in the crash, but I can’t feel anything because I can’t remember her. Wouldn’t you feel angry?”

He nodded.

“Yup, I probably would. Go on.”

“What’s to say, I’m confused because I can’t remember and every moment is new to me.  I mean, it’s as if I was born a couple of days ago, with the ability to speak and wipe my bum, but no idea as to how I learned to do those things.  I did that cryptic crossword yesterday and how the heck can I do that, but not remember my own name?”

“Good question, and to be honest, I don’t know.  Head injuries are strange things.  It’s not like illness; it’s more complex.  No two patients are the same.  What you and I have to do is work out a plan.  We’ve got to get you to a stage that the past is something that is not that important any more.  The important thing is now and tomorrow.  You have a future, and that’s important.  Yesterday is gone, but the memories may well come back and you have to be able to deal with them.  Some might be nasty and others nice.  Can you imagine what your mother looked like?”

The question almost threw me, for I immediately thought of the grey haired lady from Kathleen’s wedding.

I shook my head.

“No.”

“Okay. Your Dad has been in to see you, so you know what he looks like.  I want you to close your eyes, and try to imagine him at home, and say standing next to the Christmas tree.  Where do you keep the tree?”

I shrugged, my eyes closed.

“I don’t know.”

“Where would you like to keep the tree, given a choice?”

“In the sitting room.”

“Why?”

“Because…., just because.”

“Tell me about your sitting room, can you picture it?”

I shook my head, but in truth a picture was forming in my mind.  I saw a picture on the wall above the fireplace.

“You must see something.”

“A fireplace?”

“What kind of fire?”

“A burning one.”

“Minx! Coal, wood or gas?”

I shrugged.

“Flames, coal or gas, I think.”

“Jenny, I just want you to watch the flames for a while.  Can you feel their warmth?”

I nodded.

“It’s Christmas, what’s on the mantle piece?”

“A clock.”

“What’s it look like?”

“Brass, a carriage clock.  There are candle sticks and a funny looking mug.”

“Go on,” he said.

I felt there was danger here and immediately withdrew. I opened my eyes.

“It’s gone.  Did you hypnotise me?”

“No, you were awake and aware all the time.  But I have at least managed to prove that your memory is there, it’s just hidden away somewhere.”

“Am I bonkers?” I asked, and he burst out laughing.

“Dear me, no.  You suffered a major trauma to your skull and that impacted on your brain.  There was a danger you could have suffered some brain damage and I have to say I am surprised at how well you have recovered.  This temporary amnesia could be mental trauma or physical. I don’t believe it’s mental. That’s to say, it isn’t really a psychiatrist’s case, but a neurosurgeon’s.  The surgeon has done what he can, so now it’s up to the two of us to rebuild your past.

“I want to play a name game with you.  I’ll say a word, and I want you to tell me the first word that comes into your head, okay?”

I nodded, and off he went.

This went on for a while and he wrote down all my responses. Then he changed tack and we chatted about the news. 

“Have you seen a TV since the accident?”

“No, why?”

“If I said - Iraq, what would it mean to you?”

“Iraq?  A country in the middle-east, Saddam Hussein was dictator, there’s a war on, and the Americans and British have gone in to get the soldiers killed in a self-perpetuating conflict with no defined enemy.”

He frowned and looked at me.

“You don’t think we should have gone in?”

“No, but then I’m not the person making decisions.”

“Who’s Prime minister at the moment?”

“Tony Blair, why?”

“Who’s the American President?”

“George W. Bush, look, why does this matter, and how will it help me?”

“How do you know these things?”

I stared at him.

“Coz I do,” I said, surprised at myself.

“I’m going to ask you questions, and I want you to answer as quickly as possible.  Don’t think, just answer with the first thing that comes into your head, okay?”

I nodded.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“Blue.”

“What’s your favourite drink?”

“Malt whisky,” I said and grinned.

“Come on, seriously?” he said.

“Um, chocolate milkshake.”

“Liar, you thought about that one.  Try again, favourite drink?”

“Gin and tonic,” I said, quite truthfully, and his eyebrows shot up.

I grinned sheepishly and he smiled at me.

“Does your Dad know?”

I shrugged.

“Favourite food?”

“Thai.”

“Favourite place?”

“By the river.”

“Favourite band?”

“Status Quo.”

His eyebrows shot up once more, as he glanced at the pile of CDs on the cabinet.

“Favourite film?

I couldn’t think of a film.

“I can’t think of one.”

“Okay, do you like cartoons?”

“Of course, everyone likes cartoons.”

“Which character is your favourite?”

I closed my eyes.  This was hard, but finally something did pop into my head.

“Shrek.”

He grinned.

“Yeah, mine too.”

“Favourite author?”

I shook my head.

“Any author?”

I shook my head.

“Try.”

Again, I closed my eyes and concentrated of picking something out of the soup that was my mind.

“Douglas Reeman.”

He paused, writing in his little book.

He then ran a couple more tests, and finally closed his book.

“Well, am I bonkers?”

“Confused, yes, but not bonkers.  Jenny, your answers are perfectly normal, but not for a sixteen year old girl.  If you were over forty, then you’d be discharged immediately, but you’re not. Either some wires are a little crossed, or you’ve taken onboard values belonging to someone else, like your father or mother.

“Everything about you is fine, except your speech pattern and thought process are more advanced than I would expect.  I can’t explain it, but memory or no memory, psychologically your mind is more mature than the rest of you.

“I don’t think your memory loss is permanent, as you can bring back things like favourite food and drinks.  By the way, how come you like gin and whisky?”

I shrugged.

“I dunno; it was the first thing that came into my head.  I can’t ever remember drinking either.”

He chatted to me generally, making me laugh at a couple of stories he told about a rugby tour he went on as a student.

“Are you from New Zealand?”

“Yup, can you tell?”

I grinned and nodded.

“Have you been there?”

I shook my head.

“I don’t think so.”

“You’d like it.  It’s a wild and beautiful place,” he said.

“So why come here?”

“Because it’s boring as buggery!” he said and grinned.

“Did you see them make the Lord of the Rings?” I asked.

“Ah-ha, remember that, do you?”

I frowned and nodded.  I did, vaguely.

“I’m not sure, but I do know it was made in New Zealand.  I didn’t have to think about that, it was just there.”

“Good.  See, you’re getting better already.  No, I was already over here in medical school.”

“Why become a shrink?”

“Because I’m not that good with blood.  Actually, it seemed to be a greater challenge and the rewards are really satisfying.  What do you want to do?”

I shrugged again.  It was an easy way out.

“I really don’t know.  My Dad’s a pilot and I remember so little about me that I haven’t a clue.  I think I’d rather work with people, rather than with things like money or accounts. Something like a doctor or a nurse.”

Bruce looked at me and smiled.

“Your future is an open book.  With determination and hard work, you can be whatever you want to be!”

“Yeah, I just want to be me, but I’m not sure who that is,” I said.

“We’ll find her, together, we’ll bring her back better than before!”

“I hope so, I really do!” I said.

Chapter Six.                   Home?

Later in the afternoon, Dad returned with both sets of grandparents and Richard. Hannah told them that I was tired after a long session with the psychiatrist, which caused Gran to start crying again.

I still had a terrible sense of displacement.  ‘There’s been a mistake!’ I wanted to scream.  ‘I’m not me!’

Dad’s parents were less upset and Richard was very quiet.  He was as tall as I was, but very slim and had started being spotty, poor kid.

“They’ve cut off your hair,” he said to me.

“They had to, I had bone sticking into my brain and now they’ve put titanium in to cover the hole.”

“Cool!”

Gran looked horrified and that made us both giggle.

They brought chocolate, fruit and more cards.

“Tim’s been phoning,” said my brother.

“Oh yeah?”

“He’s pining for you,” he said, grinning cheekily.

“Richard, don’t be an arse, he’s just worried about her,” Dad said.

“Yeah, so’s half the male population of the county,” he muttered with a sly look at me.

“I don’t remember him, or any of the others,” I said.

“That’s convenient,” he said, ducking as his father’s hand almost took his head off.

Actually, it was a good visit. Even Gran managed one smile and stopped crying for several minutes on the trot.  I might have been rather callous, as I still felt emotionally detached.

I was quite sad when the late shift nurse advised them I was getting tired and asked them to leave.  She’d been right, because I was tired and went to sleep for a while.

I dreamed again.

This time I was standing in a line and was looking as a man lying on the ground.  A car was parked right next to him. Another man was standing over him.

“Right, you, Stewart, come and deal with this!” the standing man said.

I looked at him.  He was a policeman and he had three stripes on his tunic sleeve.

I stepped forward and panicked.  What should I do first?  First aid, or what?

The answer never came, for the nurse gently shook me awake.

“Jenny, come on, wake up.  It’s suppertime.  Are you okay?”

It took me a moment to remember where I was, and then it all came back.  I grabbed my pad and wrote, …Stewart/Stuart…first name? Surname? Police.

“What’s that?” the nurse, called Miriam, asked.

“Every time I have a dream, I try to write it down in case it means anything later.”

She looked at the scribble and frowned.

“Does it mean anything?”

I shook my head.

“Some stuff could be what I overheard, others might be memories or even from books or films I’ve seen.  I can’t tell.”

“Stewart?  The policeman who died, with the daughter who’s a nurse, he was called Stewart.  Annie Stewart is his daughter, she’s off at the moment,” she said.

“Is that the man who died when I was in the emergency room?”

“I’m not sure.  I wasn’t on.  But he was brought in the day after the rail crash, I think.  Anyway, do you want some supper?” she asked, dismissing Stewart and my dream at one stroke.

“What is there?” I asked.

I had the tomato soup and two slices of garlic bread, followed by a banana and an orange.  The library trolley appeared as I ate my fruit, pulled by a spherical, jolly lady who smiled a lot.

“Hello dear, would you like a book?” she asked.

I looked at the selection, so told her I was suffering from amnesia.  I remembered telling Bruce that I liked Douglas Reeman and I saw there was one by him on the bottom shelf.

“That one with a ship on it!” I said.

She picked it up, looking at it and frowning.

“I’m not sure that you’d like this.  It’s a war book, wouldn’t you rather have this one? It’s about a girl and her horse,” she said.

“I’ll give Reeman a try, thanks.”

She shook her head and gave me the book.

I started immediately and by the end of the first chapter I began to feel that I’d read it before.  As I got further in, the feeling became stronger and it was encouraging for me. Together with the strands that Bruce had drawn out and the dreams, I believed for the first time that my memory might come back.

I managed the loo again and this time it was much easier.  I cleaned my teeth and had a wash in the basin.  My ribs still hurt and any twisting or bending was a no-no for a while.  But I actually felt pretty good otherwise.

I kept my light on for a long time after official lights out and finished the book.  It was brilliant and at the conclusion I was convinced I’d read it before.  It wasn’t as if I remembered the characters or the story, but the feel and atmosphere was strangely familiar.

The lad in the next bed groaned and was quite restless.  The nurses kept checking on him and I felt very sorry for him, as he was a wreck.

I was doing a crossword when something made me turn and look at him.  He was awake, eyes open and was looking right at me.

“Hi, do you want the nurse?” I said.

“Where the fuck am I?” he said, his speech was slurred and I didn’t know whether that was due to the drugs or the neck brace.

“Reading, in hospital,” I replied.

“Which hospital?”

I shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

“Fuck, I hurt!”

I buzzed the nurse. She came quite quickly, took one look at the man and summoned the night duty doctor.

They drew the curtain around the bed and spent some time with him.  I got the impression they were relieved he had finally come round.  They finally withdrew, pulling the curtains back.

“Thanks,” he said.

“What for?”

“Getting help.”

“You look a wreck.”

He laughed and then stopped abruptly.

“Fuck, I hurt!”

“How many bones have you broken?”

“Fucking loads!  How about you?”

“Crushed ribs and fractured skull.”

“What happened?”

“Train crash.”

“I saw that on the news.  Some idiot drove onto the track and committed suicide. Silly fucker!”

“My mum was killed too.”

“No shit?  I’m sorry.”

“I don’t remember anything.”

“What, like amnesia?”

“Amnesia, yes.”

“Shit, heavy.  What’s it like?”

“Horrible.  I don’t remember anything from before the crash.  My parents, nothing.”

“You look pretty good now.”

“Thanks.  You don’t,” I said, giggling.  He started laughing and stopped again.  He then drifted off to sleep.  The anaesthetic was still in his system.

I put my book down, turned my light off and settled down to sleep.  I was just dozing off when he woke me up.

“What’s your name?”

“Jenny.”

“Hi Jenny, I’m Steve.”

He was asleep again, the sod!

I fell asleep and dreamed of dogs, - two Labradors, one black and one golden.  They were playing on a lawn and I loved watching them.  Then nothing.

The days seemed to drag.  The doctors seemed pleased with my progress and Bruce spent at least an hour with me every day.  I managed to claw back snippets of memory, but was selective with what I told him. I was getting pictures that didn’t fit with my life as a sixteen year-old girl, so I didn’t want him to deem me as being loony.

Steve spent the first couple of days in and out of post-anaesthetic sleep.  He really was a mess and as he became more alert, the full extent of his injuries hit him.

“Fucking hell!  I’ve done both arms and both legs!”

“And quite a lot in between,” I added.

“How the fuck will I wipe my arse?”

He made me laugh.  He was twenty-three going on twelve, I think.  He was a telecom engineer with BT and his life was his motorbike.  He spent all his spare time on it and he used to spend all weekend either going round a racetrack or touring hundreds of miles with a couple of others.

His language was earthy and became worse as he became frustrated and angry with his injuries.  I have to say the nurses were brilliant with him, but not entirely sympathetic.  I thought they were a bit mean, but then Hannah told me that he’d been in the previous year with a broken leg after a previous accident on a bike.

“How’s the bike?” I asked him.

“Buggered,” he said, morosely.

“Will you get a car, now?”

“Fuck, no.  Cars are dreadful things, what would I want one of them for?”

“To live a little longer?”

“Nah, bike’s the thing!”

“Haven’t you got a girl friend?”

“You offering?”

“No thanks, I’m spoken for, I think.”

He grinned.

“Just kidding.  Not really, I did have, but she was on the back of the bike the last time.  She told me, it’s the bike or her.”

“And you chose the bike?”

He nodded and grinned.

I shook my head. He had the brains of a rocking horse!

Finally, after I’d been there two weeks, the consultant surgeon told my father that I could be discharged.  They’d done everything for my physical injuries and, in his opinion; the memory loss would recover in time and preferably in the home environment where familiar stimuli may spark a recovery.

Dad had held off having the funeral for Mum until I was out of danger.  There was no excuse now, so he arranged it for the Friday after I was allowed home.

It was a Monday morning that I finally escaped. I was quite nervous as I dressed myself in proper clothes to go out for the first time. I’d been permitted to dress in my own clothes for a few hours every day, but I had to stay close to the ward. The bra gave me the giggles; particularly as it appeared in the week I’d been lying down, I’d put on a little extra flesh, particularly in the boob department.

I wanted to wear jeans and a tee shirt, but the jeans were too tight and I hurt too much to struggle to put them on.  In the end, Hannah suggested I wore a loose top and a skirt.  I felt my legs were really exposed, but she told me I looked fine and once I’d got the tights on, with some help, I felt warmer.  She helped me put on a baggy sweater, as it was chilly outside.  I put on some makeup while waiting for my father, wishing my hair would hurry up and grow.

The stitches had dissolved or come out and there was a mean looking scar on the back of my head.  Hopefully, the hair would grow back and cover it, but it looked pretty rough at the moment.  Hannah gave me a woolly hat and once that was on, with my long fringe showing, no one could tell I was shorn.

“You could always get a wig,” she said.

“Nah, no point. It’ll grow back, and I don’t care that much. I’m just grateful to be alive and walking about!”

At that moment someone I really did know walked in.  She was a tall, dark haired nurse, very attractive, with a lovely smile

“Annie!” I muttered and Hannah turned round.

She looked back at me and frowned.

“How did you know?”

I shrugged and shook my head.

“I don’t know.  It is, isn’t it?”

She nodded and went to greet the girl.  She was in her uniform and I was stunned.  Here was someone I knew, but had never seen before. How?

Hannah brought her over to see me.

“Jenny, this is Annie.  She looked after you that first day, and you remember her, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“I’m sorry, but we had a family tragedy.  My dad died unexpectedly, so I had to take some time off.  The funeral was last Friday. I’m so pleased to see you looking so well.  The last time I saw you they were getting ready to pull the plug!” she said. She was almost in tears.

So was I.

The tears fell and we hugged each other.  It felt right, for some strange reason this girl felt like family and I didn’t want to leave her. However, my father walked in and he didn’t understand why I was quite so emotional.  If I had to be honest, I didn’t know why I was emotional either.  I had found that I could burst into tears for no good reason and yet at other times, I felt emotionally dead.  With Annie, I just felt that there was a history here, but I wasn’t going to be allowed to find out what it was, not today, at any rate.

“Hello Princess,” said my father, beaming at me. “Gosh you look wonderful, I never expected to see you up and dressed!”

“Hi Daddy.”

Richard was lurking behind him.

“Hi sis. Okay?”

“Yeah, you?”

He grinned and nodded. He was looking a little happier today.  I think the fact that he was out of grandparents’ clutches for a while was enough to make anyone feel a bit happier.

I had a very emotional farewell from the nurses.  I felt they were almost more my family than my family was.  Even Steve seemed sad to see me go.  He now had an old boy with a broken hip and Alzheimer’s to keep him company.

It was raining, so Dad held a large red and white golfing umbrella over me all the way to the car. I didn’t know which car we were heading for. Between them, Dad and Richard carried my small bag, all the cards, the CDs and books that I had accumulated over the fortnight. I followed them across the car park and to a dark blue Mercedes estate car.

I was very conscious that I was showing off a lot of leg, with my short skirt.  Even with the tights on, I still felt chilly and I didn’t like the chunky shoes with big block heels.

Dad opened the doors with a remote, opening the front passenger door for me.  On getting in, I was pleased the car was quite warm inside.  Richard got in the back with all my stuff.

“Okay, sweetie?” Dad asked, as he slid behind the wheel.

“So far.  Bloody cold though!”

He smiled and adjusted the heater/climate control.  Warm air gushed out as soon as he started the car.

As he drove out of Reading and along the back roads, it was like a journey in a foreign land.  It was new to me and I was very quiet.  Richard kept telling me of things that happened on other journeys on this route, things like when he was sick after drinking a can of Sprite and a bag of cheesy puffs, but none of them was familiar to me. Just as well, I suppose.

The rain made the world seem grey and I tried to picture the home I was heading for.  I found it very difficult to formulate a picture in my head, as it was hard to differentiate between wishful-thinking and reality.

“Are you going to okay for the funeral on Friday, Jen?” Dad asked.

“I think so.  My head is fine and even my ribs are okay.  As long as I don’t have to carry the coffin.”

He smiled, but without much humour.  I put my right hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry, Daddy, that was in bad taste.  I seem so remote from it all, I can’t seem to take it all in.  I’m sure it’ll hit me eventually.”

“You’ve had a massive trauma.  At least, that’s what the neurosurgeon told me when you were in a coma. None of us expected you to pull through, so my little love, I’m just so happy to have you back.  The three of us will get through this together.”

“Does Granny have to be here?” said Richard from the back.  His tone of voice spoke volumes.

“Ricky, your Granny has lost her daughter, so be a little more giving.”

“She was my mum, I don’t see why she has to have everything her way,” Ricky said, somewhat petulantly.

I could tell that Richard missed Mummy badly and try as I might I still couldn’t even picture her face.

Dad’s expression said a lot.  He missed his wife and was having to allow others to take up his attention.  I touched his arm again.

“I’m sorry Dad, I’ve really mucked things up,” I said.

He smiled and shook his head, reaching over and squeezing my hand.

“Don’t be silly.  You’ve given us hope and something to be thankful for.  Hasn’t she, Rick?”

“Suppose,” said my morose little brother.

We pulled off the road and up a driveway.  It was about a hundred yards long, with a large house looming at the end of the drive.  I’m not sure what I expected, but it was larger than I had anticipated.  It was an old, white house, with a date etched on a plaque above the door.

Willow House 1883.

Wisteria and ivy climbed the front, above the front door, and a short grassy bank ran off to the right, down onto the lawn.  A tennis court was at the far right, and I saw a small paddock beyond that. Two horses were grazing in the paddock and one looked up as the car came to a halt.

“Flora will be pleased to see you,” said Dad.

“Flora?”

“Flora and Dora, the horses.  You and Mummy used to ride every spare moment you got,” he said, as sadness fell across his face like a dark shadow.

“Which one’s which?” I asked, looking at them both.  One, a lighter brown with a white mark on its face, was still watching.

“Guess,” said Dad watching me.

“The one with the white mark is Flora?” I said.

He smiled.

“Right!”

I felt quite pleased.

“I won’t be able to ride of a bit.  I mustn’t risk falling off for at least six months. Besides, my ribs are still so sore, I don’t think I want to for a while.”

I got out of the car and walked across the grass towards the paddock.  The other horse stopped grazing and both walked towards the fence.

Flora shook her mane and whinnied, making me smile.  I stopped at the fence, she came up and I nuzzled her velvety nose with my hand.

“Hello, old girl, remember me?” I asked.  She snorted and I smiled again.  The other horse, Dora came along side and almost barged Flora out of the way.  I stroked her nose too.  Dad came up behind me.

“Who’s been feeding and mucking them out?” I asked.

“Charlotte from the village.”

“Is she a friend or what?” I asked.

“She’s your best friend, sweetie.”

“Oh.”  The tears returned and I got so annoyed with them.

I turned and he held open his arms and I allowed myself to be cuddled for a bit.

“I miss your Mum so much!” he said and we cried together.

“Come on, we’re getting wet,” he said.  With his strong arm around my shoulders, he led me inside.

The inside of the house was as nice as the outside, and yet, at the same time, it didn’t feel like home.  The furniture was nearly all antique and the decor had been very tastefully done. Pleasant pictures of horses and naval scenes adorned the walls, along with photographs and portraits of relatives. There was one photo of Dad with his uniform on.  He was hugging a woman in a stewardess’ uniform. I guessed she was my mother.  She was very pretty.

China and ornaments were displayed in lovely cabinets and the curtains matched the furniture. It was a warm and friendly house, but it didn’t feel like my home.

The grandparents were all in the kitchen, which was large enough for the four of them, the three of us, and several others besides. My Dad’s mother was making lunch, Mum’s mother was sitting being miserable at the large kitchen table. The two grandpas were cleaning the brass, and there was a heck of a lot of it.

They all looked up when we entered and the two female grandparents slobbered at me. I sat with them for a while, drinking the statutory cup of tea. Needless to say, Granny (Dad’s mum) had baked some shortcake biscuits, so we polished that lot off.

I asked Ricky to show me up to my room.  He looked at me, as if I was still pretending, shrugged and took my bag.  I followed him upstairs and into a room at the end of the landing.

“This is your room, mine is down the back.  The bathroom is over there and that’s Dad and Mum’s room,” he said, pointing as he spoke.  Then he realised what he had said and simply sat on my bed. The floodgates opened and I sat next to him and put my arm around his shoulders.  I sensed he’d have rather have lost his sister than his mother, feeling slightly guilty that I survived instead of her.  I said so and he shook his head violently.

“No, it’s not that.  I just want her!  I didn’t want either of you to die and I’m glad you didn’t.  But, Jen, I miss her so much!”

We just held each other for a little while.  The numbness I felt was odd, because when I wanted to feel emotion, nothing happened, but when I didn’t, the tears came without any trouble.  I cried a little for him and that seemed to help.  I don’t think he could cope with the fact I wasn’t feeling what he was.

I looked round my room and liked what I saw.  It was definitely a girl’s room, but not a prissy room.  Rosettes from horse shows were pinned to one wall and a couple of small trophies sat on the windowsill.  Posters of boy-bands were on one wall and a large poster of Kenny from SouthPark on a toilet was behind the door. 

A riding hat hung on a hook behind the door and my clarinet was on the dressing table, probably still there from when I left it there. A small collection of soft toys lay or sat on a shelf, only one rather moth-eaten teddy was on the bed. He was dark brown and had a slight squint. He looked as if he jealously guarded his privileged position through the use of extreme violence if needs be.

I smiled and picked him up.

“Who’s this?” I asked.

“That’s Roger.”

“Roger?”

“Yeah, you saw Roger Rabbit at about the same time as Mum gave him to you, and you called him Roger.  Except, you couldn’t say Roger, so you apparently called him Woger for a couple of years.”

I smiled and cuddled Roger for a second or two.  He felt he belonged.  He was a tatty old chap and yet he was well-loved.

“Do you really not remember anything?” Ricky asked.

I shook my head.

“Not really.  Sometimes I have dreams, but some of them are like I’m another person.  I dream of people that aren’t from this family and I don’t really know who I’m supposed to be.”

“You’re not bonkers, are you?”

I smiled, shaking my head.

“No, I’m just suffering from trauma induced amnesia.  Sometimes the memory comes back quickly and sometimes never at all.  I just have to wait and see.”

“I’d hate to forget everything, it must be horrid,” he said.

“I don’t know what I’ve lost.  It’s rather like a big empty space inside my head.  It’s not very nice, but I suppose it’s better than being dead!”

“Yeah, I suppose,” he said doubtfully.

He looked at me and I smiled.

“That’s part of the problem,” he said, and looked away.

“What is?” I asked, frowning.

“You look very like mum.  You even sound like her now.  You never did before.  Maybe you did, but I didn’t notice.”

“Do I?”

He nodded and looked at me again.

“I suppose it means that she’s not gone completely, as I can see her in you.  You just look like a younger version.”

I smiled, ruffling his hair with my hand.  He made a face and knocked my hand away.

“Don’t do that!” he said, but smiled sheepishly.

“She did that, didn’t she?”

He nodded, looking very young and rather lost.

We had another cuddle and for the first time, I actually felt needed.

Chapter Seven.           Funerals and Friends

The week up to the funeral was rough. Not least, because Gran would burst into tears almost as soon as she saw me after a break of anything from two minutes to two hours.

A few friends and relatives dropped in, but most were very embarrassed and clearly didn’t know what to say or how to deal with me.  Dad had asked most people to stay away for my first week back, to let me become familiar with the house and get to know my relatives again. Dad and Ricky were great, as they’d warn everyone that I had no memory of anything before the crash. It was quite funny the amount of people who didn’t understand at all.

Some thought I was pretending, while others couldn’t accept I didn’t remember them.  They accepted I couldn’t remember my own name, but how on earth could I ever forget them?

The two grandpas were very good as well, as was Grandma.  Poor old Gran was inconsolable really and I knew she’d be bad at the funeral.  I didn’t blame her, as it must be awful to lose your daughter and almost lose your granddaughter. However, she made it so much harder for everyone else, particularly Dad.

Dad was trying to be so strong and yet every evening, I heard him crying.

On the second night, I went in to see him.  He was embarrassed and we just held each other for a while.  Ricky came in and we made it a threesome.  We all slept on his big bed and thereafter we slept like that every night up to the funeral.

I escaped Gran by helping Grandma in the kitchen.  I know that Dad’s parents stayed just to help us deal with Gran, and Grandma was a wonderful cook.

She chatted away while we worked, so I was able to relax and follow her directions.  We’d talk about anything and nothing and I found her so nice to be with.  I didn’t have to think or mind what I said.  We got on very well and she taught me a lot about cooking.

On the Friday morning, I was up at seven, as Charlotte was coming up to do the horses early.  We’d met on the Tuesday evening after she came home from school and I found her to be good fun.  I could see why we were friends.  She came over most evenings and it was brilliant to get out of the house for a while.

She was tall, a couple of inches taller than I, but much slimmer than I was. I wasn’t fat at all, but my figure was more womanly, whereas she was like a beanpole.  She had dark hair and kept it quite short.  She was quite pretty, with brown eyes and a big smile. Her face was a little long to be really pretty, but I liked her a lot.

After a stilted few minutes that first day, we just got on and mucked out the horses together. I wasn’t able to do much, but I was able to keep her company and do the lighter stuff.

“I was so shocked when I heard the news.  It was awful.  We heard that you and your mum were both badly hurt if not dead. The whole village was in shock for a couple of days. Then the news came through that Auntie Eleanor had died and you weren’t expected to last another day.  Honestly, I cried myself to sleep.  It was wonderful to hear you were getting better!”

I found her honest love too much and I started to cry.

We never looked back.  She told me everything I wanted to know before I needed to ask.

“Tim Barton has been almost inconsolable.  Mind you, I saw Samantha Spears trying very hard to console him last week.”

“Samantha, is she a friend?”

“No, Samantha is a tart, and definitely no friend to you or me.  She hates you for going off with Tim at Rachel’s party last June.  Every chance she gets she has a go behind your back.  The last I heard she was saying you were no better than a vegetable and would probably not be able to wipe your own bottom.”

“The cow! Why?”

“She wants Tim; it’s as simple as that.”

“Do I like Tim?”

“Next time you’re in your room, read your diary.  You practised writing your name, Mrs Jennifer Barton, so I guess you must like him a little!” she said, grinning at me.

“Oh, shit! Why can’t I remember?”

“It must be dreadful. I mean, you don’t know who’s nice and who isn’t.  Looks like I’m going to have to keep a close eye on you at school.”

“Always supposing I can go back,” I said.

“Why shouldn’t you?”

“I can’t remember anything.  I tried the clarinet last night and I was hopeless. I haven’t a clue how to play it.”

“Bummer!” she said.

Well, Friday had arrived and we were going to bury my mother.  Charlotte, or Charlie as I came to call her, arrived at seven thirty to do the horses.  She was off school today, as was half the school by all accounts. Loads of people were coming, as Mum had been very popular and all my school friends wanted to be there for me.  It was quite emotional, but I still felt a bit of a fraud.

“Are you wearing black, or what?” she asked me.

“No.  Dad says that Mum hated black.  I found a red dress in her wardrobe that Dad used to like.  He asked if I’d mind wearing it in memory of her.  So I said yes.”

“Is that the one she wore at Christmas last year?” she asked.

I smiled and shrugged.

“I don’t know, Charlie, I can’t remember.”

“Sorry Jen, I keep forgetting.  If it’s any consolation, you haven’t changed that much.”

“Have I changed at all?”

“Yeah, a little.  You’ve grown up.  You’d giggle at the slightest thing and to be honest, I found it slightly irritating at times.  You’re more serious now. It’s as if you’ve just added several years. I suppose losing your memory does things like that.  If anything, you’ve changed for the better.”

“Really? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“No, Jen, really. We’ve been friends for ten years.  We’ve shared everything and I wouldn’t lie to you. It’s almost as if your Mum’s spirit has come along and added something to your own.  You are more like her now.”

I was quiet.  I hoped it was a compliment. But then I got to thinking.  What about if that’s what happened?  Was I having memories that were my mothers?

But why didn’t I recognise people in the flashes of memory?  I mean, it would make sense that my grandparents would be in them, rather than complete strangers!

I shrugged, I didn’t think I’d ever know for sure.

In the event, the funeral was about as bad as I expected.  It rained, but then it always rains at funerals, doesn’t it?

I was surprised at the amount of people who turned out.  The little village church was packed and some people had to go to the church hall where there was a televised link. There were even national TV crews there, as the crash was still newsworthy.  Dad kept the reporters away and to be fair they didn’t try to get close.

I wore Mum’s dress, with dark stockings and red shoes that matched.  I wore a red coat and even a white hat with a red ribbon. I wore a red and white