The Forgetting(29)

Stephen puts down his knife, reaches for my hand. His thumb glides across the inside of my wrist and that feeling is there again: an abrupt, unfathomable panic. I tell myself to calm down; moments of intimacy – however small – are inevitably going to feel strange with a man I cannot remember. I wrack my brain, try to find the version of myself who fell in love with Stephen eighteen years ago, but I cannot seem to locate her.

‘Are you still feeling nauseous?’

I nod, even though it is only a partial truth.

Stephen squeezes my hand before returning to the last of his dinner. I watch him spear the final piece of steak onto his fork and eat it decisively.

In the forty-five minutes since he arrived home – half an hour later than I’d been expecting him – I have silently been practising how best to begin. What question to open with. What details to focus on.

‘Have you finished?’ Stephen tilts his head towards my plate.

‘I think so.’

He pushes back his chair, and something jars inside me: a sense of urgency, a need to know. ‘There’s something I need to ask you.’ The words leave my lips and, once they do, it is as though I have launched a sledge down a snowy hill and know I cannot stop before it reaches the bottom.

‘What?’

I take a deep breath. ‘Why hasn’t anyone come to see me? Any friends or family?’ I pause, even as I know I have to continue. ‘Why haven’t my parents been to visit? It’s been almost a week.’ Something seems to open up inside me, like a heavy stone being rolled across the entrance to a cave, my desire to know rushing through.

‘Have you remembered something about your parents?’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t remember anything.’

Stephen interlocks his fingers with mine, studies my face with earnest eyes. ‘It’s still early days, my love. I think it might be overwhelming, trying to remember too much at once.’

His tone is gentle, persuasive, but the urgency persists. ‘Please, I really want to know.’

Stephen drops his head, breathes slowly. The seconds seem to lengthen and stretch, and I do not know why my heart is drumming against my ribs.

When he raises his head, Stephen’s face is drained of colour, deep grooves lining the edges of his eyes. He sucks in another long breath, clasps both my hands inside his. ‘I didn’t want to have to tell you. Not yet. I’d hoped I could put it off a bit longer.’ He hesitates, and I feel beads of perspiration lining my palms. ‘Your parents died in a car crash when you were twenty-one. They’ve been dead for eighteen years.’

The words hit me as though I have been physically assaulted. I have a sense of falling from a great height, do not know where I will land, what will happen when I do.

‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know when I should tell you. I haven’t been able to bear the thought of you having to go through all that grief again . . .’ His voice is muffled in my ears, as though a pair of conch shells are being held against my head, all other sounds distorted by the swell of a raging sea.

I close my eyes, try to understand what Stephen is saying, but it is like trying to grab hold of air. I cannot make sense of it, do not know what I am supposed to feel. A crater opens up in my chest and I cannot tell whether it is emptying me of all feeling or spilling over with grief.

‘I’m so sorry, my love.’

I keep my eyes closed, do not know how to respond.

My parents are dead. I do not remember them dying. I don’t remember anything about them at all.

Shock burns behind my ribs: febrile, blistering. I hear myself inhale a deep breath as if gasping for air.

‘I didn’t know how to tell you. I just wanted to protect you a bit longer.’

I hear the distress in Stephen’s voice, wish I could offer him some morsel of reassurance, but I cannot move, cannot speak. My body feels numb.

‘After what happened . . . with our crash . . . and your head injury. I thought it might bring it all back. I’m so sorry.’

I feel his fingers wrap around mine, sense him try to impart some love, some condolence, but I do not understand what I am supposed to do with this knowledge.

My parents are dead. I will never see them again.

Whatever scant tethering has kept me tied to the world for the past six days seems to snag and then break, and I cannot tell whether I am floating or falling, waving or drowning, whether there is any feeling beyond a profound, desolate sense of loss.





LIVVY


BRISTOL

Livvy wheeled Leo’s buggy through the office’s revolving door and out onto the street. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she typed a WhatsApp message to Aisha.

Thank you SO much for that. You are AMAZING. Did I ever tell you that you’re the best boss in the world and that I am going to miss you loads? Seriously, I can’t thank you enough. Coffee and cake on me before you head off to Namibia. Xxx

She reread the message, wondered if it was too effusive, then thought back over the meeting she’d just had with Aisha and Christian and pressed her finger down on the send button.

Livvy had walked into the meeting to discuss her potential new role with a sense of disingenuity. Over the past few days, she’d thought about what Dominic had said, had been unable to silence the anxiety that perhaps, in taking the promotion, she’d be short-changing everyone: Leo, Dominic, Christian. But as soon as the meeting had begun, Aisha had opened with a speech about how they knew that stepping up to Policy Director just as she was returning from maternity leave was a challenge, but that they were sure they could make it work with a bit of flexibility. Christian had chimed in, told her how thrilled he was that she was considering the role, had joked that he wouldn’t have contemplated a month-long hiatus for anyone else. By the time Livvy left the meeting, she’d felt so invigorated that she half wished she were returning to work sooner.