Mr. Nobody(12)

And the media storm that brewed became a fugue in itself. So many voices. People demanding to know who he was. Where he came from. But, most importantly, what had happened to him.

It played out loud and brash across the tabloids and for one summer the Piano Man caught the imagination of the world. The public wrote their own stories, projecting their hopes and fears on his blank expression.

Meanwhile, British neurologists, psychiatric nurses, and a host of other medical professionals fumbled and fudged different treatment plans and the police tried to track his family down. None of which came to anything. Until finally one day the Piano Man decided to speak. And what he said wasn’t what anyone had expected.

He wasn’t the man the world had been hoping for; he was simply an ordinary man, an imperfect broken person just trying to disappear. He’d been misdiagnosed. He wasn’t in a fugue state; and he didn’t have retrograde amnesia.

    The National Health Service, police force, and government came under scrutiny for their complete and utter mismanagement of the whole case. The Piano Man was thrown out with the rubbish, a sad malingerer, a fraud who fooled everyone.

But I wouldn’t call what he did malingering, that seems too harsh a term. Malingerers tend to fake for financial gain or to avoid incarceration or military drafting. But the Piano Man just wanted to escape his everyday life for a while.

When Richard next speaks his tone is soft, parental. “I’d take the case myself if I wasn’t already neck-deep here at MIT. You know, I haven’t had a potential fugue for years now. There’s a lot I’d do different, a lot I know you’d do different.”

He’s right. I’ve never had a fugue patient. There aren’t that many around and men like Richard with years of clinical experience tend to scoop them up. Groves has treated cases similar to this one, although he had nothing to do with the Piano Man case—though he did work on a similar case, “Unknown Young Male” in 1999. It was the case where a twenty-year-old patient wandered into the Buffalo General Medical Center in upstate New York, soaking wet, with a shaved head, asking if anyone could help him find his way home, as he couldn’t remember where he lived or who he was.

In fact there aren’t many fugue patients Richard hasn’t worked with. He led on the Lost Man case in 2007, where a businessman came to on the subway in Denver with no memory of his life up until that moment.

And the case of patient H.G. (Heather Goodman), who found herself in a Starbucks queue in Portland with no wallet or idea of who she was or how she’d got there. It turned out her amnesia was epilepsy-led and she regained her full memory after only ten days.

    Richard has consulted on almost all the recorded fugue cases over the last thirty years, which is why he’s the go-to specialist for cases like this, but that might change, that could change, if this goes well. And it could go well, couldn’t it?

“I’ll do it,” I say before I can think of the million reasons it’s a terrible idea and talk myself out of it.

“Great! That is excellent news, Emma!” Richard crows, and I feel a warmth spread right through me. “Good. I had a feeling you would. Now, listen, I hope you don’t mind but—”

There’s a sharp bang on the door and Milly pops her head around.

Richard continues, “—there should be someone turning up there soon. I didn’t want to be presump—”

Milly waves for me to listen, her face uncharacteristically animated.

“Sorry, Richard, one second,” I say, lowering the phone. “What is it?” I ask.

“There’s someone here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment that I can see, but Greg from Caroline Miller’s office just called and said the appointment has already been okayed with them! With Caroline Miller!” Milly’s voice is hushed but her pitch is high. Caroline Miller is the chief executive of the whole hospital. We only ever see her at events and general meetings. “Did you know about this?”

“What’s the person waiting’s name?”

Milly blinks at me blankly. “Oh, sorry, his name is Peter Chorley.”

I nod. Ah, okay. Well, that makes sense.

“Thanks, Milly. Tell him I’ll be out in a second.” I don’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed that Richard was so certain I’d say yes, but then I suppose he is a neuropsychiatrist and human nature isn’t exactly brain surgery, is it? Oh, wait, it kind of is.

I lift the receiver back to my ear as Milly slips out of the room.

    “I think whoever was on their way is here, Richard.”

“Ah! Perfect timing. I’ll leave you to it then. Listen—let me know how it goes, I’m interested. Your secretary has my number. If you need anything at all, you know where I am, Emma. Don’t be a stranger.”





5


THE MAN


DAY 1—BACK ON THE BEACH

“I understand that, Mike, I do.” Officer Poole and the photographer for the Brancaster Times have reached an impasse in the car park. Mike Redman’s camera hangs from the thick Nikon strap around his neck between them. “I appreciate that you have a job to do, but let us do our job first and then…fire away. Does that sound fair? The most important thing is we get this guy taken care of. Could you just put the camera away, please, mate?”