Accidental Engagement (16 page)

‘That’s my problem. You have enough of your own. Here.’ He took something out of his jacket pocket. It was a mobile phone. ‘In case you get into difficulties,’ he said.

She took the phone and put it in her bag, glad of the security it gave her.

‘You’ll let me know how you get on?’ he asked. Calmly again, dispassionately, like a stranger.

‘Yes. Of course.’ Her smile was polite.

He nodded. ‘Good luck.’

She had thought she might have some difficulty in remembering where the music shop was, but that part of her memory had remained untouched. Just as she had been able to remember how to play the piano, so too she remembered how to thread her way through the maze of streets until she came to the one she wanted. And there it was, the shop where she had worked for the last - how many? - years. As she approached it her footsteps slowed. Somewhere inside, she hoped she would find the answers for the missing parts of her life. She took a deep breath and went in.

As soon as she set foot in door it all came flooding back: her job, her colleagues, her whole life there, all brought back by the sight and sound and smell of the place. It was all exactly as she remembered it. But then again, why shouldn't it be? Although it seemed a lifetime to her, in reality she had been away for less

than two weeks.

The shop was arranged on two floors, with the ground floor consisting of a large open space divided into four segments: one large segment for displaying pianos and keyboards; one segment for sheet music; one for schools music and the final one for sundries. A spindly staircase in the far corner led to the upper sales floor, where electric guitars and the like could be found. The till was by the door.

At that moment the assistant by the till looked up. Her eyes widened in amazement. ‘Lisa! We’ve all been worried sick about you. Where on earth have you been?’

Anna looked at the young woman blankly for a minute before remembering her name. ‘Cindy?’ she ventured. And then with more assurance, ‘Cindy! Hi.’

Cindy, eyes still wide in amazement, stepped out from behind the till. ‘We thought you’d done a runner. Gone for good.’ Her face broke into a smile. ‘I’m glad you haven’t. It’s been really dull round here without you.’

The shop was fortunately almost empty. It was still early, and apart from a long-haired youth loitering by the keyboards and a mother choosing a recorder book there was no one in.

‘So what happened?’ Cindy asked. ‘When you didn’t come into the shop we feared the worst.’

‘I had an accident.’ The longer she spent with Cindy the more Anna remembered. At first she had remembered only Cindy’s face and name, but now she was remembering more details. She found herself remembering how awkward Cindy had been when she had first come to work in the shop. She had been clumsy and careless, but Anna had quickly seen that the girl’s problems were nothing more than the usual difficulties faced by school-leavers suddenly thrust into the world of work and had taken her under her wing. From then on they had become friends.

‘I wondered,’ Cindy said.

Was she imagining it, thought Anna, or was there something cagey in Cindy’s voice?

‘But you’re OK now?’ Cindy continued.

‘Yes. No.’ Anna decided to confide in her. ‘I really need to talk to you.’

‘No problem.’ Cindy called to the youth, revealing that he was a new assistant, and told him to watch the till. Then she and Anna went into the back room, where tea and coffee were habitually made. It was, as always, a mess. The shop employed a number of musicians who needed a way to support themselves until they made it big, or to pay the bills when they realised the big break might not come. As a result the back room was littered with musical paraphernalia: half-written songs, abandoned scores, odd lyrics jotted down on scraps of paper, as well as loose strings, disassembled oboes and broken reeds. It was all as familiar as an old pair of shoes.

Whatever had frightened her, Anna realised, it had not happened here.

‘Cup of tea?’ Cindy asked as she put the kettle on. She was famous in the shop for her endless cups of tea.

‘Thanks. The problem is,’ Anna said, when they were both sitting on rickety chairs drinking their tea, ‘that I banged my head and lost my memory in the accident.’

‘Bummer.’ Cindy’s voice was sympathetic.

‘Which is why I need to talk to you. Some of it’s come back. Most of it, in fact. But there are still things I have no memory of. And I was hoping you could help me to fill in the blanks.’

There was no doubt about it this time: Cindy was definitely looking uncomfortable.

‘What is it?’ Anna asked. ‘What don’t you want to tell me?’

Cindy put down her cup. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you do remember first? And then I can tell you what you don’t.’

Anna nodded. Briefly, she told Cindy everything she remembered about her life. ‘But the thing I really need to know is, what was I doing in
Nottingham
?’

‘Well . . . ’ Cindy spoke slowly, drawing the word out. ‘You didn’t always confide in me, but if I had to have a g
uess . . . ’

‘Do.’

‘Well, I’d say you weren’t doing anything in
Nottingham
. I’d say that you were running away from here.’

‘Running away?’ repeated Anna. And then, with acceptance, ‘Running away.’

She took the mug of tea in her hands. Its heat felt comforting. A part of her felt she should be ashamed of having run away, because running away was the behaviour of a coward. But another part of her knew that whatever she had run away from had been bad. Too bad to be resolved by staying.

‘But what was I running away from?’ she asked Cindy.

‘Well . . . I don’t know all the details . . . But I don’t think it was a what. I think it was a who.’

A who. Anna felt a frisson of fear. Yes, it had been a who. ‘Not someone here,’ she said, thinking out loud.

‘No. Definitely not.’ Cindy was emphatic.

‘At home then?’

Cindy didn’t answer.

‘But why? What happened? I remember my father dying. I remember old Mrs Voronowski. But I don’t remember anyone else.’

Cindy toyed with her cup, rolling it between her hands. ‘Maybe you don’t want to remember.’

‘Do you know who it was?’

‘Yes. I know.’

‘And do you know why?’ Anna probed.

Cindy shook her head. ‘No. But if I were you, I’d think twice before going back.’

Anna was relieved to see the hotel. She had decided to return there for something to eat before setting out on the last part of her journey of discovery. Despite Cindy’s ominous words she was determined to stop at nothing until she had found out what had happened to make her run away.

She made enquiries about her room at reception and picked up the key,

then went straight up. The room was small and characterless, but nevertheless it looked clean and comfortable, and the bathroom was well stocked with a selection
of
soaps and toiletries.

Stripping off Anna had a wash and then, feeling refreshed, re-dressed slowly. She would have liked to have changed her shirt but had not brought a change of clothes with her. She had been too busy thinking about what might lay ahead to think of practical details.

Nevertheless, she was feeling much better when the knock came at the door.

‘Who is it?’ she called.

‘It’s Mark. Are you ready for lunch?’

‘Just a minute.’ She took her comb out of her handbag and ran it through her hair, then opened the door. She was glad that Mark had suggested having lunch together. Her room was too intimate a place for a conversation, but sooner or later Mark would have to know what she had found out. The restaurant offered a private, yet public, place where they could talk.

Sitting in a secluded corner ten minutes later with a mineral water in front of her Anna was ready to tell Mark about her morning.

‘Did they know you at the music shop?’ he asked, as he made his choice from the menu, adding, ‘The beef Wellington looks good.’

‘It’s too heavy for me,’ she said, looking through the choices. ‘I think I’ll have the Tuscan chicken.’ She closed the menu and put it aside. Then, answering his question, she said, ‘Yes, they all knew me. It seems I’ve worked there for
almost five years.’

They were both being formal, which made the situation easier in many ways. But Anna could not rid herself of a longing to lean her head on Mark’s shoulder and feel him running his fingers through her hair. She was troubled, and Mark’s strong presence was reassuring, despite the fact that their relationship was strained.

‘And?’ he prompted her, beckoning the waiter over.

They gave their order and, once they were alone again, Anna went on. ‘I met one of my colleagues, Cindy, and she filled me in on a few things.’

‘Were there any problems with the boss?’ asked Mark.

‘No. Nothing like that. In fact, I enjoyed my job. It wasn't what I’d been hoping for, but when
my father was taken ill . . . ’

‘I understand. I know how deeply you were attached to your father. It can’t have been easy, giving up on your own opportunities in order to care for him.’

‘I never regretted it,’ she said honestly.

‘I know.’

There was a moment’s silence. Then, ‘Tell me more about the shop,’ he said. ‘Didn’t anyone wonder where you were?’

‘Yes. But they didn’t want to interfere. There were problems at home,’ she explained. ‘They thought I’d
. . . run away.’

‘And had you?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ She kept her voice steady. ‘I think I had.’

The waiter arrived with their first course: paté for Anna, and for Mark a salad of duck. Once he had gone Mark asked, ‘So what next?’

‘Next I have to go home.’

‘No.’ He put down his knife and fork.

She looked up from her paté, her hand pausing in the act of spreading it onto wafer thin toast. ‘No?’ There was a note of challenge in her voice.

‘If there’s something there you were running away from then it’s the last place you should be going.’

‘The answers are there,’ she reminded him.

‘You could get them from Cindy.’

‘Cindy didn’t know. She knew a bit but not everything. This is my life, Mark. I have to know.’

There was an uncomfortable silence. ‘And do you remember the address?’ he asked at last.

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘All right, then. We’ll go there this afternoon.’

‘No.’ She spoke more vehemently than she’d intended, because the idea of having him with her was a tempting one and she had to fight down her urge to accept his offer. But in the end she knew she couldn’t let him go with her. She tried to explain. ‘This is something I have to do on my own.’

He played with his drink. ‘I don’t like the idea. If there is anything wrong at home you’ll need someone who’s there for you.’

She looked at him uncertainly.

‘Listen, Anna, I’ve made a hell of a mess of things,’ he said. ‘I was going to keep my distance until you’d sorted your problems out, but I can’t. I know you’re angry, and I don’t blame you. But what we had was too special to abandon. Can’t we wipe the slate clean and start again?’

Her heart leapt. But her mind told her to be careful. He had betrayed her once. Could she really trust him to not betray her again? ‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘I’ve never found it easy to trust people. Even before all this happened, trust was something I was wary of giving.’ That much, at least, she remembered.
‘And since this happened . . . ’

‘I know. I’ve given
you no reason to trust me.
I
n fact, I’ve given you every reason not to. But I’m not asking you to trust me, at least not to begin with. I’m just suggesting we start again.’

The waiter came to clear the plates. She was glad of the time it gave her to calm her emotions, allowing her to pour a glass of water and sip it slowly before making any sort of reply. There were still a number of things that puzzled her, and she wanted to clear them up before she made her reply. ‘When you confronted me with the fact that I wasn’t your fiancée you asked me why I’d done it,’ she began slowly.

He remembered. His words, fuelled by anger, had been scathing.

‘You asked if I’d wanted a taste of the high life -’

‘Anna -’

‘It’s all right. I don’t blame you. You invented a fiancée to keep the likes of

Serena at bay and then you found yourself facing a rag tag and bobtail who claimed to be Annabelle. I can understand how you must have felt.’

Surprisingly, he smiled, and the tension lessened between them. ‘Rag tag and bobtail isn’t the way I’d have described you. A young fawn, vulnerable and uncertain - that’s how you seemed to me when you walked into my life.’

She smiled in return. But then she became more serious. ‘Is that what you really thought? Did you really think I was exploiting your deception to manipulate you into marriage?
’