Mindsight (11 page)

She and Lorna had cleared the house, using their own judgment about what to save and what to get rid of, because I was in no state to think about it, and Lorna told me they’d filled a suitcase with personal stuff. It was probably just the kind of thing I needed to help kick-start my memory.

When Alice saw me carrying it downstairs she raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you sure you want to take that now?’

‘I’ve got to start somewhere.’

She insisted on paying for a taxi to take me home. ‘I’ve had a drink and Tom should be in bed, but I don’t want you hanging about for trains, especially with that heavy case.’ I could see she thought it was a bad idea to take it.

Tom hauled the case out to the taxi, and I kissed him goodbye, holding him until he moved away, and wishing I could say something that would make everything all right. He stood waving as we drove away, and I kissed my fingers at him, the pain in my throat almost unbearable.

At the flat, the driver offered to take the suitcase in for me, but I couldn’t face the thought of anyone else touching it. ‘It’s fine, not that heavy,’ I said.

Although I was right, and I could carry it perfectly well, my arm was quivering by the time I got inside. Not because of the weight, but from the fear of what it might hold. I knew I wouldn’t sleep if I looked in it tonight, so I pushed it into a corner of the living room. How I was ever going to face it I didn’t know.

Chapter Nine

The case was the first thing I saw when I got in from work next day, but I told myself I should have something to eat and drink before tackling it. Usually I made do with a microwave meal or something simple like beans on toast, but this evening I felt the need to cook properly. So I mixed an omelette, chopping some herbs, grating cheese, and making a salad and doing it all with fierce concentration.

But once I’d dished up I could only play with the food. I swallowed some coffee and forced myself to pull the suitcase into the centre of the room and to kneel beside it.

The phone rang and I grabbed at it, not caring if it was a call centre of even a heavy breather. It was Lorna.

‘Hello, Clare, my love,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I missed you the other day. You asked about coming on Friday and of course that’ll be fine with me. I’ll look forward to it. We can have a nice long chat then.’

‘Yes, please. I really need to see you, Lorna.’

‘That doesn’t sound so good. Are you all right?’

‘I honestly don’t know. Things that used to make sense just don’t seem to anymore. And I’ve promised to look into stuff for Tom that’s bound to upset people.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘One of Tom’s ideas is that someone might have had it in for Dad. You know all that fuss about the arthritis drug, how unpleasant did it actually get?’

‘Well, your father was very upset about it, and when they thought it would go to court he was anxious.’

‘I think Tom was wondering about threats, or anything like that.’

‘Oh no. At least not that I know of. We did have the representative of the families’ group into the office several times, but I don’t know the details of what they discussed.’

‘Except, there was a fairly big pay-out to some of the families and others got nothing, which must have caused a lot of resentment.’

She seemed almost annoyed now. ‘But that was among the families themselves, Clare. It didn’t affect us. And Tom’s just a young boy. Surely you don’t give the idea any credence?’

This was pointless. ‘No, I suppose not. But I can’t ignore it. I have to show him I’m taking him seriously. I promised I’d talk to Matt too. Do you think he might know anything?’

‘Well, your dad liked Matt and always said he had a future, so they may have talked. Robert loved going to the labs and he was at his most comfortable there. I think Matt reminded him of himself as a young chemist.’

‘And Matt must have worked with Dr Penrose.’

Penrose was the man they’d called the whistle-blower. He claimed that at least one of the tests he’d done on the drug, Briomab, showed possibly dangerous side effects. Said certain results had been deleted from the final report.

Lorna sighed. ‘Of course, although Matt wouldn’t have been involved with the research or the report.’

‘What happened to Penrose?’

‘I think he died a couple of years ago.’ There was a pause, although I could tell she hadn’t finished. ‘I know this is important to you, Clare, but remember, Emily is pregnant and they’ve waited a long time for that to happen. So do go easy on them, won’t you?’

My silence spoke for me.

‘Oh dear, now I’ve upset you and that’s the last thing I want to do. We need to talk face to face, so I’ll ring off now.’

‘OK, see you Friday.’

‘Just remember, Clare. I’m on your side.’

There was nothing for it but to kneel by the suitcase. It was a big fabric thing that looked as if it had never been used for travelling. I guessed Alice had bought it specially. And, – oh God would there never be an end to these moments when a tiny lost memory would swoop in to skewer me – I’d packed our only case for the wedding. Because we hadn’t had time to go to the hotel beforehand, it had been in the boot of the burning car that night. And now I saw, not Steve or Toby, but Tommy, his little rucksack bulging on his back, as he waved goodbye from Daniel’s doorstep.

Gritting my teeth, and telling myself to get on with it, I unzipped and flipped back the lid. The first thing I saw, right on top – Alice, don’t make it easy for me, will you – was a pale blue photo album: Toby and Tommy’s baby book. Very carefully, making sure it didn’t flip open, that no loose picture should slip out, I placed it on the floor, my fingers trailing over the cover. I let my hand rest on it for a long moment, but knew I mustn’t open it yet. If I looked at it now, even held it for too long, I was finished.

Right at the bottom of the case I could see some white fabric wrapped in plastic: my wedding dress. What was I going to do with that? Hang it in my wardrobe, here, just as it had hung in our house? Hide it away and never look at it again, or get rid of it? I put my hand inside the plastic. The material didn’t feel silky, as I remembered it, but somehow thickened, as if shrouded in a layer of dust.

Until I held my babies for the first time, I thought I could never be happier than on my wedding day. Steve was perfect and I was already pregnant.

It was a small wedding, Steve and I insisted on that, but as I got out of the car at the little hotel and stood in the sunshine holding Dad’s arm, the babies kicked inside me for the first time, and it was so wonderful I determined to treasure the memory forever. After the accident, I forced it into the corner of my mind I kept shuttered and bolted. But I had to start bringing those memories into the light again and to look at them without flinching. So I let my thoughts run on.

Steve had been shocked at first; it was too early for him to start a family because his garden design business was just taking off. He’d been thinking of hiring an assistant, but that had to be put on hold, and as the news sank in he said we would make it work and it would be wonderful. By our wedding day I knew he was as excited as I was.

Eventually, even Dad came round to the idea of us marrying, and he and Alice both adored my boys when they arrived. Dad said they made him feel young again.

I pushed the dress back into its plastic cover, but as I did so, I saw Emily in her wedding dress, twirling in front of me, looking pretty with a coronet of red flowers in her dark hair. My heart gave one huge beat, high up in my chest, and for a second, I thought it was a lost memory of that day.

But no, a couple of weeks before I’d gone up for her hen weekend and she’d been excited to show me the dress. I bit my lip hard: it wasn’t going to be as easy as that.

There were two other photo albums close to the top of the case and I would have to look at those later on. Just underneath them was a cardboard folder full of documents. Alice must have collected them from various drawers where Steve and I had stuffed them. I knew she and Lorna had gone through everything they thought was important, so this could wait.

It was when I peered into a small carrier bag to find two little pairs of shoes – the twins’ very first – that I had to stop. I took them out and laid them side by side on the carpet. Toby’s were red and Tommy’s blue: we never dressed them alike, they weren’t identical anyway, but Steve and I agreed we must always encourage them to be individuals.

I picked up Tommy’s pair and kissed the grubby leather, breathing in the musty smell and pressing them to my chest as I swayed back and forth on my knees. Then I put them gently back into the bag. Toby’s little shoes felt different somehow, older, more fragile, as if they might shatter like glass at my touch. I was afraid to squeeze them, but I held them to my cheek and to my lips, kissing them again and again.

And from somewhere deep, deep, inside I felt that familiar earthquake as my chest heaved and I choked on the huge sobs that tore out of me. This wasn’t crying: it was more like some kind of brutal assault by my own body.

‘Oh, Toby, Toby my baby, I’m so, so, sorry.’

How long I knelt there, heaving and choking, I couldn’t have said, but at last I came back to myself. My face felt sore, my eyes sticky. I dabbed at the baby shoes with a tissue and placed them beside their brother’s in the carrier bag. Then I took the bag and the photo albums to the bedroom and laid them carefully in an empty drawer.

The phone shrilled through the silence and I grabbed it: had to stop that noise. ‘Hello,’ Nothing. As I put down the handset it rang again: a withheld number. This time I didn’t speak and heard a tiny click before the dialling tone kicked in. Of course it was just a call centre trying to sell something, but all the same it made me look round to make sure all the windows were closed.

Back in the living room, I started piling things into the case again. I couldn’t face any more tonight.

A knock on the door. I stood behind it, listening.

‘Hiya, Clare, are you in? It’s me, Nic.’

I rubbed my face; it must be obvious I’d been crying.

Another tap, ‘Clare?’

She had to know I was in so I opened up. ‘Hello, Nic. Did you just ring me?’

She laughed. ‘I’m not that lazy.’

‘And you haven’t rung me late at night anytime, have you?’

‘Not me, babe. You should report it if you’ve been getting nuisance calls.’ Her smile was very sweet and I felt bad about being suspicious.

She took a step forward. ‘Just thought you might like a coffee. I’ve got some nice biscuits too. Molly’s asleep, so we can have a proper chat. I did all the talking last time.’ Her big grey eyes were shiny, but I could see she was probably lonely.

‘That would be lovely, but I’m not feeling too well. I’m going straight to bed.’

‘Oh, I thought you looked a bit peaky, what’s wrong?’

‘A cold coming on, I think. Don’t want to give it to Molly.’

‘Lemsip’s what you need.’ She turned towards her own door. ‘I’ve got some you can have.’

‘It’s fine. I bought a packet on the way home.’

‘Oh, OK, you get to bed then. Maybe later in the week for that coffee, eh?’

I closed the door. Poor thing, she was only trying to be friendly, but the idea of sitting over there was too much for me right now. And if I’d let her in, what would she have made of the open case and the evidence of my past scattered around it?

I pushed the case back into the corner of the room. What I’d said to Nicola wasn’t so far from the truth. I felt awful. I stood by the window, staring at the sea, still and pale today under a bright evening sun that hung in the sky like a ball of fire.

I begged my brain to come to life. Eyes closed, I tried to conjure up those images I sometimes saw: the dark twisting road, the trees and clouds overhead. But it was no good, behind my lids the sun turned everything red. I pressed my fingers to my eyes to make them as dark as my memories. But still nothing came, not even the disjointed glimpses I’d seen before. It was hopeless and I let my eyes fly open again, so fast that the sunlight made me blink.

And something stirred.

It was nothing like the way they show it in films about amnesia. This was more like that feeling when you’re searching for a word you know very well, but can’t quite bring to mind. An itch in the back of your brain as intolerable as nails on a blackboard, or the screech of an old gate closing.

On the other side of the gate stood a Clare who knew the truth.

I reached and reached for it, desperate to stop it swinging shut, and finally touched it, my eyes squeezed tight again with the effort. It slowed, and for a millisecond the screeching was stilled.

Then my mind flinched back:
more pain and guilt
. And whatever I had known for that brief moment was gone.

I was very tired when we closed the shop on Thursday, but I knew there was next to nothing in the fridge so I had to force myself to shop for food. As I stopped at the gate with my two bags of groceries, I wanted nothing more than a cool shower.

‘Hey, look who’s here.’

Nicola and Kieran were sitting at a white plastic table that had suddenly appeared amongst the overgrown greenery of the garden, a wine bottle in front of them. Molly played on a blanket with a mess of plastic toys. Kieran jumped up, and before I could protest had taken my bags from me.

‘Let’s put these things away and you can join us. It’s too nice to sit indoors.’

I allowed him to take the bags through the front door then insisted he go back out while I put away my groceries. I took my time, but decided there was nothing for it but to give in to the inevitable. And I had to get used to socialising with people.

It wasn’t so bad. Nic had a fund of funny stories about Molly and seemed able to talk non-stop without taking a breath. When she paused to open a packet of chocolate buttons and hand them to Molly on her blanket, she said, ‘Come on Kieran, Clare wants to know about you too.’

He was a photographer doing a lot of advertising work and told us about a recent shoot with some child models and their ghastly parents. Nicola put her hand on his arm. ‘But he’s being modest as per usual. You should see the pictures in his flat. They’re wonderful. He’s having an exhibition and they’re going into a book.’