What about us? (21 page)

“Yes.  Why, don’t you think
so?” I replied, looking at her.

It was a book of Hitler’s
speeches.  Some were said to have been written by him, others were composed
especially for him.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said,
looking at me intently.  “It’s in German.”

“Is it?” I said, looking down
at the pages again.

She looked thoughtful for a
moment, then slowly stood up and wandered over to one of the shelves.  She
selected a book and brought it back, opening it at random.

“What’s this one about?”

“It’s a poem.” I said, scanning
the page.  “It’s about an Albatross being made to look stupid by the bored crew
of a ship, who, purely for their amusement, strip it of its dignity and natural
beauty.”

 “It might well be Jack.  But
the point is, it’s written in French.”

We left, deep in thought,
without checking out any books.  She had taken eight books off the shelves, in
eight different languages and I’d understood all of them.  I hadn’t even been
aware of translating the words; I just read them and understood every nuance and
subtlety conveyed therein.  But when she asked me to say something, anything,
in any of the languages, I found I could only respond in English.

We made our way to a cafe.  We
often went to that particular one because it was half way between my home and
hers.  Apparently it was the same one I’d been in on the day of the accident,
just over a month ago.  One of the waitresses, Vicki I think her name is, was
always pleased to see us, but that afternoon it wasn’t her shift.

We shared a plate of sausage,
egg and chips over a couple of mugs of tea and thought about this new piece of
information.

“Maybe the Doctor was right;
maybe you did work for the military or the government.” she said slowly.

“Or maybe I grew up in lots of
different countries, or I was a translator, or I studied languages and I love
to travel.” I countered.

Anything to do with ‘the
establishment’ always made her uneasy.  As I stopped speaking, I realised that
the last thing on my list had hinted at something, but it was too vague and I
let it pass, concentrating once more on what Grace was saying.

“Maybe it means all or none of
those things.” she said.  “And anyway, it isn’t a bad thing; it means you’re
really clever.”

She was smiling, but something
was clearly still troubling her.  I guessed she would tell me in her own time
if she wanted me to know, but to take her mind off whatever it was that was
making her sad, I found myself making a suggestion.

“Apparently it’s going to be a
lovely day tomorrow.  Why don’t we get out of a town for a while? You know, a
day trip to see if anything else jogs the memory.”

“Ooh, what a lovely idea.” she
said, beginning to cheer up.  “But I’m supposed to work in the afternoon.  There
again, I never take time off, so I’m sure it’ll be alright.  Where shall we
go?”

“I don’t know, you choose.  Coast
or country?”

“Seaside!” she said excitedly
and pulled out her mobile phone to make the necessary arrangements with her
boss at the home.

A love of the sea was something
else we seemed to share and after some discussion we chose Margate.  The fact
that it wasn’t very far away from London and cheap to get to helped us decide. 
For obvious reasons I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to the coast and
neither could Grace, probably because it had been a long time ago when she was
still a child.

We always felt comfortable at
that cafe.  Somehow it had a kind of familiarity about it and we stayed there
for most of the evening; chatting, drinking tea and planning our day out.

Grace was waiting at London
Bridge at eight am, just as we’d arranged.  She was looking particularly lovely
that morning and I realised that the time was fast approaching when I would
have to tell her that I was hoping for something more than just friendship.  The
right moment hadn’t presented itself, nor had the courage and I still wasn’t
sure what her feelings were towards me other than a sense of responsibility for
what had happened.  She seemed to enjoy spending time with me, so perhaps she’d
be willing to give it a go.  But if I was wrong and she walked away, I would
miss her a lot.  I wasn’t ready to risk losing what we had, only to replace it
with nothing.

Not knowing my own life story
made it all the more difficult and complex of course.  We didn’t know if I was
married, in a relationship, or if I had a young family.  Whenever I tried to
think about being with someone, sharing my life with them or making love with
them, it was only ever her face I saw.  It was as if I couldn’t imagine anyone
else in my life, much less believe that there had ever been anyone else as
important; but we didn’t know that, we couldn’t be sure.

There had been some mixed news the week before and it was
difficult to describe how it made me feel, even to myself.  The police report
had come back, confirming that they had no knowledge of me.  On the plus side I
had no police record, so I wasn’t a known criminal and wasn’t wanted by them
for any reason.  On the negative side, no one had reported me as missing, but I
tried not to dwell on it or burden Grace with my own feelings of insecurity.

We only just caught the train
as it was pulling out of the station and fell into some empty seats in fits of
laughter, which kept us buoyed up for the whole of the journey.  I was determined
to keep the day light; nothing heavy, nothing sad.  In the six weeks or so we’d
known each other, I’d figured out that Grace’s life didn’t have a lot of
laughter in it, but I still didn’t know why.

We had a lot of fun and it
stands out in my mind as a good day.  It was fantastic to be out of the city
and in the fresh air; listening to the sea, watching the gulls, walking along
the front as well as along the beach.  Being by the sea gave me a great sense of
peace and I instinctively knew that whatever my life had been like before, this
aspect hadn’t changed.  I knew that I was the kind of person who headed for the
coast when I needed to regenerate or think.  It was only a little piece of the
puzzle, but it gave me a sense of being a real person.

We had a go at tenpin bowling. 
Grace knew she’d never played it before, but turned out to be quite good at
it.  If I’d played it before, then the knowledge of how to do it had vanished
along with everything else.  She beat me in both the games that we played and
danced about ecstatically.  That day we just relaxed.  We were good at being
together and we didn’t let anything spoil our mood.  That is, not until we left
the tea house, late in the afternoon.

As we were standing outside on
the pavement, trying to get our bearings and work out where the station was, I
heard a voice shouting at me.  It was frantic; filled with panic and urgency.

“Recall! I repeat: Recall!
There is an immediate recall of all travellers.  The base is under attack.  Integrity
of the system cannot be guaranteed.  All travellers must return now.  I repeat;
all travellers must return now!”

I jumped, staring wildly around
me.  There was no one else about, yet the voice was so clear and so close.  There
wasn’t even an echo, it had arrived from nowhere and then there was silence.

I was holding my wrist and
Grace looked frightened.

“Jack what is it? What’s
wrong?”

“Didn’t you hear that?” I
asked.

I was astounded when she shook
her head.  How could she not have heard it? It hadn’t been a whisper; it had
been loud and clear.  I realised from the look on her face that it had in fact
been inside my head.  Only I had heard it.

“Hear what? And what’s wrong
with your wrist? Are you hurt? Jack, talk to me!” she said, grabbing my
forearms, forcing me to look at her.  “Jack!”

I felt so miserable.  “I think
I’m hearing voices.” I told her.

All the way back to London we
talked about this strange experience, looking at it from all angles.  But no
matter how hard she tried to come up with semi-convincing theories, we couldn’t
ignore the fact that I’d heard a voice that was not mine.  It had been a woman’s
for god’s sake, inside my head.

“But why did you grab your wrist
like that?” she asked.

“I... I had a sudden urge to
check my watch.” I replied, but it sounded so stupid as I said the words; it
had just been an instinctive movement.

“But you don’t wear it
anymore.  Why not? It’s the only thing apart from your wallet and clothes that
was yours.”

She watched me carefully as she
spoke.

I shrugged.  “Time doesn’t seem
to matter anymore.  I mean, I don’t do anything with my day, not really.”

I walked her back to the
entrance of the tower block where she lived.  I’d never been upstairs to her
home and I could see that she was unsure about leaving me alone, but for
whatever reason, she still couldn’t invite me up.

For her sake, I tried to
lighten up a bit.  “Don’t worry, I’ve got an appointment with Dr Green tomorrow
afternoon.  I’ll talk it over with her, she might have some ideas.”

She nodded and kissed my cheek,
then spoke softly, her eyes searching my face, trying to determine what state I
was really in.

“It’ll be alright Jack.  Somehow,
I just know.”

I smiled at her.  “I hope so
too, I really do.”

That night for the first time, sleep
eluded me.  I wrote a list of the things I knew about myself, I tried abstract
doodling, but could make neither head nor tail of my efforts.  I went for a
long walk through the almost deserted streets and sat for an hour or so in an
all night cafe, lit by lurid fluorescent lights, keeping company with other
misfits; who like me seemed to have nowhere better to be.  Then for hours I
wandered aimlessly again, before settling in a different cafe; this time with
people who were having breakfast, before going to places that they had to be,
unlike me.

By the time I saw Dr Green I
was at my wits end.

“You look terrible.”

Were her words of greeting as I
entered her office.  I just nodded and threw myself into the empty chair.

I told her everything: how I was
feeling and how scared I was now that I knew I clearly had mental health issues. 
The only problem was that I didn’t know how serious they were.

She listened to everything I
said, interrupting only to ask a question or to clarify a point.  When I eventually
lapsed into silence, I could see she was thinking.  Here it comes, I thought,
bracing myself for the bad news.

“Well Jack, in a way this is
good news.” she said slowly.

“How so?” I asked, surprised.

“Up to now you’ve been too
upbeat about your predicament.  So much so that I was starting to think it was
a form of extended denial.  The mild depression and the anger with yourself
that you are currently experiencing are quite natural; healthy even and part of
the mourning process.  You’re in a form of mourning, you do realise that don’t
you?”

I thought about it.  “But I
don’t know who I’ve lost...” I said slowly.

“You’ve lost yourself.” she
replied levelly.  “You’re twenty-seven years old and clearly well educated.  You
probably had a good profession, with friends, colleagues, a partner perhaps; a
past.  Maybe brothers and sisters, parents, possibly even children of your
own.  All you have now is a handful of weeks of real memory.  Of course you
should mourn and feel angry with yourself for forgetting; only then can you
really start to move on.”

I let an awful lot of air out
of my lungs.  It felt as though it had been there for a long time.

“But why are they not looking
for me then? If all these people were in my life, why hasn’t someone noticed
that I’m not there anymore?”

For a moment I wanted to cry,
but I swallowed the urge and rushed on.

“Don’t you see? If I’m
psychotic they may be glad that I’m gone.  It may be better for all of them
that I’m not around anymore, but what about Grace? What if I hurt her?”

I did sob then; at the thought
of lovely, gentle Grace being hurt by me.

“I couldn’t live with myself if
I hurt her.” I whispered.

There was a long silence.

“Do you think about hurting
her?” she asked softly.

“No, never, not once.” I
replied, meeting her eyes.

“Jack, you have not exhibited
any of the symptoms of psychosis, or of any of the other conditions that I have
seen a great deal of in my profession.  Prolonged amnesia is rare, but there
are well documented cases.  The brain is very, very complex and we do not
understand all the many and varied ways it can react in different situations.  But
we learn.  I am learning from your case.

“I cannot explain to you why
you heard a voice that was not your own in your head and I can’t promise that
you won’t hear it again.  My own view is that it’s a memory forcing itself
through, but it’s out of context, for the time being anyway.  All of which
leads me to think that as of this moment you are not a danger to yourself or to
anyone else.  However, the really important question is, do you?”