Читать книгу If Ever I Fall - S.D. Robertson - Страница 14

I wake up to find I can’t move. It’s getting light outside and I’m looking up at the high ceiling of my room at Miles’s house. I know who I am: I’m Jack, and I have a head injury. But I can’t move. It’s like some invisible force is pinning me to the bed. I try again and again to raise myself up, but it’s no use.

What the hell’s happening? I try to stay calm and rational, but it’s no good. My breathing gets faster; I can feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat. Panic is here. I can feel his bony fingers pressing down on my chest. I can smell his rotten breath.

‘Miles,’ I call out. ‘Help me! I’m paralysed.’

I shout his name more times than I can remember. Louder and louder until my voice cracks, my throat like sandpaper. He doesn’t come.

What time is it? I wonder. Impossible to know for sure in this house without clocks, but I’d guess at five or six o’clock. Miles must still be asleep. That’s why he’s not coming. He will in an hour or two once he wakes up. I need to calm down. Wait it out.

Easier said than done. I’m paralysed! Of course I’m panicking.

At that moment I hear the creak of the bedroom door opening. I try to look in that direction, but my head’s having none of it and my eyes will only roll back so far.

‘Miles? What took you so long?’

But it’s not his voice that replies.

‘Hello, my love. Did you call me?’

When I answer, my voice is that of a child. I’m still around – still part of the action – but not in the driving seat and no longer paralysed. ‘Yes, Gangy. I had a bad dream. I woke up and—’

‘And what? You can tell me.’

‘I thought there was a bat in here.’

‘A bat? Where?’

I point to the corner of the room and she walks over to it. She has a good look around, even kneeling down and peeking under the chest of drawers. ‘No,’ she says, once her search is complete. ‘There’s definitely no bat here. None whatsoever. I think you still had one foot in the Land of Nod.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The Land of Nod is where we go when we’re asleep. It’s a tricky old place. When you’re there, you think it’s real life. When you’re fully awake, it doesn’t seem real at all. Sometimes, when you first wake up and one world blends into the other, you can get confused. Was there a bat in your dream?’

‘Yes.’

‘There you go. That explains it. I dreamt I was a rabbit the other night.’

I giggle as she twitches her nose at me.

‘I really believed it too,’ she continues. ‘I led a full life. It seemed like I was there forever, hopping in and out of my warren; eating carrots and so on.’

‘Mum says rabbits don’t really eat carrots.’

‘She’s right. Carrots aren’t what they naturally eat in the wild. But I bet they’d like the ones I grow in my garden, because they’re super delicious, aren’t they?’

I nod enthusiastically. She knows I love her home-grown veggies.

‘Anyway, I ate carrots in my dream. Like Bugs Bunny. Then I woke up and laughed at myself for believing I was a rabbit.’

‘What was it like?’

‘Being a rabbit? Good fun, from what I can remember. But that’s the other thing with dreams: the memory of them fades before you know it.’

‘What colour rabbit were you?’

‘Light brown with a bushy white tail.’

I smile. ‘Gangy?’

‘Yes, love.’

‘Do I have to go back to sleep?’

‘Not if you don’t want to. We’re both awake now. How about we go downstairs and make some breakfast?’

I jump up and throw on my dressing gown.

‘I’ll need a hug first,’ Gangy says, and I throw my arms around her.

‘I love staying here,’ I tell her.

‘And I love having you.’

‘Come on. Time to get up.’

My eyes snap open and Miles is leaning over the bed, opening the green curtains and letting the daylight stream in.

‘Morning, lad. How are you feeling today?’

‘I can’t—’ I realise I’ve just turned my head. I sit up without any effort. Everything’s working again. The whole paralysis thing must have been a dream.

‘You can’t what?’

‘Um, nothing. It’s fine.’

‘How’s the head?’

‘Good. It hardly hurts at all now.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Jack.’

‘And who am I?’

‘Miles. I’m your lodger. This is your house. I’m helping you fix it up.’

‘Excellent. Anything else come back to you?’

‘Maybe. I’m not entirely sure. I think I dreamt a memory. Is that possible?’

Miles shrugs. ‘I don’t see why not. What was it about?’

‘It was something from my childhood. Like last time, with the marmalade. It involved my grandmother again.’

I talk him through the scene that played out in my head. Miles sits on the wooden chair, listening to me with his head cocked to one side.

‘What do you think?’ I ask when I’ve finished.

‘Sounds like a memory to me. What do you think? How did it feel?’

I nod. ‘Like I’d been there before.’

‘What did your grandmother look like?’

‘Um, I don’t know. I should have paid more attention. Small, I think – for an adult. She wasn’t that much bigger than me. Short curly hair. Kind eyes. She was wearing a dressing gown. Light green, maybe.’

‘That’s good.’

‘But why her? Why’s she the one I remember again? Why my childhood? What about everything in between? When’s that going to return?’

Miles sits back in the chair and runs one hand through his short white hair. ‘Take it easy. That’s a lot of questions. Memory’s complicated.’

‘Yes, but you also said this kind of memory loss is rare. What did you call it again?’

‘Retrograde amnesia.’

‘That’s it. So what’s going on? Why hasn’t everything come back? Don’t take this the wrong way; I know you have lots of experience as a GP, but don’t you think I maybe ought to see a specialist or something? Go to a hospital?’

‘Sure, if you’re worried, we can do that. No problem. The nearest hospital is a good drive away, though. Plus the only doctor you’ll get to see on a weekend is at A&E – probably some youngster who qualified five minutes ago. There’s really no point going there until next week when someone senior is around.’

‘What day is it today?’

‘Saturday.’

‘Oh, right. I didn’t realise.’

He reassures me that he’s perfectly well qualified to keep an eye on me for the time being. I mention the paralysis, in case it’s important, although Miles is sure it was only a dream, most likely spawned by the frustration of my memory loss.

‘But you will take me to the hospital next week?’

‘Of course.’

‘It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, Miles. I’m just desperate to get my memories back. It’s so frustrating not knowing who I am. If there’s anything that can be done—’

‘Don’t worry, Jack. I understand.’

‘Are you sure it’s not worth going today? Isn’t there a chance there might be someone who can help?’

‘No. It would be an utter waste of time. You’ll have to trust me on that.’

‘Could we go on Monday, then?’

‘Yes, Monday we can do.’

After a shower and breakfast, I find Miles busy laying floorboards.

‘Can I help?’ I offer.

‘No, I don’t think you’re ready to get back to work yet.’

‘But that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?’

‘It’s too soon.’

‘What shall I do, then? I need to get busy with something or I’ll go crazy.’

Miles shrugs.

‘Maybe I’ll get some fresh air. The weather looks decent: the sun’s out and there’s no sign of any rain.’

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea in your condition.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ I insist. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t go near the edge of the cliff. I could really do with …’

Miles throws me an expectant stare.

‘Yeah, I was going to tell you that I need to clear my head,’ I say. ‘Then the irony of the expression struck me. What I really want to do is fill my head back up. But you know what I mean.’

‘I’d rather you put your feet up.’

‘Just a little walk. I’ll stay close to the house, I promise.’

‘Fine. You’re a grown man and you seem steady enough on your feet now. But please don’t go close to the edge, and don’t push yourself too hard.’

‘I won’t. Thanks, Doc.’

Outside, the fresh sea air feels great on my skin. Despite what I’ve told Miles, I can’t resist walking over to the rickety fence and peering down the jagged cliff face to the swirling sea, which looks chilly and agitated. I’m not sure what time of year it is, which is an odd feeling, yet I’m dressed for winter in a jumper and jacket. That must be right, I think. The sun might be out, but there’s no warmth, especially in the coastal breeze. I take in my surroundings, noting the bare branches of the few trees nearby and the lack of any flowers. Then I look back at the house: a last outpost of civilisation in this remote spot, as worn and neglected as it is imposing. There’s so much still to be done, I think, eyeing all the flaking paintwork, rotten wood and damaged roof tiles. No wonder Miles needs my help.

Wandering over to the rear of the house, I come across a mud-caked green Land Rover parked at the top of a winding dirt track. I assume this leads to a proper road. The car looks old but functional. I stare down the track; just knowing for sure that there’s an actual route to civilisation comes as a relief.

I hear a thumping noise behind me and I turn to see Miles struggling to open a decrepit wooden window on the first floor. He eventually succeeds and waves to me with a smile. ‘Ring a bell?’

‘Sorry?’ I say, cupping one ear and moving closer.

‘There,’ he replies, pointing to a spot of overgrown grass and a mound of earth to my left-hand side.

Despite having a good look around, I’ve no idea what he’s talking about. I shrug, perplexed.

‘That pile of soil,’ he says, pointing again. ‘It’s where I found you unconscious after your accident.

‘Really?’ I look again, but still nothing comes back.

He nods to one side. ‘The ladder’s over there.’

I go to it, run my hands over the cold aluminium, but it’s as unfamiliar as the rest.

‘I think you must have been looking at the state of the roof. We’d been talking about sorting out the tiles for a while. I’m not sure why you decided to do it when I wasn’t around, though; it’s not wise to go up a ladder alone.’

‘Clearly not.’

‘And? Any recollection?’

I look around again, as if that might somehow trigger my memory, but there’s nothing. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen this side of the house. I shake my head. ‘It’s not familiar at all. I was—’

I stop mid-sentence as something catches my eye: a flash of red in my peripheral vision. I turn in that direction, but there’s nothing there.

‘You all right?’ Miles calls down to me.

‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m going for a wander. See you in a bit.’

‘Be careful. Make sure not to lose your way.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’

I’m convinced the red is from the woman I spotted out of the window yesterday: the slender figure looking over the cliff, who Miles claimed not to have seen. There’s no logic to this other than the fact that she was wearing a red coat, but I’m gripped by the notion and I race in that direction to try to catch her.

There’s no sign of her at the front of the house. I’m confused. I look all around, casting my eye up and down the coastline. I retrace my steps to the rear of the house, taking care to stay out of Miles’s view, but still no luck. Eventually, after several minutes of scratching my head, I figure I must have imagined it. It’s the only rational explanation. I have had a recent head trauma. Seeing flashes of colour is probably a side effect. Besides, if I’m to believe Miles, I probably imagined her in the first place. And yet somehow I’m still not convinced of that. The first time I saw her she was so realistic, so alive.

I return to the front of the house and decide to walk to the place along the clifftop where I first saw the mysterious woman in red. Miles wouldn’t approve, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I soon reach the spot, but of course she’s not there and there’s no sign of her either. So I carry on, focusing on a crooked sea stack in the distance that reminds me of a witch’s nose.

I take in the cool, fresh air with deep breaths – as slow as I can manage – in a bid to calm myself down. I feel all worked up; my shoulders ache. I hadn’t realised how tense I was until now. Having no memory is so frustrating; how can I understand myself when my past is a mystery? My mind is like an empty library: useless without the volumes of knowledge that define it.

I’m picturing that image in my mind when it’s ripped apart and set alight by the burning arrow of another memory.

It’s dark and the streets are full of monsters with bags of loot.

A little ghost is gripping my hand and pulling me towards the light of a nearby front door. ‘They have a pumpkin in the window,’ she says. ‘They should definitely answer.’

‘Well spotted,’ I tell her. ‘You’ve got excellent eyes for a ghost. Would you like me to come to the door with you or to hang back?’

‘I want you to come. You don’t look scary though. I said you should have worn a mask.’

‘Never mind. I’ll pull a really creepy face instead. How’s this?’

She looks up at my attempt at facial contortion and giggles while pressing the bell.

A moment later the door swings open and we both shout: ‘Trick or treat!’

‘Wow! You do look scary,’ booms the large bald man who answers. ‘I’d better give you some sweets, hadn’t I?

He reaches to grab a big bowl of mini chocolates from a shelf above a coat rack standing beside the door. How strange, I think. All the jackets hanging there are red.

‘Here, help yourself,’ he says. ‘And please don’t trick me.’

As the little ghost reaches out, the man turns to me. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks. His voice is different now, though. It sounds female. Like that of a young woman.

What’s happening? One moment I’m looking him in the eye, wondering what the hell is going on with his voice, and the next everything fades to black. I’m shouting out, but I can’t hear myself, like I’ve been muted. I’m confused, afraid.

Then I hear that voice again.

‘Can you hear me?’

It definitely sounds like a young woman; maybe a teenager. The tone reassures me somehow. It seems familiar, although I can’t put my finger on why.

‘You have to get up. It’s not safe here. You need to open your eyes.’

Bright sky is above me: light blue with fluffy sheep clouds. I turn my head to the right, feel damp grass under my cheek and view the sea through the gaps in the rickety fence. Why am I lying on the ground? What happened?

I heave myself up. First into a sitting position and then, once I’m sure everything’s working, on to my feet. I feel dizzy, especially when I look at the sea far below. There’s a twinge from my head, but nothing like the pain I felt when I first woke up after the accident. I must have fainted or passed out. It didn’t feel like that, though. It was more like I was in a trance – reliving a forgotten memory, as I had before.

So who was the young girl trick-or-treating with me? Was the little ghost my daughter? It felt like she was. But how can I be a father and not remember? That’s not the kind of thing you ever forget, is it? I must be mistaken. Maybe she was a niece, a young sister or a friend’s daughter. Perhaps it wasn’t a memory at all. It could have been a scene I watched in a film, although again it felt so real.

I think back to the feeling I keep having that I should be somewhere else, with someone else. Maybe there’s a good reason for that.

I shiver in the wind. What about the older girl’s voice that spoke to me at the end? She told me to get up. She said I wasn’t safe. Was she right? And why did she sound so familiar?

I turn 360 degrees, scanning the open space in every direction for some clue. And then I see her: far in the distance along the clifftop, in the opposite direction from which I was walking.

The woman in red. Or maybe not a woman at all. Could she be the one who just spoke to me? Could she be a girl? A teenager?

She looks identical to the last time I saw her; same jeans and knee-length coat, billowing long black hair. She’s looking at me, although she’s some distance away: too far to clearly make out her face. So how could she have been talking to me?

I cup both hands around my mouth and shout to her. ‘Hello! Can you hear me?’

She doesn’t react, so I wave my hands above my head, staring at her the whole time and shouting some more.

She stands there, hands in her pockets, looking straight at me but through me.

Then I blink and she’s gone.