Fractured (27 page)

As we both knew the only other alternative was to share my bed, there was no surprise at hearing his hasty confirmation.

‘No. That will be perfect.’ I was almost at the door before I heard his final softly voiced utterance. ‘Sleep well, Rachel.’

Surprisingly I did. No dreams. No mysterious alarms, strange aftershave, nothing. Jimmy had clearly been up and dressed for some time, as there was coffee gurgling in the filter pot and a plate of golden croissants waiting for me on the kitchen counter. I grabbed one and began nibbling on the light buttery flakes as he poured me coffee – with milk.

‘I see you’ve been shopping.’

He smiled, and the awkwardness of last night was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen. I figured we would be all right as long as we just confined everything to neutral territory.

He pulled out one of the high kitchen stools and tried not to smile as I struggled to get onto the seat.

‘It’s easier with heels on,’ I muttered.

Before I could stop him he had taken hold of me by the waist and lifted me effortlessly onto the high wooden seat. His hands lingered only fleetingly upon me as I settled in place, but even that brief contact made me shiver.

‘Are you cold?’ he inquired, taking in the sleeveless vest and cotton jogging bottoms I had slept in. It was hardly my most alluring look, especially not with a face devoid of any make-up and my hair pulled back in a swinging pony tail. Without waiting for me to answer, he shrugged out of his jacket and laid it around my shoulders, enveloping me both in warmth and the irresistible smell of him.

He looked down on me, and his eyes were warm. Suddenly I wasn’t cold at all. His gaze travelled from my head down to my bare feet, dangling some ten inches off the floor. I thought I could see appreciation in his look, I swear I didn’t imagine that, but then his lips curled in a grin I had seen a thousand times before.

‘What’s so funny?’ I asked, taking a large sip of coffee to hide the blush I could feel beginning to form from his scrutiny.

‘You. Just sitting there like that, you look just like you did when you were thirteen years old.’

‘Wow. It’s compliments like that which have kept you single,’ I confirmed, reaching for another croissant.

It took over an hour to carry out all the boxes and load them in the back of Jimmy’s car. We were in the lift, halfway back up to my floor to collect the next load, when my mobile phone began to ring once again: as it had been doing at regular intervals for the past few hours. I pulled it from the pocket of my jeans, checked the identity on the backlit display, and pressed the button to disconnect the call.

‘Matt again?’ Jimmy asked succinctly.

I nodded, sliding the phone back into my pocket. ‘He’ll give up eventually,’ I pronounced.

‘You think so?’ Jimmy asked obliquely, as we reached our floor. He had his back to me as the doors opened, so I couldn’t read his expression when he added softly, ‘I wouldn’t.’

Interesting. Very interesting.

I pulled the door shut on the flat for the last time a little while later. I supposed I would have to come back here at some point in time to sort out the lease and utilities, but to all intents and purposes I had now officially moved out.

‘You OK?’ Jimmy asked, giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze.

‘Surprisingly, yes,’ I answered.

‘Good,’ he declared. ‘Because if you get your memory back and want this stuff all moved in again, you’ll have to find someone else to do it!’

I laughed, but something of what he said lingered with me as we made our way back to his car. What if I did regret the decisions I was making now when my memory returned? The picture of Matt and Cathy drifted back to me – it really
was
going to take some time to get rid of that one. No, some decisions would hold up whatever Dr Andrews helped me to remember.

The traffic was fairly light considering how close we were to Christmas; perhaps the darkening sky and gusting wind were keeping people away from London. Either way, it was warm and safe in Jimmy’s car, or was that just the way he made me feel when we were together?

‘Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do about your magazine job?’

I frowned. I had thought about it. A lot. It was actually a much harder prospect to give that up than almost anything else. That particular career had been my dream for so many years, it was ironic that it should now feel vaguely wrong and fraudulent that it was mine without having earned it.

‘That’s daft,’ said Jimmy, when I tried to explain my hesitancy in staying there. ‘You saw those articles you wrote. You are
good
. You deserve that job.’ I basked a little in his praise, and gave a wistful sigh.

‘Maybe. I don’t know. I can probably drag out making a final decision for a few more weeks yet.’

‘Of course,’ Jimmy said speculatively, another alternative just occurring to him, ‘you might be able to get your old job back on the paper. Your dad once said they’d welcome you back anytime.’

That idea hadn’t even occurred to me and I was still considering the suggestion when he added, ‘And it would be good to have you closer to home.’

I turned to look out through the rain-splattered passenger window, so he wouldn’t see the ridiculous little smile his words had plastered on my face.

And that’s when the axis of my world tipped once again and the craziness came back.

‘Turn left here!’

Jimmy took his eyes off the road, clearly startled by the urgency in my voice.

‘What? Why? That’s the wrong way.’

Something in my face told him to question no further, and in a move that probably deserved the blaring horn from the taxi he cut up, Jimmy swerved from one lane to another and turned left.

‘Straight ahead at these lights,’ I commanded.

Again he looked at me questioningly, but I just shook my head, and he didn’t probe further. A busy junction approached.

‘Which way?’ he asked.

‘Take a right here and then follow the road down to the end. It bends sharply to the left.’

He never once questioned me; never tried to get me to stop or explain where I was directing him. He never even flinched at the curtly barked out instructions, except for once commenting softly, ‘You know, the satnav lady is much more courteous.’

I nearly smiled then, nearly relaxed a little, which would have been a welcome relief, for my heart was pounding erratically and my stomach felt twisted in knots as we wound our way through countless side streets and back turns. I felt like I was being dragged back by some irresistible and unstoppable force that was drawing me like a magnet to our destination.

Gradually we left behind the more desirable residences and at last arrived in a street of rather shabby shops boasting one of London’s less enviable postcodes.

‘Can you pull in over there?’ I pointed at a parking space that had just opened up. ‘Behind that van.’

He did as I asked, parking efficiently and switching off the engine before turning to me.

The panic I had felt during our fifteen-minute detour had begun to lessen, but in its place was a familiar dread. What I was about to say was going to ruin everything: was going to have everyone looking at me like I was some sort of lunatic again.

Jimmy took hold of my hands, which were twisting convulsively together in my lap.

‘Which one?’

‘Which one what?’ I replied, keeping my eyes upon his large hands, which had gently curled around mine, steadying them.

‘Which one is your flat?’

I looked up then, but I couldn’t see him properly through the diamond jewelled tears that threatened to spill over. I nodded my head slightly to indicate the properties on the other side of the street.

‘The one on the end, above the launderette.’

He looked over at the property for a moment or two, before unbuckling his seatbelt.

‘Come on then.’

I looked up, perplexed.

‘We have to check it out.’

He came around to my side of the car and took my arm, firmly tucking it under his. My death-white pallor and stony expression must have worried him, for he tried to defuse the moment with humour.

‘By the way, remind me never to go rally driving with you. You’re far too grumpy a navigator.’

We waited to cross the road, which I had crossed a thousand times before during the time I lived there. There was a resolve and determination to Jimmy’s stride as he guided me through the traffic. I knew he was probably wondering how to deal with my reaction when I found out that the flat was not, and never had been, mine. But I had an altogether different worry. I turned to him, and hoped my voice sounded steadier than it felt.

‘What are we going to do if that flat turns out to be full of my stuff?’

We were outside the launderette by then, and mindless of the captive audience of those waiting in the steamy interior by the machines, he pulled me into his arms and held me fiercely against him, as though the strong circle of his embrace could keep out the demons.

‘We’ll deal with it. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.’

It was a vow, an oath, a promise. It gave me the strength to step out of his hold and lead him slowly towards my other home.

The entrance to the cluster of flats above the shops was just around the corner. I halted before making the turn, allowing Jimmy to reach the door first.

He looked at me curiously.

‘Do you see, there’s a push-button entry panel beside you?’

He glanced to the left-hand side of the front door.

‘I do, but most flats have—’

‘Winter. Hunt. Webb. Freeman.’

I watched his frown deepen in confusion as I correctly listed the names on the cardboard tags beside each individual buzzer. Names I couldn’t possibly read from where I was standing.

‘And the top one is mine. Wiltshire.’

He looked from me, back to the panel, and then at me again.

‘Four out of five,’ he announced. ‘The top card is blank.’

I stepped around the corner and saw he was right. The last time I’d seen this device, my name had been clearly printed by the top button. Doubt began to inch into the certainty that had drawn me to this place.

‘This flat could belong to a friend of yours. Someone you don’t remember,’ he suggested gently. It was a reasonable enough conclusion: except for one thing.

‘And do you memorise the names of your friends’ neighbours?’

He had no answer, but I could see his policeman’s mind was already struggling with the evidence.

I pressed the second buzzer on the entrance system, saying as I did, ‘Mrs Hunt. She lets everyone in, without asking who they are. It’s a real crime hazard.’

Sure enough, the clicking of the front door mechanism came almost immediately in response to the buzzer, and the front door swung slowly open.

Jimmy took the first step over the threshold into the darkened hallway, which always smelled vaguely of detergent from the launderette. The familiar aroma rocked my assurance for a minute and my steps faltered slightly as I began to climb the threadbare stairs in front of us. Jimmy took my hand and I gripped it like a lifeline as we began to ascend the well-worn treads.

We passed the first and second landings without incident, but as we turned to climb the next flight, a large middle-aged woman with ebony black hair swept past us. She was clearly preoccupied with some paperwork she was reading, and jumped in surprise when I greeted her.

‘Good morning, Mrs Keyworth.’

She stopped in her tracks, her automatic smile of greeting wavering as she took in the two strangers standing before her.

‘Good morning,’ she replied automatically, even as her eyes were narrowing in confusion. ‘I’m sorry… do I know you?’

That indeed was an interesting question. I stood silently as her gaze travelled blankly over my face, before she turned both her attention and questioning smile upon Jimmy. I almost smiled myself then at the familiar response from my landlady. She always
had
favoured her male tenants, especially the younger ones.

‘You probably don’t remember us,’ supplied Jimmy smoothly. That clearly was true enough. ‘We’re friends of someone who lives here.’ And that was a lie.

Mrs Keyworth’s smile was still a little uncertain, as she replied, ‘Ah yes. Of course. Nice to see you again.’

She moved past us then, continuing on her descent, but twice she paused to look back questioningly at us on the landing above her, as though something was vaguely troubling her. She would probably spend the rest of the morning trying to remember where and when she had previously met Jimmy. Me she had already forgotten.

When we were alone once more on the stairwell, I looked to see how Jimmy was processing this latest revelation.

‘That was my landlady, Mrs Keyworth. She’s a nice enough woman. A bit overly chatty sometimes. And she has quite a thing for younger men.’

Jimmy said nothing, not even smiling at my final comment. He looked preoccupied, as though something here was beginning to chip away at the foundation of his belief.

‘I think she took quite a shine to you,’ I teased.

Again he gave no responding light-hearted rejoinder, replying only in a slightly distracted tone. ‘But she didn’t recognise you.’

We were silent for the rest of the climb until we finally reached the top floor, on which the last flat was located. I hadn’t been expecting the jolt of recognition that assaulted me the moment we stood by the apartment.

‘And here we are. Home sweet home.’

Jimmy surveyed our surroundings: the front door with layers of paint curling off in thick flakes; the walls sadly in need of redecorating and the grimy hallway window, too flecked with dirt to let in much light on a dark December morning.

‘Quite frankly, I prefer your other place.’

I gave a small shrug.

‘Well…’ he prompted, standing back slightly to allow me access to the front door. ‘Are you going to knock?’

I took a small step forward, feeling knocking was surely unnecessary: whoever was inside my flat could probably already hear my heart hammering out like a drum.

I realised that the flat wasn’t mine even before I raised my hand to tap upon the wooden panel. There was a bright shiny new Yale lock on the door which definitely hadn’t been there when I was the occupant.