REMEMBRANCE (13 page)

Full of apprehension, Maria stood with her mother in the small, shadow-lit room. Once again, the nervousness of her position filtered through the barrier she had erected around herself—her protection against the unwanted attention of the unknown. In all of her fifteen years, she had never known why her mother had persisted with the rigorous fascination with doctors, why, in the last twelve months alone, they had visited several different specialists.

She found Doctor James to be a rather pleasant elderly gentleman, with smiling brown eyes, very different from the others they had seen previously. All others had been uninterested and critical, always prodding and poking, trying to wheedle out of her what kind of childhood she'd had. She felt as if they had implied that her mum hadn't been a good parent to her and most focused on questioning her mother's state of mind, rather than examining her.

This man, though, was friendly and kind. His office smelt of musty books. Dark wood furniture furnished the dusty room; along its walls sat rows of shelves that housed piles of papers and old photographs.

“Mrs Austin,” his voice sounded deep, and was slightly gravely, as if it had been worn away by years of heavy tobacco smoking.

Maria watched as he’d shook hands with her mother, after which they spoke in quietened tones that she could barely hear. She glanced at the low coffee table with a selection of old magazines and several cups still half-filled with liquid, and wrinkled her nose as the old, noisy table fan wafted the scent of stale coffee in to the air.

For a few minutes, she became invisible to the other two, for they were immersed into a discussion regarding whatever it was that they thought didn’t warrant any of her contribution. She fiddled with the end of her braid, simply for something to do, and pretended to concentrate on the clock that balanced precariously on the end of the fire mantle.

“And this must be Maria?” doctor James suddenly said, turning his attention to her. She looked at him nervously, not quite knowing what to expect. “Your mother has told me so much about you; she tells me that you love to paint—a proper little artist,” he talked to her as if she was six years old and his paper thin skin creased with wrinkles as he smiled.

“Come on, M, say hello to Doctor James.”

“Hi,” was all she could manage.

His deep chuckle filled the small room and Maria instantly felt herself relax. She remembered her mum’s promise that this would be the last one. She knew that there was nothing to fear from this old man; it would be just like all the other times—he would speak with her and they would talk about her childhood and then she and her mother would go home.

She could hear the hypnotic tone of his voice while she lay on the worn leather couch and stifled a giggle.

“Now, Maria, I want you to let your body relax, clear your mind, feel yourself drifting. There is nothing but an open field; in that field is an object. Concentrate on that object.”

The clock ticked quietly in the background, mingling with the sound of a car outside the window, as her mother shuffled in the chair behind her.

Trying to contain her laughter, Maria wriggled on the hard, cold leather and concentrated on trying to keep her face void of the humour that was bursting to break free. Her mother must have gone quite mad to play along with this old man! Did they really think that listening to whatever mumbo jumbo he made up was going to turn her in to... whatever it was her mum wanted her to be? Suddenly, she was filled with the horrible sense of foreboding. She hadn’t really given much thought to why her mum had persisted with visiting all the doctors. But now, as she did think about it... She was acutely aware of how difficult it had become to breathe, her chest rose and fell with each laboured gasp.

“Is this normal?” she heard her mother ask.

Her panic rose. She needed to get out—out of this room. However, when she tried to move her arms to sit up, nothing happened. Her whole body seemed to have lost the ability to cooperate with her brain and even her mind was becoming groggy. Suddenly, everything became silent. She was aware of an eerie black emptiness, where only the sound of her ragged breath penetrated the void. Just when she thought there was no escape and of being stranded in this pit of nothingness, she felt the wind on her face, and sensed an orange light heating her numb limbs. When slowly she opened her eyes, she saw a field covered in long grass waving gently in the breeze.

“Come on, M,” she suddenly heard Tom call her, laughing happily.

Although she was surprised to find him there, she felt warmed by his presence. He was her best friend, the one person she could always rely on. He was walking slightly ahead, his blond hair ruffled by the wind blowing across the field; the features of his familiar face crinkled with that crooked smile she had grown to love.

“Come on M,” his hand outstretched to her. “We need to be away from here before they find out what we’ve done.”

“Done?” she repeated, a little confused.

“Hurry M, if Sir John catches us, there will be the devil to pay,” he urged her, as he quickened his pace.

“Wait for me, Tom!” she called out.

He glanced over his shoulder and she noticed how his smile enhanced the colour of his blue eyes, “I will always wait for you, M.”

Aware that she was being left behind, she quickened her pace, only to find that the distance between them was growing. She tried running to keep up with him, but the material of her long skirt hindered her movements and, the faster she tried to go, the further away he seemed to be.

Then she sensed that they were not alone in the field, as she heard a man’s voice speaking words that she couldn’t quite understand. She came to a halt and looked around, half-expecting to see the very man they had just been discussing chasing after them. But there was nothing amongst the long grass that looked out of place, and the little stone wall that separated Whitmore’s garden from the field some distance behind her stood empty.

“Come on, M,” Tom’s voice was so distant now that it sounded faint.

Confused, she turned in the direction that Tom had taken and found that the entire length of the field separated them.

“Tom, wait for me!” she yelled, but he kept going, as if he hadn’t heard her. Panicked, she started running again. She could feel the sharp pains in her sides from the exertion and her breathing was coming in short gasps. Worse still, there was an ache in her chest, as if she was losing something dear to her. Something told her that she needed to reach him. She desperately tried to hurry, so that she could keep him in view. She was now almost at his side and he finally turned on her approach.

“M, whatever is the matter?” he asked, clearly concerned.

Doubled over from the pain in her side, she dragged air in to her lungs and tried to calm her racing heart, “I thought that you were leaving me!”

“Oh M, you are a funny one! I told you that I would never leave you.”

She cocked her head to the side and tried to smile up at him, as she eased her aching body slowly, trying to straighten her posture.

“Now, tell me, M, what has caused you all the fluster...” he started to ask, when, suddenly, his smile evaporated on his handsome face, “M?”

Fear spread through her limbs, as she saw his figure distort, becoming almost transparent. A sharp pain encroached into every crevice of her head and, as she brought her hands to her temples, trying to ease its throb, she suddenly saw that her own body suffered the same fate.

“M…” she could barely hear him; his outstretched hand was almost invisible.

“Tom, Tom…” she cried, as his image faded away before her very eyes.

Doctor James entranced her by his words; her body was thrashing from side to side, fighting with every fibre of her being, as the darkening void clamped down on the images in her head, shutting out the smiling face that held the bluest of eyes, and sleep consumed her.

Maria woke up fighting; the blankets were so tightly wrapped around her arms and legs, as she precariously dangled over the edge of the bed like a moth in a cocoon. Wriggling, she managed to gain a safe position, thus avoiding the threat of bashing her brains out on the hard wooden floor, and took long laboured gasps to still her racing heart. Confused, she frowned as the dream lingered. Could it have been a memory? Dream, memory, memory, dream which was it? If she really believed in coincidence, then she would have to accept that it was a memory. The memories of life with her mother when she was young—the images she thought had vanished—were somehow returning. It was conflicting with everything she had come to know, and it felt as if her head would explode. Then there was the pain in her chest and rising sickness in her stomach, as she remembered her last meeting with Tom at his mother’s house, “Oh God!” she cried and buried her head into her pillow.

Maria’s grandmother stood outside the door. It had only been a couple of minutes since she had entered and found Maria’s bedroom empty. Her brow creased into a frown as she wondered what had caused the child to be up so early. A smile suddenly formed on her face at the thought that everything was going according to plan. Content once more, she closed the door behind her with a click.

It was then that she heard her granddaughter scream out from behind the already closed door. Her hand hovered over the round brass doorknob before she eventually turned it and re-entered the room.

Maria sat up on the old four-poster bed, sobbing, her face buried in her hands.

“Maria, my dear, whatever is the matter?” she asked in alarm, rushing to her side.

“Oh Gran, I have lost him!” Maria cried.

“Lost whom, dear?”

Maria raised her tear-stained face to look at her, “I have lost Tom.”

Bertie looked in disbelief at her granddaughter. Then the broad smile crossed her face. “Shush child, you have not lost him, for it has only just begun.”

“But he is to marry Lucy Cartland and I… and I…,” she stuttered.

“And you have started to remember, my child.”

Maria looked at her with a blank expression, “Remember what?” she questioned.

Bertie so very much wanted to tell her everything at that moment, but she knew that Maria needed the time to adjust to her memories. She worried that, by rushing in and exposing it all now, she would do more harm than good.

“The reason your mother took you away. Your dreams are finding their way back. You have to try to remember. I promise you that, once you do, everything will become clear to you.”

“I don’t understand,” Maria cried, shaking her head.

“You have to remember who you are; who Tom is,” Gran tried to explain.

“Tom?” she mouthed his name. “But I love Tom and he is to marry Lucy…,” she suddenly stopped, as a thought came to her. “But it’s just a dream isn’t it?”

“Is it Maria? Are you sure?” her gran asked with a hint of experience in her voice.

“Oh, I don’t know. I no longer know what is real and what is not,” Maria said, hiding her face behind her hands again.

Bertie could see that, at this moment, nothing that she did would help ease her granddaughter’s grief. She knew that she could not step in and reveal all to her; Maria had to find out what was really happening by herself. There were obstacles that only she could master and, in doing so, she would come to understand everything.

“Maria, my dear child, nothing is lost; we all have paths in life that are there to follow. Still, nothing is set in stone as only we can make the decision to walk those paths or choose to go in another direction. Sometimes, just as we think that there is nothing more for us to do, inspiration can be our guide. Thus, the question is—do we just give up at the first sign of defeat or do we want something so badly that we are willing to fight for it?”

“You have the choice, Maria; you can take which ever path you want. Don’t be frightened by a little competition, embrace it instead. I thought that you had better sense than that. You’re an intelligent girl and I am confident that you will find the way to overcome the obstacles before you. Just remember, there is nothing lost that cannot be found.”

Maria sniffed, wiping the tears from her eyes, “But…,” she started to object, but was cut off by her gran, who spoke gently.

“There is no room for ‘but’s. Remember, it has only just begun, so choose wisely. I suggest that, once you are done with your weeping and have thought a little about what might be going on, you should come and see me. I will be waiting in the sitting room,” she touched her hand to Maria’s arm. “Please dear?”

Maria nodded in agreement, before dropping her head back into her hands, as her gran raised herself from the bed and walked towards the door. Before she left, she turned to look at her granddaughter once more, as if giving her courage, for she knew that Maria would not come and see her this day.