S.D. Robertson - If Ever I Fall

‘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.