Vanessa Carnevale - The Memories of Us - The best feel-good romance to take with you on your summer holidays in 2018

When I open my eyes, the first thing I notice are the dinner-plate dahlias on the table at the foot of my bed. They’re café au laits. They struggle in cold soil and you plant the tubers when the soil temperature picks up and there’s no more risk of frost.

My eyes flutter closed again. I can’t seem to form any words to answer the woman who is patting my thigh. She keeps squeezing my hand, repeating the name, ‘Gracie.’

‘Open your eyes, Gracie. Can you hear me, Gracie?’

I want to tell her she’s in the wrong room, that she has the wrong person, but I can’t seem to find the energy to.

She squeezes my hand once more.

This time I find the strength to squeeze back.

‘Good girl. Open your eyes now, sweetheart.’

I hear footsteps. A male voice. Hushed whispers. Pages flicking. A pen clicking. There is beeping that I hadn’t noticed till now, and a steady hum. The room smells sterile. I open my eyes and the room slowly comes into focus. My eyelids feel so heavy.

The woman is wearing a blue shirt with white trim around the collar and her name badge tells me she’s a nurse. Her name is Bea. Which means the man standing beside her with a stethoscope around his neck is a … doctor. Which means I’m in a … hospital.

‘Hello, Gracie, I’m Dr Cleave. How’s that head of yours feeling?’

My arm feels like lead, but I manage to lift it and run my fingers over the bandage that’s wrapped around my head. Did I fall? I must have fallen. But when? Where? My heart starts to beat faster. Bea glances at the monitor by my bed and adjusts the pulse oximeter on my finger.

‘Gracie,’ I whisper, repeating the name that doesn’t seem to fit me. I search for another name for myself, but nothing comes.

Dr Cleave narrows his eyes, appearing slightly concerned.

‘Can you tell me your full name?’ he asks.

I take a moment to think about it, but there is blankness in that space where my name should be.

‘Not to worry,’ says Dr Cleave, after an abnormally long silence, which makes me worry more.

‘How did I … get here?’ I can’t seem to remember yesterday, or last month, or last year.

‘You’re in the hospital. You were in a car accident and you’ve been intubated in the ICU for three days. You’re going to feel a little tired, but that’s to be expected,’ he says.

I try to sit up, but it requires too much effort and I collapse back into the pillows. Everything in my body aches.

‘Take it easy, sweetheart,’ says Bea, resting a hand on my shoulder. She readjusts the hospital gown so it covers my collarbone. ‘Are you warm enough?’ she asks, rubbing my forearm. I’m not, yet I nod anyway.

My mouth feels dry. I go to speak, but only a croak comes out. I try again. ‘Car accident?’ I say, looking at the doctor.

‘That’s right. You hit your head and you’ve got a few bumps and bruises. You’re going to be fine, though. Are you in pain?’

I pat the bandage.

‘Let me get onto that for you,’ says Bea. She leaves the room and Dr Cleave moves closer. He fiddles with the stethoscope around his neck.

‘By any chance, do you remember anything about the accident?’ he asks casually.

I frown, trying to summon my past, but it’s like reaching into a vast crater. There’s nothing to remember.

‘No. Nothing,’ I reply.

‘That’s okay,’ he says in a voice so reassuring, I almost believe him. He pulls a torch from his coat pocket and shines it into my eyes. I wish he wouldn’t do that. ‘Now, I’m sure you’re wondering about Blake. He was pretty lucky to come out of the accident with only a few stitches and contusions.’ He clicks off the light and tucks it away. I blink, trying to regain focus.

There’s a knock on the door and a woman enters the room. I can tell she’s not a nurse because she’s wearing a tailored red coat, a felted wool beret and is carrying an umbrella. Her bow-shaped lips form a smile when she sees me.

‘Gracie,’ she says, relief in her voice. She hovers in the doorway, seemingly unsure of whether to stay or go.

‘Come in,’ says Dr Cleave.

‘I’m Scarlett,’ she introduces herself to him. ‘Did she just wake up?’ She removes the beret from her head, letting a mass of caramel-coloured curls fall around her shoulders.

Dr Cleave nods. ‘I need to ask her a few questions.’

‘Should I come back later?’ She points to the door.

‘No need, I’ll be done soon,’ says Dr Cleave, glancing over my chart.

I can’t stop staring at the woman—Scarlett, who is now sitting beside the bed and holding my hand. I think I am supposed to know who she is. She obviously knows me . Why don’t I know her ?

Dr Cleave slides out a pencil from behind his ear. ‘I’m going to ask you a few more questions, but I don’t want you to worry if you can’t answer them all, okay?’

I swallow nervously and nod, feeling the colour drain from my face.

‘Can you tell me when your birthday is?’

December? No. March. September? I look up at the ceiling, my eyes darting left and right. Surely I must know the answer. Why don’t I know the answer?

‘Gracie?’ says Dr Cleave, trying to grab my attention.

‘I … uh, I don’t know.’

How can I not know my birthday? What month are we even in now? It’s raining outside. Scarlett is wearing a coat. Okay, it must be winter. I was in a car accident. I hit my head. I’m in the hospital. My name is … Gracie.

‘How about your address?’

Oh God, I don’t know my address, either.

I stare blankly at him. I want to tell him but can’t. It’s on the tip of my tongue, and then … it’s not. And I can’t tell if it’s slipped away or if it was never there in the first place. I glance at Scarlett, who is in the chair near my bed, her mouth ajar. She closes it when her eyes meet mine and resumes fumbling with the hat on her lap.

Dr Cleave continues. ‘Favourite colour?’

I shrug. ‘Purple?’ My voice is barely audible.

He looks at me over his glasses before pushing them up his nose. ‘Really?’

‘Pink?’ I say, feeling hopeless.

I squeeze my eyes closed for a second as I draw a long, deep breath. My mind starts to scramble, attempting to search for a recollection of the past, but it’s as if my life is like an empty container. I shake it, turn it upside down, except nothing comes out.

Dr Cleave pats my leg. ‘I think that’s enough for now. I don’t want you to worry,’ he says, but I can’t help noticing the way he’s scribbling down notes. ‘It’s normal for you to feel a bit disorientated like this. I’m going to order a few more tests.’

‘Tests?’

‘I’m going to order a neuropsych assessment and maybe a couple of scans. You had a significant blow to the head, and while I don’t think we have anything to be too concerned about, I’d still like to double-check things, just to be sure.’

‘Okay,’ I reply quietly.

‘I’m going to have a word with Scarlett, and I’ll be back a little later. I want you to rest up for now. Do you have any questions in the meantime?’

‘I don’t think so.’ I allow my eyes to momentarily drift shut before opening them again.

‘I should let Blake know she’s awake,’ says Scarlett, who is still sitting beside me. She’s stroking the back of my hand with her thumb. I pull away and ball my hand into a fist.

‘What’s wrong?’ she says, her deep-blue eyes trying to meet mine. I don’t know how to tell her that I have no idea who she is. I look the other way, avoiding eye contact with her.

Dr Cleave peers over his clipboard, and glances at the hand I’ve pulled away from Scarlett. He clicks his pen, tucks it in his coat pocket and turns around to leave the room.