‘I care.’
His head snapped up again. ‘I don’t get why.’
‘Because we’re friends.’
‘Are we?’
I stared at him, uncertain how to respond. Because of course we were never just friends. We were always far, far more than that, and I’d loved him with every ounce of my being, even if he hadn’t treated me as well as he should have done. He was young, back then. We both were. I felt sure he’d changed, grown up.
‘Anyway, sorry. I promised not to do that.’ He wrung his hands together in his lap. ‘I just feel like I need to know who I am. Even if I don’t like what I discover, I need to know. And if you can help me that would be amazing.’
I leaned forward so we were facing each other square-on across the tabletop. My pulse thumped in my temples at his proximity and I forced the words out in a whisper. ‘I promise I’ll do my best. But you need to understand that there are never any guarantees.’ I looked away for a moment, distracted by the intensity of his gaze. ‘I want you to find your memories again too. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.’
‘I won’t. I haven’t.’ He took my hands and I almost jumped from the seat at the shock that bolted through me. But I didn’t pull away.
‘Right, let’s give this another go shall we,’ I said, finally removing my fingers from his. I didn’t know where to look.
‘Are you going to play me some more songs?’ he said.
‘Yes, I am. But first I wondered whether we should try something else.’ I pointed at his guitar. ‘Could you – would you be able to play something?’
‘Like what?’
On safer ground now, I explained my idea. ‘I have no idea whether this will work, but I just thought if we started the session a different way this time, with you playing some music of your own, it might help.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Okay. Although I have to warn you that it hasn’t worked so far, when I’m busking.’
‘No, I know. But listen. I have a patient who’s never really responded to music in the months I’ve been seeing him. But yesterday during our session he grabbed a tambourine and started shaking it about, singing a long-forgotten song. For the first time since I’d started working with him he got completely lost in whatever memory the song had brought back to him.’
‘And you think it could work for me?’
‘I have no idea but it’s worth a go.’
‘So what shall I play?’
‘I want you to think of a song that you’ve played recently, but one that you know well – a song you already knew when you picked up the guitar after your accident and didn’t have to relearn. Maybe a song that means something to you.’
He frowned. ‘And then what?’
‘And then, instead of performing it to me, try to really concentrate on the lyrics as you sing – on the melody, the timbre, the rhythm. Try and really lose yourself in the song.’
Adam took his guitar from the case and held it, thinking for a moment.
‘Forget I’m even here. Just do it without any forethought or expectations,’ I said.
‘Can I face the other way?’
‘Whatever works.’
He turned away from me so I could only see the back of his head, and then he started to strum. As he haltingly sang the lyrics to ‘Boys That Sing’ by Viola Beach, I saw his body begin to sway and his foot tap, and I imagined that he’d closed his eyes. I tried not to think too much about the meaning as he sang about how he’d never find another girl like her. I just waited, and when the song came to an end, we both sat in the silence for a moment. Then Adam turned round.
‘Well?’ he said.
‘How was that?’
He nodded. ‘It was good. I – I didn’t remember anything.’
‘Okay. Is there abut?’
