Emilia used the tablet to see if the internet could shed a sliver of light upon her identity. But as far as she could tell, she had no social media presence. There was no Amazon account in her name, no LinkedIn profile, no subscriptions to online publications and no match when she took a selfie and tried to image-search it.
Through the open door to her hospital room, she spotted her husband and two broad-shouldered men approaching. Yesterday, Ted explained they were part of his securitydetail but when she’d questioned him further, he changed the subject. She’d Googled his name too but that also drew a blank.
Being married should have reassured Emilia that there was at least one person in the world who knew her as well as she had once known herself. Yet she felt as attached to him as she might a stranger. She did not find him physically appealing; his constant asking of questions irritated her especially when he offered little in the way of answers. She could only assume that at some point in her life, he had ticked her boxes. Because now, they were blank.
When Ted had returned from lunch yesterday, she had pretended to be asleep but overheard him in the corridor discussing her progress with Dr Choudary. Emilia was uncomfortable at the thought of being released into the care of a man she didn’t remember, even if he was her husband. In the hospital she felt safe; much more so than the first building she’d woken up in. She glanced out of the window across the rooftops and into the hospital grounds. The unknown of the outside world scared her.
‘Have you remembered anything else?’ asked Ted, greeting her with an encouraging smile. She shook her head and felt unexpectedly guilty for disappointing him. ‘No, sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise.’ He rubbed her forearm as if to reassure her that it didn’t matter. But it did matter to her, it was theonlything that mattered.
Ted returned to their table from the self-service section of the hospital cafe carrying a tray of toast, a blueberry muffin and a black coffee for Emilia – her favourites, he said – and a banana and fresh orange juice for himself. He moved his hands to hold hers. Yesterday, he’d caught her out with the same level of intimacy. This morning, she was prepared and withdrew them before contact was made. They rested on her thighs.
‘What’s your first memory?’ he began.
‘As I told you before, it’s of waking up in that other place.’
‘And you don’t know how you got there?’
‘No. I only remember feeling that I had to get away, but not why. And something’s been bothering me. I must have some kind of link to it because I knew the codes to the electronic door locks.’ Emilia’s chest tightened when she thought about it again. ‘Ted, I need your help. I need you to tell me what you know about me.’
‘Darling, your consultant warned us not to bombard you with information as it might be too much to grasp immediately … you need time to get used to being around me so that hopefully, your memories return naturally and not by being prompted.’
‘Put yourself in my shoes. Imagine what it’s like not having the first clue who you are; being told you’re married to someone you don’t recognise, and that one person who is supposed to be fighting your corner is refusing to tell you anything. How do you think that might make you feel?’
‘I understand, I really do.’
‘Do you? Because sometimes it doesn’t seem like that.’
‘It’s not easy for me either, seeing my wife like this. But Dr Choudary told us …’
‘No, I only have your word that he told “us” because I was asleep when you had that conversation. He toldyou.’
‘What do I have to gain by lying to you? Don’t you think I want you to get better?’
Emilia let out a long, exhausted breath. Her head drooped as she cupped her coffee mug. ‘Of course you do. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. But we’ve been going around in circles for days and my memory isn’t improving. I just don’t remember anything.’
Swallowing hard didn’t dislodge the lump in her throat and she started to cry. She didn’t want to be this vulnerablein front of a stranger but holding back was proving impossible. This time, Emilia didn’t recoil when Ted’s hands went under the table. They were soft and warm and strangely reassuring. She wondered if they’d been a close couple.
‘Have you considered this might be for the best?’ he asked gently. ‘There are some people who would kill for the opportunity to start their lives again, baggage free. At this juncture, you have a unique opportunity, to be whomever you want to be. Isn’t it even a little tempting?’
It was a peculiar question as her answer could have backfired on him. If she were to hit the restart button, what was to say she’d want him as part of her new life? Emilia gave his suggestion little thought before she answered with a firm ‘No.’
Ted’s shoulders slumped and he withdrew his hands from hers. He appeared thoughtful, as if searching for the right words before finally continuing. ‘Okay, if you are sure this is what you really want then let’s start.’ Emilia held her breath.
‘You were born in St Neots, Cambridge, and you will be thirty-seven years old on November the fourth. Your parents were Alison and Richard, both of whom passed away within two years of one another when you were in your late twenties. Your dad died from pancreatic cancer, your mum from complications following heart surgery. You and I met through friends on a blind date twelve years ago and as corny as it sounds, it was as if we were drawn together like magnets. We married two years later at a private ceremony in City Hall, New York. Our only witness was our photographer. We don’t have children as we mutually decided that parenthood wasn’t for us. My work often takes me to Europe while you worked in London in banking for Barnett-Vincent Brothers. We live with our dogs Riley Blue and Peggy in a house we designed and built ourselves.’
Emilia sat upright in her seat, hanging on to his every word. But it was as if Ted was talking about a strangerbecause none of it resonated with her. He must have recognised it in her expression because he removed a phone from his pocket and unfolded it. His Cloud contained images of their wedding, reportage-style photographs taken against colourful murals in Brooklyn, along with other pictures and videos of them together and apart over the years. They included her university graduation celebrations, her as a child with her parents, and pictures taken on beaches around the world. It was clear she had lived an exciting, adventurous life. Only she didn’t remember a single second of it.
It unexpectedly all became too much for Emilia. She pushed Ted’s phone to one side and hurried towards a sign for the unisex bathrooms. Inside, she splashed cold tapwater to cool her flushed face and patted it dry with a paper towel before catching sight of herself in the mirror. Her uncombed, long blonde hair resembled a bird’s nest piled upon her crown and was held in place with a pencil and a rubber band. She was wearing jogging bottoms and a loose-fitting baggy sweatshirt that Ted had brought with him from home along with underwear and toiletries. She felt uncomfortable being this scruffy but didn’t know why.Is this how I always dress?The question was innocuous but represented all she didn’t know.
‘You said that you often work in Europe but you used the past tense to describe my job,’ she began when she returned to Ted’s table. He appeared relieved to see her, as if he’d been half-expecting her to disappear again. ‘You said “worked”. Why?’
She noted a hesitancy before he replied; his gaze left hers for the briefest of moments as if he were unsure how to answer. ‘You decided that you wanted a change so you were on a career break.’ Ted’s pupils were dilated. He wasn’t being honest with her.
‘There’s something you’re not telling me,’ she said and he shuffled in his seat.
‘Let’s leave it for today, shall we?’
