“Haven’t a clue, so it’s probably some fancy program you use for work. Click on it and see.”
Jodi tapped the mouse pad. Nothing happened.
“You have to press a bit harder, hun.”
Jodi pressed down and the icon sprang to life, eclipsing Rupert’s face and chest with a bigger logo that eventually merged into a convoluted interface. Jodi leaned closer and studied the tool bar. His fingers itched, and his previously heavy eyes suddenly felt jammed open. He found the file list and clicked on the first one he saw. A monochrome website template opened, modified for what appeared to be a hipster cafe that served a gazillion types of herbal tea. The site was crisp and clean ... almost. The sidebar header was positioned too far left and the font on the interactive buttons didn’t match up.
He made the adjustments, working on instinct. It took him a while to notice Sophie had gone quiet—scarily quiet—and was watching his every move, tracking each click and drag. “What?”
“This software is new, Jodi. You only got it a month before the accident, and you said it was completely different to the program you were using before, that you had to teach yourself how to build sites all over again.”
Jodi frowned. “Thought you said you didn’t have a clue what it was?”
“I wanted to see if you did. That’s why I didn’t tell you that you don’t have the internet connected on this computer to stop you pissing around when you’re doing your layouts.”
“You wanted to see— What the fuck? Why would you do that? I’m not a bloody lab rat, Soph. What else are you testing me on?”
“I’m not testing you on anything.” Sophie shrank back from Jodi’s anger. “The doctors told us not to plant memories in your head. They said no one interprets the past in the same way, and we had to let you remember things on your own.”
“What things?”
“I don’t know. Just things. Don’t shout at me, Jodi. I’m doing my best.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
Jodi stared her down. He barely knew which way was up anymore, and the distinct sensation Sophie was keeping shit from him wouldn’t quit. Did she know about the lube in the drawer? Or why his laptop was plastered with photos of Rupert half-naked? Or was it something else? Something bigger and even more fucked up? Jodi’s anger faded, and in its place came fear. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to remember. He—
“Jodi.” Sophie took his hands and squeezed them hard until he met her gaze. “Don’t be angry, please. I want to give you all the answers, but I’m so scared I’ll get it wrong and hurt you. That we’ll lose you all over again. I can’t do it. You have to remember. Please. You have to remember.”
“Remember what?”
“Who you are, Jodi. You have to remember who you are.”
Twelve
One Sunday morning, ten weeks after Jodi came home from hospital, Rupert emerged from a quiet night shift into the first spring sun of the year, the kind of sunshine that teased London at the close of winter, promising an end to the dreary grey frost, only to disappear again like it had never been there at all.
Knowing this far too well, Rupert stood in the eerie calm of early morning Brixton and tilted his face to the sky, absorbing the gentle heat, letting it seep into his bones. As ever, his thoughts turned to Jodi, who was no doubt tucked up in bed with Sophie watching over him, and the warmth stalled, blocked by the cool grip of sadness around his heart. There’d been a few fleeting days when he’d almost believed they were getting somewhere, but over the past week or so, Jodi had become more silent than ever, retreating to the bedroom the moment Rupert came home, only coming out to pick at the food Rupert fudged for him, or to take a shower, an occupation he seemed to have a renewed interest in.
Rupert sighed and opened his eyes. Jodi’s physical recovery was progressing as well as anyone could hope for, but caring for someone who wouldn’t even look at you was more soul-destroying than he could ever have imagined. Still, the situation didn’t seem like it was going to change anytime soon, and the sun’s appearance had given him a faint charge of energy he couldn’t ignore. He caught the Tube to Finsbury Park and jogged the rest of the way home. With his bag slung on his back, the four-mile run was hard work—he hadn’t been to the gym in months—but the strain on his lungs and the lactic acid in his legs felt good, cleansing, and he was almost sorry when the flat appeared on the horizon. He slowed to a walk, catching his breath. The light in the bedroom was on, but that didn’t necessarily mean anyone was awake. Jodi didn’t care for the dark, and there was no reason for Sophie to be up this early on a Sunday.
He let himself in and dumped his bag in the corner with the rest of the clutter. His makeshift bed on the couch called his name, but he needed to eat first or he’d never find rest. Empty cupboards and an empty fridge spoiled the party. A closer inspection revealed there was nothing edible in the flat save half a packet of pasta Rupert couldn’t be arsed to cook and a fun-size KitKat.
Rupert took the KitKat and a mug with the last teabag into the living room, mentally writing a shopping list to take to the supermarket later that day, and cursing himself for letting the cupboards get so bare. Grocery shopping was one of many things he’d yet to get used to, even after all these months.
“Morning.”
“Jesus!” Rupert jumped, sloshing hot tea over his hand. “What the fuck are you doing sitting in the dark?”
“Trying to figure out the HTML code for a website I can’t remember building.” Jodi eyed Rupert from the rarely used armchair, his gaze inscrutable. “Didn’t think you’d be back till later.”
Rupert set his mug down, shaking his hand. “Why? I came off shift at six.”
“I know, but you’re always late at weekends.”
“So?” Rupert glared at Jodi, irrationally irritated. Jodi had often waited up for him in the past, unable to sleep until he knew Rupert was safe, but those days were long gone, and Rupert didn’t feel like explaining himself to someone who didn’t give a shit.
