‘Lola!’ he splutters, as all the memories and emotions come flooding back to him. ‘Lola! Is it really you? Bloody hell! I hardly recognized you.’
‘I’ve changed a little,’ I say. It feels strange to be called Lola again. It carries too much of a world I rejected. I didn’t just push Hollis off a mountain, I realize, I pushedmeoff a mountain, too, at least my name, my marriage and my past. I thought I’d been completely reborn, but all the time, my old life was here, waiting for me with all its dark corridors.
‘You’re so different! You look like you’ve become respectable. Where’s the dyed hair, the eyeliner, the ripped clothes?’
‘We’ve both changed. You’re in a wheelchair,’ I say. ‘And you have a beard.’
‘The beard makes me look cool,’ he says, which is a matter of opinion. ‘Legs were smashed to pieces.’
‘In the accident?’
He nods and looks at me. ‘What happened to you? You weren’t hurt?’
‘I was lucky, I guess. I’m sorry about your legs.’
‘Oh, it’s not so bad, you get used to it. And my arms are totally ripped now,’ he says, and flexes his biceps.
‘It’s good to see you, Hollis,’ I say, feeling the force of hisoptimism wash over me again. There were good times too. In the beginning.
‘How did you find me?’ he says. ‘I’ve been looking for you for years and you just show up on my doorstep!’
‘You had someone follow me. A man named Jason Mercer. He gave me your address.’
‘Oh, right. I’m sorry about that. I hired him to try to find you because he had access to police files. He said he’d found someone who might be you – different name, different appearance, so he wasn’t sure. I asked him to find out more, and then it all went quiet.’
‘I think he’s done a runner. He was in the papers. Not a nice man, apparently. Had a court case pending. Police are looking for him.’
‘Oh God, sorry again. I suppose he’s bound to be dodgy if he’s moonlighting as an investigator. I was just so desperate to find you.’
‘I thought you were dead, Hollis.’
‘I thought you were dead, Lola,’ he says, and his face crumples into something tearless but definitely sad.
‘What made you look for me?’ I say, curious as to what triggered his search.
He looks at me and says, ‘I had this feeling.’
‘A feeling?’
‘Yeah. In my heart. I just didn’t feel you were gone. A year after the accident, when the weather was better, I got a team together to search the ravine where we fell. Couldn’t find your body. It gave me hope that maybe you’d also climbed out of there. I had this horrible picture of you wandering the earth, having lost your memory. It broke my heart to think of you alone in the world.’
Hollis was always one to over-romanticize our relationship. He felt we were destined to be together, like two imperfect stars colliding. His capacity for projecting his feelings was overwhelming. I got wrapped up in it at the start because I had so little else in my life, but after a while, I drowned in it.
‘Please sit down,’ he says, but I remain standing, and we stareat each other. There is so much to explain or invent. My mind is racing, but he doesn’t want explanations just yet. He only remembers the good parts and wants the reunion scene. He reaches out to me from his chair. I lean forward, bending at the hip. His arms enfold and crush me as my legs jam against the footplate.
We stay like that for over a minute, as he hugs and blubbers into my neck. His upper body strength was always impressive and even now leaves me slightly breathless, but as his wet face slides against mine, any residual loin-quivering stops abruptly.
Clearly, I can’t share the joy of this momentous occasion with Hollis. I’m angry with him because his existence currently voids my marriage, but I’m more angry with myself. When you set yourself a task, you complete it. I failed, and this is the result.
We untangle from our embrace and he wheels himself up the hall, explaining how lucky he is to get this raised ground-floor apartment because there’s a ramp.
‘Stairs are the curse,’ he says, as he pushes open the door to the living room. He offers me a cup of tea. I look at the state of the kitchen. I’d rather drink bleach.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I say, deciding that I’ll just hold it. The warmth might help as the flat smells damp. Hollis was a man whose ambition always outstripped his ability. He always had a new tech idea that would revolutionize something, and then it would fail and he’d start again. It looks like he’s decided failure without ambition is easier. Same result, less effort.
Seeing him reinforces my belief that you should never return to your former lives. The past should be on the Foreign Office’s ‘do not travel’ list. It is full of unresolved conflicts and liable to flare-ups.
Hollis is adept in his wheelchair and makes two cups of tea with ease, zipping expertly from fridge to cupboard to kettle and back again. He explains with unbridled enthusiasm how he’s learning pistol shooting and wants to compete in the Paralympics.
