Synopsis
Tom Stewart is a rough, tough, seasoned, twenty-nine year veteran Police Inspector. Used to command, a popular, dedicated family man, he is on the eve of his half-century and is coming to the end of his career. He has lived with a secret for most of his life, successfully managing it. With retirement, he stands to lose the major factor in that success and he is very uncertain about how he will control the hidden urges.

Jenny Adams, a sixteen year-old schoolgirl, has her whole life ahead of her. She is bright, sensitive and pretty, she has everything going for her. She is returning from a day’s shopping with her mother on a train. The train is derailed in tragic circumstances. Jenny’s mother is killed while Jenny sustains serious head injuries and is in a coma.

Inspector Stewart is aware of the incident, but not directly involved. Time, however, is perhaps up for Tom, as he is rushed to the same hospital in which Jenny lies on the brink of death.

One of them survives, but which one?

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This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental.
 
I have based the tragic incident in the first chapter on a real event, and I salute those public servants and volunteers who worked so hard to manage the event, from every angle. My heart goes out to those directly and indirectly involved in the whole horrible affair, and I hope that I can, in some small way, pay homage to those who sought to bring relief and help.
 
I dedicate this work to the police officers, fire fighters,
paramedics, doctors and nurses and all the other
professionals and volunteers who give of themselves
on a daily basis for the sake of others.
 
The Legal Stuff: Every Little Girl's Dream  ©2005 Tanya Allan
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.

The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 
Chapter 1 - The Night Before
 
 
A young Police Constable’s head popped round the open door of my office just as another airborne firework exploded some distance away from the station, illuminating the trees and buildings nearby. I didn’t like November, as it was always a noisy bloody month, with tragic incidents almost guaranteed.

“Inspector Stewart, what should we do with the vehicle?” he asked. He advanced into my office; thereby proving his head was properly attached to a body.

I attempted to disengage my brain from the report I was writing, rejoining the rest of the real world. Taking my reading glasses off, I looked at him.

“What?”

“Sir, the car used in the robbery. It’s still at the scene, what should we do?”

I frowned, why was he asking me? I was the duty Inspector; the Sergeant should be around to help with this.

“Where’s Sergeant Bevan?” I asked.

“Sir, he’s taken an IRU (immediate response unit) to the rail crash just the other side of Reading.”

“Ah.” I remembered now. A train had hit a car on a level crossing about an hour ago and there was chaos on the track. The westbound express had derailed causing fatalities and serious injuries to the passengers. As it happened at 18:45 on a Saturday, it was a miracle there weren’t more deaths. I dreaded to think what kind of mayhem would have been caused on a packed weekday commuter train.

“As the car was used in crime and we have two suspects, recover the car for SOCO (Scenes of Crime Officer = CSI). Seize clothing from the suspects and make sure you tag SOCO so they can get it done as soon as possible. Have you searched the car?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Then get that done, carefully, so as to avoid cross contamination. I don’t want officers involved in the arrest at the search scene. If you can get a SOCO there now, that would be brilliant, but I doubt there will be one on at eight o’clock on a Saturday evening. Don’t forget the search pack. As far as the law is concerned it is a premises and I need to sign the authority to search.”

“Yes sir, thanks, sir.”

The PC looked relieved. He was very young, younger even than my own children. I shook my head. Twenty-nine years and six months I had been a copper and I was so glad that the end was now in sight.

I wondered about the crash. Annie, my daughter, was twenty-two and a nurse at a hospital in Reading. She would probably be dealing with the horrendous aftermath of this incident, so I was tempted to call her. Then I decided not to, as she’d have enough to do without her silly old Dad fussing at this time.

I called Maria, my long-suffering wife and soul mate.

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Hi you. What’s up?” she always sounded so pleased to hear from me, my heart warming at the sound of her voice.

“Have you heard about the train crash?”

“It was on the news. I suppose they’ll take all the casualties into Reading,” she said.

“It’s the nearest. Is Annie working this evening?”

“She called, she was on the early shift and they’ve kept her on. It’s likely to be madness in there.”

“Poor kid.”

“Tom, she’s not a kid anymore. You’d been a copper for two years by the time you were her age.”

“I know, but she’s still my little girl.”

“You big softy. Are you involved?”

“With the crash scene? No, there’s enough to do here without that. Besides, that’s the Transport Police’s patch.”

“You’ll help out though, won’t you?”

“We’ve sent a Sergeant and six from here and I guess other areas will do the same. It’s Saturday night in Slough and I have to send men I can’t afford to lose!”

“Will you be late?”

“Probably, I’ll let you know.”

We said goodbye and I hung up.

Maria was almost two years my junior. She was a dark-eyed Latin beauty who, at forty-seven, still retained her slim figure and wonderful, long, dark hair that had attracted me to her all those years ago. We had met in 1975, just after I’d finished my training and was pounding my first beat in Reading. I’d been called to a disturbance on the farm where she had been brought up.

There had been a break-in at the farm shop where she worked, so I spent some time reassuring her. Afterwards, I dropped in for tea whenever I passed. She had been strikingly attractive and still was. To see her was to adore her and our initial friendship developed into something much deeper. I invited her to the Christmas dance. I proposed two months later and in 1977 we were married.

Her father had been an Italian POW, a Colonel in the Italian Army. Captured in North Africa in 1942, he was sent to a camp deep in the wilds of Berkshire. Unlike the Germans, who were disruptive and needed constant careful supervision and high security, the Italians were quite the opposite and willingly walked in and out of the camp, working on farms and market gardens throughout the war.

It was while helping on one such farm that he had met an attractive little lass called Jean Francis who, at just seventeen was very young and naíve. He was tall and very distinguished and his English was excellent. Jean’s father, Ron Francis, was too old to go off to fight in the war and, missing his usual farm hands, was simply grateful for any help he could get. He used to make his own beer and wine and Colonel Francisco Callibretti had actually owned and managed his own vineyard before the war.

He fell for the little English rose, yet was mindful of proprietary and the stigma of what would happen if seen to besmirch the honour of the English girl through fraternisation. Francisco bided his time and became firm friends with Ron. Jean was equally smitten and would use any excuse to spend time with the tall and sophisticated Italian. He was highly educated and intelligent, but was flattered that the girl found him good company, particularly when there was tough competition from younger and much more eligible allied servicemen.

Jean was the youngest of five children. Her two brothers were already in the services and so she and her sisters were put to work on the land. It was a hard life, but far better than working in wartime factories.

Jean’s sisters snagged boyfriends who were either British or American servicemen. Indeed, Pam, the eldest, eventually married an American pilot and settled near Phoenix after the war. Susan’s fiancé was killed in France shortly after the D Day, but after a mere six months of mourning, she met and subsequently married a British army Lieutenant who was recuperating after being wounded on the push for Arnhem.

The day the war in Europe ended, Francisco formally requested permission from Ron for his youngest daughter’s hand in marriage. There was a twenty-year age difference, but that seemed not to matter. They married and in the next twelve years had six children. Maria was born in 1956, when her father was fifty-six.

Ron and Francisco went into partnership and the farm expanded, diversifying into greenhouses containing tomatoes and other more unusual soft fruits and vegetables. They built their own farm shop, which expanded until, on Ron’s death in 1964, they had built two local supermarkets as extra outlets for their produce.

Francisco died in 1982, but Maria’s mother was still alive today, living in the house that she and her husband had built a couple of hundred yards away from her childhood home. Jean was now in her eighties, still an active woman, wonderfully involved with her family. The two family supermarkets were bought out by a large chain in the early seventies, giving the family sufficient capital to guarantee a comfortable retirement. The farm shop was still in the family, as was the farm itself. Maria’s eldest brother still ran the farm, earning a decent living by all accounts.

It had been a different world, almost a different life, back then. I sighed and went back to my report. It was a complaint against police, and once again, I was looking forward to my retirement. This particular complaint was simply over a parking ticket. An officer had given the man a ticket, who had objected (as they often did), claiming he’d stopped to answer his mobile phone. The officer had watched as the man’s wife or girlfriend had alighted from the vehicle and entered the shop adjacent to the car some five minutes earlier.

Whilst the man had an altercation with the officer, the woman returned and swore at the officer. It ended up with the officer warning the woman to curb her foul language and the man was given the ticket. He then claimed the officer assaulted him and he wanted the ticket voided or he would press charges. The CCTV from the shop backed the officer’s account.

I warned the man that to make a malicious complaint was as much an offence as the alleged assault and, in any case, I was not authorised to void the ticket.

He eventually backed off, declining to make a formal complaint, but it took an hour of my time, caused excessive stress to the officer and there were many more important matters that we both could have been dealing with.

I concluded the report, printed it off and sent it through dispatch to Professional Standards Department. My phone rang; it was the Custody Sergeant.

“Yes Pete?”

“Boss, two reviews are due in the next half an hour.”

“I’ll be right down.”

I went down to the Custody block, which was teeming as usual. I reviewed the two detainees, writing up the details on their log sheets. I then authorised four search packs and sorted out yet another complaint at the front desk.

The Custody alarm went off, so I dashed back in to find a young female officer struggling with a large black man, twice her size and obviously off his head with crack-cocaine.

I shoulder barged him to the floor and then grinned as Pete leaped on him as well. Together we managed to restrain him and then, with another couple of officers, dragged him to the cell and deposited him there.

As Pete and I recovered over a cup of tea, we were both panting like a couple of foxhounds after a hunt.

“Shit, Tom, we’re too old for this fucking about!” Pete said. He was about my age and due to retire at much the same time. He was overweight and balding, and like him, I was certainly not in the same shape I’d been in when I’d joined the job. We’d been good friends for years.

I just nodded. My breath was a long time coming back.

On leaving the Custody Suite, I then attended a fight at a pub near the Britwell estate, where two young constables were in danger of receiving a good hiding after trying to break up a drunken squabble. A small crowd had gathered, so I threatened anyone hanging about with arrest and found myself rolling on the ground with an inebriated Irish bricklayer. With the two constables, I managed to subdue my man, placing the three detainees in the van when assistance eventually turned up.

Exhausted and dishevelled, I gratefully returned to the station to hand over to the on-coming Inspector.

“Bloody hell, Tom! What have you been doing?” Alan Evans asked, as soon as he saw me.

“Don’t ask. What a fucking day!”

I then told him about the crash and that six of his night shift had already been called in to go to assist at Reading.

“On a Saturday night? They must be having a laugh,” he said.

“No laugh. They’ve pulled in a few off a rest day as well. If you need some of mine to stay on, let me know now and I’ll keep them on until 02:00.”

“That’d help. We’re so short at the moment.”

“Aren’t we all?” I said, sighing deeply.

He looked at me.

“Are you okay? You look rough.”

“I’m just knackered. This is a young man’s game now, Alan, and I’m tired. The shift-work fucks my system. I don’t recover nearly as well as I used to and my sleep pattern is shot to hell. I eat all the wrong food and don’t get enough time at home. I just can’t wait for retirement.”

“Well, don’t overdo it. Old Steve Edgeson died two days before he was due to retire!”

“Not me. I intend to live a hell of a lot longer yet!”

I put my kit away in my locker and drove home. We lived in a small village called Shiplake-on-Thames in Oxfordshire. We’d been here for the last twenty years and I was amazed at how much our house had appreciated in value since we’d bought it. I’d just managed to pay off the mortgage and it felt really good!

I was tempted to stop off at the Baskerville Arms for a quick pint, but felt too knackered. I just wanted to get home.

Maria was watching some inane drivel on the TV, but she kissed me warmly. I was only half an hour late and that was a bonus. I had two days off now and was looking forward to them.

“You look awful, Tom, what have you been up to?”

I told her and she tut-tutted for a bit, but then her attention was drawn back to the television.

“Any word from Annie?” I asked, as I took a beer from the fridge.

“No, but I wasn’t expecting there to be, not for a while. How many have died?”

“Half a dozen, or there about. I expected there to be more, for some reason.”

“Do you know what caused it?” she asked.

“I think some dickhead drove onto the track deliberately to kill himself.”

“Did he?”

“Oh yes, but he killed others in the process.”

“Who was he?”

“I’m not sure. I think he was a chef at a local pub. He was a bit of an odd character, by all accounts, and somewhat unpredictable. An off-duty police officer witnessed it and tried to prevent it.”

“Poor man, is he okay?”

“As far as I know. At least he’s not hurt, but I can’t see him sleeping well for a while, can you?”

She shook her head and I wandered into the study. I sat at the computer and logged onto the Internet. I went straight to www.storysite.org, and indulged my secret life for a while.

I was nearly fifty and for the last forty-six years, I had lived with the certain knowledge that God had made a mistake. I should have been born a girl. Every night, as a youngster, I had prayed to wake up a girl and every morning I had been disappointed.

I was six foot four and very much a man’s man. I enjoyed all those aspects of life that men were supposed to enjoy — rugby, golf, DIY, mechanics, the occasional beer or six, and being a father. Hell, before I married I was the drummer in a rock and roll band. Now, although those days were long gone, I was going to be a grandfather very soon.

The guilt I carried sometimes threatened to overwhelm me and yet nothing I did seemed to rid me of my overpowering desire to be a female.

I had left school, joined the army and from there gone into the police. I had shut my feelings away securely in my subconscious and tried to be the best man I could. I think it had worked, as I had married, had a family and was now successful in my chosen career.

My son, Matthew, was twenty-six and married himself. Sally, his wife, and he were expecting their first child in the New Year and we were all excited for them. He and Sally were teachers, and it was so rewarding to see one’s kids with solid lives of their own.

I had become aware of my inner problem very early, but had neither the opportunity nor the courage to do anything about it. I was a product of the 1950s, so my family circumstances were such that there was no way I could ever have considered a sex change.

The disruption to my family would have been too great, an only son, after four miscarriages and a stillbirth, I shuddered to think of the reaction from my very proud and old-fashioned parents.

Then, at eleven, I had started to grow. By sixteen, I was over six foot and broad across the shoulder. I had never dressed as a girl, simply because I knew I’d look a freak and I wasn’t prepared to be a public spectacle. I wasn’t interested in short bursts of sexual release in women’s clothes. It wasn’t the outward appearance that mattered to me; it was the inner identity being the same as the outer!

So, it had lain deeply hidden, successfully too, for most of my life. But now my parents had died, the kids were away leading their own lives and retirement beaconed, the feelings had less restraining them. In a way I was dreading leaving the regulated life the police brought me. I would be free, but free for what?

Maria wanted to stay in the village, but I was tempted to move to warmer climes where my pension would be worth more. She had a life here, whereas I had simply slept here and ventured forth to my place of work. I had few close friends and once one took the job away, there was little to keep me here.

I read a couple of new stories and sighed deeply. I so wanted to be a woman and yet I knew that after half a century of being a bloke, the chances of it happening were very slim. Even if it did, being able to live amongst that alien race successfully would be so hard as to be almost impossible.

If I was anything, I was a realist. I was only too well aware that there was so much more to being female than just wearing the clothes and walking in the high heels. Some of the stories on the web were sexually orientated, to allow an outlet for those who existed in such a fantasy world. Some stories, however, were written by those who clearly knew what it was really like. I could readily identify with them and their tales.

No, I wouldn’t ever do it, as I didn’t want to be a construct with a foot in neither, or both camps. For me the dream was to be a perfect and complete woman, with all that entailed. Half measures were not acceptable to me. I was neither brave nor desperate enough, and besides, there were too many people to hurt in the process and I wasn’t ever going to allow that to happen.

I was feeling pretty grotty, so I went and kissed Maria.

“I’m knackered, I’m going up for a bath and have an early night,” I said.

She looked at me.

“You look knackered. Are you okay?”

“I feel pretty awful, but then I was pretty active today.”

“Why don’t you go see Doctor Milne on Monday? You haven’t been for a check up for ages.”

“Maybe, I think it’s just a spot of heartburn. I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”

She smiled and my heart lurched. I couldn’t betray her love for me. Not after nearly twenty-eight years of marriage. I felt a real fool.

Just as I went to the stairs, the phone in the hall rang.

It was Annie.

“Hi Dad.”

“Hello sweetie, how’s things, busy?”

“A nightmare. It was chaos for ages. It’s still rough, but I’ve been relieved after seventeen hours. It’s really awful, Dad.”

“I’m sure it is. Many dead?”

“No, thank God. It was amazing, only five at the moment. I think one or two have serious injuries and may die, but there could have been so many more.”

“I understand the train driver died?”

“Yes, and the silly sod in the car.”

“So what were you doing?”

“There’s one girl, only sixteen, brought in with crush injuries and a fractured skull. She’s still in a coma, but her mother was killed. She needed constant attention and her Dad is really cut-up. The problem is that her brainwaves are virtually nil and yet her other life signs are reasonable. I had to look after her and it was really hard, Dad.”

“I know what it’s like. Often the relatives are harder to deal with than the casualties. Is there any hope?”

“The doctor says if she is still not showing any brain life tomorrow, they’ll pull the plug. It’s so unfair, Dad, she’s only sixteen and so pretty. Her name’s Jenny and she should have her whole life ahead of her.”

“Yeah, it’s a real sod, that’s a fact.”

“How are you Dad? You sound rough.”

“I’m just tired, sweetie. It’s been a tough day.”

“Have you seen your doctor recently?”

“You sound just like your Mum. I’m going to make an appointment on Monday, maybe.”

“Oh Dad, you are so stubborn. I don’t want to lose you!”

“You won’t, sweetie, I’m a tough old bird.”

“How’s Mum?”

“Ask her yourself, here she is. Bye.”

“Bye Dad, I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetie.”

I gave the phone to Maria and went up to have a bath. I smiled. Annie was a sweet girl, she’d inherited her mother’s dark looks, but more my build. She was several inches taller than her mother and at five eight, she was strikingly attractive. She was totally committed to her job and didn’t seem to have time for a social life at the moment. There was a time I had been like that.

After getting out of the bath, I felt slightly dizzy and had to sit on the edge of the bath to recover. Once I got to bed, I went to sleep almost immediately.

I slept in until almost ten and felt as tired as when I had gone to bed. I had a lazy Sunday, just pottering about the house. I watched the news and saw the horrific sights of the rail disaster. Iraq was still in the news, with more soldiers from the Black Watch murdered by a suicide bomber. It was such a shitty world.

Matt called and I had a long chat with him. It was unusual, as he was never as chatty as his sister, but it was nice. He was clearly excited at being a potential Dad and I was so pleased things were going so well. We all adored Sally, she was perfect for him and I couldn’t have picked a better girl for him if I’d had to.

I still felt awful when I went to bed, so Maria persuaded me to make an appointment with the doctor in the morning. I tossed and turned for ages, finally slipping to sleep at about two am. I had a surreal dream.

I was standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down to see there was no bottom below me. It was just a dark void. I looked up and there was a bright light in the sky. I was drawn to the light, but I became aware of a presence beside me.

It wasn’t a person, for it had no form. It was just an awareness of something there.

I looked at the light again and for some reason I knew that it represented love, peace and warmth.

The void was suffering and pain.

“You’ve carried the burden for a long time, you deserve the light!” the presence thought at me.

I knew that I was an open book, with everything about me and my life, there for all to see. I said nothing.

“There is an alternative.”

I tried to see the form that wasn’t there.

“Oh?” I said.

“There is one who needs the light greater than you. You have strength and she has none.”

“So?”

“You could still make a difference!”

“Oh?”

The presence was silent.

I knew, somehow, that I was being given a choice. I wasn’t sure of the details of that choice, but the light meant rest in death and the other was life, but not as I had known it. Somehow, my life experience was such that it had prepared me for whatever was expected of me.

I was intrigued.

The presence knew of my secret burden, of that I was certain. To live as a female, was that the opportunity being offered?

I was not certain of anything in this place.

The other choice?

Death?
 
 
Chapter 2 - The Morning After
 
 
I awoke and immediately panicked. Something was down my throat and I felt enormous pain in my chest and head. I had that feeling that I’d been dreaming, but with everything that was going on, that sense fizzled away into forgotteness.

I gagged on the tube that was down my throat.

“Patient’s awake, Doctor!” said a female voice. I noted that there was a lot of surprise in her tone.

“Bloody hell! Remove the ventilator. Blood pressure?” replied a male voice and he too sounded surprised.

“Steady, eighty over one sixty. Heart rate normal and we have alpha back on the scope.”

“Where the hell has she been?”

A face wearing a mask swam into my field of vision.

“Welcome back, you gave a lot of people quite a scare. How do you feel?” he asked.

“Sore,” I croaked.

“Where does it hurt?”

“Chest and head. Back of the head, and lower left side of the chest.” I was really disorientated and my voice sounded really odd in my ears.

Was I still dreaming?

The man nodded and I saw the skin around his eyes crinkle, as if he was smiling behind the mask.

“Can you remember anything about the crash?”

I frowned.

“Crash?”

“You were in a train crash, what can you remember?”

“I remember going to bed,” I said, now confused.

I could see I was in hospital, so I concluded I must have had a heart attack. How had I hurt my head? Could I have fallen? I looked round and could see no one I knew. I immediately wondered where I was, as I was certain I knew someone who was a nurse, but my memory was really fuzzy.

“Do you remember your name?” the doctor asked.

Of course I did. I opened my mouth and closed it again.

It was so frustrating, I knew my name, but for some silly reason just couldn’t remember it.

Tears of frustration came to my eyes and that made me cross. I shook my head to try to clear my mind and that hurt, so the tears came more rapidly.

“It’s all right, really it is. You’ve had a really nasty bang to your head and your skull is fractured, so don’t worry, people often forget things.

Other people forget things. I don’t!

In my mind’s eye, I could see faces and yet I couldn’t put names to them. I started to panic some more and this must have shown on the monitors as some form of distress.

I suddenly felt all sleepy and drifted into oblivion once more.
 
 
I didn’t so much wake up as became increasingly aware that I may not be still asleep. In that nether world of neither sleep nor fully awake, I thought of the dreams I’d had. As I tried to remember those things I’d forgotten, the panic returned as I found I still could not remember them.

That single fact convinced me that I was awake and not dreaming.

It was with a feeling of dread that I opened my eyes and forced myself to become aware of the world around me.

I was still in hospital, as an I/V drip was attached to my left arm. Monitor leads were attached to my head and fingers. I had an oxygen mask over my face and curtains were pulled cutting me off from the rest of the world.

I felt uncomfortable down below and saw a tube disappearing under the bedclothes. I assumed it was a urinary catheter. However, I felt so woozy that I didn’t really care. I closed my eyes again, but noises intruded.

“Hello, awake again?” said a pleasant female voice.

I turned towards the voice and felt the ache from the back of my head. I must have groaned, for the nurse who had spoken frowned.

“Careful, sweetie, you’ve got a nasty wound on the back of your head. How to you feel?”

“Confused,” I mumbled from behind the mask.

She leaned forward and removed the mask.

“Confused,” I repeated.

“I’m sure you are. Can you remember anything yet?”

I shook my head and, to my shame, I felt the tears returning.

What was happening to me?

“It’s all right; it’s very common to forget things when you get a nasty bang on the head. Don’t worry, I’m sure the memories will come back,” she said.

Another nurse came in through the curtains and smiled at me.

“Hi, I’m Hannah, I’m taking over for the day shift. How are you feeling?” she asked.

“She’s confused, poor dear, but she is looking so much better today,” said the first nurse.

“You certainly are, and I’m sure the confusion will clear up.”

Hannah went to the foot of my bed and picked up my chart.

“I thought Annie Stewart was on days today?” the first nurse asked.

“Haven’t you heard? Her father had a heart attack. He was brought on Sunday night, but they couldn’t save him. She’s on compassionate leave, poor thing, she’s really cut up. He was only forty-nine!”

“No? I met him last Christmas, wasn’t he a copper?”

“That’s him. He had a heart attack at home in bed, but by the time they got him here, he’d gone.”

I stared at them. I knew it had a bearing on me, but couldn’t seem to think what it could be. The constant use of the female pronoun in relation to me completely baffled me and I wasn’t sure why.

Hannah looked at me and smiled.

“Your Dad will be in later. He’s having a sleep at the moment,” she said.

“My Dad?” I echoed, somewhat stupidly.

Hannah glanced at the other nurse and they exchanged a strange glance. Something stirred deep in my muddled brain and a weird conversation seemed to leap out at me, disappearing before I could grasp its context.

It was so frustrating not remembering anything. However, the name Annie struck a chord and somehow I knew that she was inexorably connected to me.

“What happened, why am I here?” I asked.

“There was a crash. The train was derailed and you were in one of the carriages with your mum. You got a nasty bang on the head, do you remember?”

I shook my head. The nurses exchanged glances.

“My Mum’s dead, isn’t she?” I asked, certain now that that was why the two nurses were behaving so oddly.

They exchanged glances again, and I knew I was right.

“Do you remember?” Hannah asked.

“No, but otherwise you’d mention her. I think I must have overheard a conversation, sometime. She is, isn’t she?” I asked.

It was really odd, but it was almost as if I was playing a role and I knew that my real mother wasn’t involved. I still had a sense of loss attached to a vague image of my mother, but it seemed too well established to be fresh. I also tried to picture her, but failed.

The tears of frustration started again but they were misinterpreted by the two women.

“I’m so sorry, Jenny. I’m sure they didn’t mean for you to find out like this. You were actually very ill and probably no one thought you could hear. You so nearly died!” the first nurse, whose name I read on her little name badge as being Karen Horton.

I nodded, so cross with myself for crying at the slightest thing. Then it dawned on me — she called me ‘Jenny’. That elusive conversation floated through my consciousness once more and I grasped only one word — train.

“We were on a train?” I asked.

“Yes, dear. You were both in the carriage that split open and bent in half. Can you remember now?” Karen asked.

I shook my head and both nurses looked quite upset too.

“I must go,” Karen said. “It’s lovely to see you better. I’m so sorry about your Mum, but your Dad has at least still got you and you’ve got him!”

I nodded, trying unsuccessfully to control my tears. The annoying thing was, I didn’t really know why I was crying. I felt guilty, as if I was expected to cry, for some strange reason.

Karen walked out through the curtain and Hannah smiled at me as she fussed about, making sure I was as comfortable as possible.

She was a tall woman, in her late thirties and with short red hair. She wore a wedding ring on her left ring finger and had a lovely smile. Green eyes twinkled humorously from under her fringe, and she had that complexion that many redheads were blessed/cursed with, involving freckles that probably burned dreadfully in the sun.

She sat in the chair next to my bed, on the right hand side. She took my hand.

“This must be awful for you. I really am so sorry to have had to tell you the bad news. Your Dad has been here since just after you were brought in and he’s really upset too. You so nearly died, your brain stopped for a while, the doctor thinks, so don’t worry about not being able to remember things, it is very normal.”

I felt curiously detached, as if this wasn’t happening to me, and I was a spectator on the inside.

“I’m okay,” I said, and actually felt it.

She smiled and squeezed my hand.

“Good girl. Try and be strong to get better, especially for your Dad. Men are such softies. They appear so hard on the outside and yet the crumple so easily when bad things happen.”

I smiled and nodded.

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked.

“We’d better wait for the doctor to tell you,” she said.

“Please?” I said.

She smiled again.

“You got a really nasty bang on the head. Your skull was fractured, and you’ve had to have some of your skull removed. They put a small plate across the hole, so you should be fine now. Your chest was crushed and some ribs were fractured. We thought a lung was pierced, but it was just squeezed a little so it deflated. You’ll feel sore for a while and you’re all strapped up, but you should be right as rain in no time. The biggest worry was that your brain sort of stopped.”

“Sort of stopped, what do you mean?”

“Well, they attached a monitor and there was very little brain activity. You’ve heard of the expression, brain dead?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you were brain dead. They had you on a ventilator, but there wasn’t a squeak out of you until the early hours of Sunday morning. It was quite exciting really, as you sort of came alive just about the same time as another patient died. So you surprised the heck out of the emergency team.”

“Was that the policeman you were talking about?” I asked.

“Yes, poor man. His daughter is a nurse here and she was looking after you all day on Saturday. Anyway, it’s so horrid when someone dies, so it was so nice that we were able to save one of you.”

I thought for a moment. Trying to get my brain to focus on a single strand for any length of time was really hard, yet something niggled me about the policeman who died. Strange thoughts flitted about like will o’ the wisp and I felt cheated out of my memory.

“The doctor will be doing the rounds in a while, would you like a wash later?”

I nodded.

“He might allow you to eat something, but I’m sure you can have a drink. How about a carton of orange juice?”

“That’d be lovely, thanks.”

She smiled and left me alone, drawing the curtain so I could see the rest of the ward.

I was in one of four beds in a kind of side ward, and two of the others were empty. An old lady was asleep in the opposite bed. She had a mask over her face and thingies attached to her arm. Her wrinkled skin was a sort of yellow grey colour, while her breathing was harsh and laboured. She looked awful. I saw her false teeth were in a container next to the bed. They looked rather gruesome.

It was grey outside and I hadn’t a clue what time it was, or even what day. If the accident had been on the Saturday, as the nurse had said, that meant that this was Sunday or maybe even later. If the policeman had died on the early hours on Sunday, then I came round shortly afterwards, the first time, passing out again.

I hated not knowing anything.

I was propped up with several pillows and there was one blanket over the top sheet. It was warm in the ward, but I felt quite cold. I struggled up slightly and felt a real ache in my ribs. My head swam and I felt dizzy. I suddenly had a memory of sitting on the side of a bath. As soon as it was there, it went. I got a sudden picture of a green sponge on the bath, in the shape of a spider.

Hannah came back with a small carton of juice with a straw.

She saw me struggling.

“Do you want to sit up a little?”

“Am I allowed to?”

“I don’t see why not. How do you feel?”

“Achy and a bit dizzy.”

“Come on, but gently. If it hurts, stop. Okay?”

She helped me up, propping another pillow behind me. I felt a little dizzy, but it passed as I lay back and closed my eyes.

“What day is it?” I asked.

“Tuesday.”

I must have looked surprised and she smiled.

“You came round on Sunday and then the doctor gave you a sedative because you were in some distress. You’ve been sleeping like a baby. Your colour is so much better and your brain waves are normal now.”

I looked at the monitor and saw the wavy lines.

“Where’s my Dad?”

“He’s in one of the relative’s rooms. We have some rooms of seriously ill patients whose families live too far away to keep travelling in, or there’s some other reason. Although your home isn’t far away, he had the room because of everything that has happened. He is very shocked, so the doctors didn’t want him driving.”

“Oh. Where do I live?”

“Can’t you remember?”

I frowned and tried to, but couldn’t.

“I don’t even remember my name,” I admitted and the tears started again. She took my hand and held it quite tightly for a while.

“It’s okay, sweetie, it really is. It happens all the time. You’re over the bad bit and so all you have to do is get better. Try not to worry, as stress can make it more difficult. I know that’s so easy to say, but believe me; try to look forward and your memories will come back gradually. Some people even get it all coming back in a rush.”

I smiled, but it was so frustrating.

There was some movement down the ward and a couple of doctors appeared. One of them was the man I’d seen earlier, I think. It’s hard to tell when they wear masks, but I recognised his eyes. He had nice eyes and a pleasant smile. He looked to be about thirty and had short sandy hair.

“How’s my miracle girl this morning?” he asked. He was very well spoken, exuding confidence. I liked him immediately.

“I’m not sure. I can’t remember anything.”

“How’s the head?”

“Aches a little and I feel a bit dizzy when I move.”

“That’s to be expected, you took quite a wallop. Ribs okay?” he asked, pulling the sheet back. Hannah pulled the curtain around the bed, shielding me from public gaze.

The doctor rolled up the hospital gown, exposing my lower torso. I stared at it as if it was the first time I had ever seen it and I felt a curious excitement well up inside me. I also noticed my breasts that wobbled slightly under the gown. The excitement grew and then I felt inexplicably elated.

“The catheter can come out now, nurse,” the doctor said, and Hannah nodded.

He gently placed his hands on my rib cage and asked me to move slightly. It hurt, but not desperately.

“Hmm, that’s fine. How’s the breathing?”

“Fine, I don’t notice anything wrong,” I said, frowning.

“Your lungs were compressed when debris and bits of carriage crushed you. At one point, we thought they’d both collapsed. But they seem fine now.”

He pulled the nightgown back down, moving up to my head. He took the dressing off, peering at the sutures.

“Very clean. We had to shave your scalp, I’m afraid, but there should be no reason why your hair won’t grow back in due course. I’m sure the hairdresser can come and do something to make it even. It’ll look odd for a while, but you should be fine. Your skull was fractured and a piece of bone was pressing on your brain. We had to take the bone out, I’m afraid. You’ve a piece of titanium in there, so you may bleep every time you go through airport metal detectors.”

I lay back when he’d finished.

“Well, you don’t need to be attached to all these monitors any more.”

He pointed to one of the two I/V bags.

“Your ribs didn’t hurt that much because of this; it’s a constant supply of pain relief. However, because it’s a morphine-based drip, and because I don’t want you to become to reliant upon it, I’m going to remove it now. If you feel pain, we’ll give you something orally and it’s slightly less potent. Do you feel up to eating yet?”

I shrugged.

“You’ve already had a drink, was that okay?”

I nodded.

“Excellent. I think you’re young enough to repair very quickly. So, eat a little and drink as much as you like. If you want the loo and feel up to it, I’m sure the nurse will help you. You need to regain your strength as soon as possible, but don’t overdo it, okay?”

I smiled and nodded. “Okay.”

The doctor smiled and sat on the bed. He took my hand.

“I’ve just seen your Dad, he’s having some breakfast. I’m not sure if anyone has told you, but you need to be aware that you mother was in the same accident, and I’m afraid she wasn’t as fortunate as you. I’m sorry, Jenny, but she was killed.”

The tears came unannounced and I tried to fight them.

I nodded.

“I know. I think I overheard it earlier. The nurses told me.”

The doctor looked at Hannah.

“She seemed to already know, doctor, and asked a direct question,” she said.

“I’m so sorry, Jenny. If it helps, it was very quick, she wouldn’t have known anything,” the doctor said.

I read his name badge.

Howard Rimmer.

I smiled and immediately thought of Red Dwarf.

I remembered something!

“Red Dwarf!” I said.

The doctors and nurses looked surprised and I had to stop myself from giggling.

“Your name, I remember Red Dwarf!” I said.

The doctor blushed slightly and Hannah burst out laughing.

“That was Arnold, my distant descendant,” he said with a grin. “At least that shows you still know how to read.”

I was so pleased at remembering something that the death of my mother was pushed to one side. I grinned inanely as if I had achieved something tremendous.

“That is a super sign, Jenny, but try to relax, you’ll find that things will come back when you least expect them to.”

“Just like that?” I said, and then giggled.

He frowned.

“What’s so funny?”

“Tommy Copper — Just like that!” I said.

He smiled again.

“Good girl, that’s the way.”

He moved off and Hannah unplugged the various I/Vs and catheter. I was overly interested in what went on down there and watched spellbound as the long catheter was removed.

“There’s always a chance of a urinary infection when these are removed. If you get a burning sensation when you have a wee, let us know.”

“Whee! Thanks a bunch,” I said sarcastically and she grinned.

“You don’t happen to remember if you are due on again soon, do you?”

“Due on?” I asked, frowning.

“The curse, your period?”

I shook my head. Once again, my mind went into a whirl. This wasn’t real. I didn’t have periods, as they were for women!

Then what the hell was I?

I glanced at my pubic area, with fine fair hair curling delicately over the obviously female vagina. The swell of my breasts beneath my gown was very real. I couldn’t deny the evidence of my own senses.

I frowned.

They weren’t mine!

They must be, they were attached to me and no one else was claiming them.

The feeling of excitement returned. Obscurely, it seemed as if I was suddenly granted something that had been previously withheld.

“Are you okay?” Hannah asked and I was jolted back to the real world.

Real world?

I was no longer sure of what was real or what wasn’t. It was like living through a dreamlike state, where reality and fantasy seemed inseparable.

“Oh, my God, Jenny. Thank God, you’ve woken up!” a male voice said from a little way off.

I stared at a complete stranger as he walked towards me. I pulled down my gown and straightened the sheet.
 
 
Chapter 3 - The Father
 
 
He was a big man in his late forties, with greying fair hair and a couple of days’ growth of stubble. He looked tired and his eyes were red, as if he’d been crying. He was wearing a pair of casual trousers and a blue checked shirt that looked creased, while holding a brown leather jacket slung over his shoulder.

“Dad?” I asked, slightly hesitantly.

“Oh, my love, you don’t know what it means to me to see you awake!” he said, promptly bursting into a mix of tears and laughter.

Hannah pulled the chair over and he sat next to the bed.

He took my right hand.

“They told me that I couldn’t hug you because of the broken ribs.”

I smiled, somewhat bemused. I’d never seen this man before in my life. I looked at Hannah. She smiled and nodded slightly.

“Mr Adams, Jenny is still very fragile, so please be gentle with her. Her head injury means she is suffering some amnesia. She has very little memory of anything before the crash. Please be aware of this.”

“The doctor told me, but you remember me and Mum, don’t you, Jen?”

I shrugged and to my dismay the tears were back. I couldn’t control them at all.

“I don’t remember anything. They tell me I’m called Jenny, but I don’t know.”

“Oh, my poor little love. I’m so sorry. Things will be all right now, we’ve still got each other,” he said, glancing at Hannah.

“I’ll be at the nurse’s station if you need me. Don’t tire her out, Mr Adams, she is still very weak.”

Hannah left us and my Dad looked at me so tenderly that the tears kept flowing. I didn’t understand why I kept crying.

“Jenny, has anyone told you about Mummy?”

I nodded and he looked even more miserable.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I feel so helpless,” he said.

I stroked his face.

“It’s okay, Dad. As you’ve just said, you’ve still got me!”

He openly wept then, burying his head in my blanket. Now I felt utterly helpless and looked around to see if anyone was watching. I still felt curiously detached, as if this wasn’t really happening to me, but I had to make the right responses for some reason.

He took a few minutes to regain control and we just held hands without speaking. I even dozed a little.

“What can you remember?” he asked, at last.

I shook my head.

“Very little. I get glimpses that don’t really firm up as anything I can recognise. I only know my name because they call me Jenny. I don’t remember where I live or how old I am. I don’t remember you or Mum, or whether I have any brothers and sisters. I can remember anything about school or whether I go to work. It’s really awful!”

He then told me that his name was Robert, Rob to his friends, and I was the elder of his two children. I was sixteen, with my birthday on April Fool’s day — the 1st April 1988. I had a younger brother called Richard who was thirteen. Dad’s parents lived in Wiltshire and were looking after Richard while Dad was visiting me and staying at the hospital. Mum’s parents were travelling down from Scotland to visit. They were understandably upset and it was an awful time for the whole family.

I had just started back at school for my first sixth form year, and had been on the way back from a day in London with Mummy. We’d been doing some Christmas shopping and so the crash had now completely ruined our Christmas.

We lived just outside a small village with the unlikely name of Goldfinch Bottom, not far from Newbury, in Berkshire. Dad told me he was an airline pilot working for British Airways and he had met Mummy when she had been a stewardess back in the 1980s.

It was nice to know, but my memory still didn’t kick in. I became aware that my bladder needed emptying.

“Daddy, I need a pee. I’ll have to call the nurse,” I said, interrupting his flow of facts.

I pressed the buzzer and Hannah came over.

“I need the loo,” I said.

“Okay, gently does it. Do you want a bedpan?”

I shook my head.

“No, I’d like to try to get up.”

Daddy looked worried and Hannah smiled.

“Swing your legs over and then give me your hands. We’ll get up to a sitting position and see how we get on.”

I did as I was told and experienced real pillow spin. I giggled.

“I haven’t even had a drink!” I said and Hannah frowned.

“How do you know about that?” she asked with a smile. I shrugged.

My head ached dully, but my ribs really hurt as I tried to stand up.

“The muscles are all very tender,” Hannah said.

“I feel as if I’ve been kicked in the chest by a mule.”

“No, just a train,” Hannah said.

She helped me to my feet and the world spun slightly. My ribs hurt and I could feel the blood pounding in my head. I felt slightly queasy.

“Okay?” she asked, worried.

I nodded and raised a hand, indicating I just wanted to stay still for a moment.

“Fucking Norah, this is weird!” I said, and both Hannah and Daddy looked shocked. Where the hell did that come from?

I grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry, I’m not sure where that came from,” I said, quite truthfully.

Leaning heavily on Hannah’s arm, I tottered down the ward to the loo. She helped me in and I sat down.

“Do you want me to go?”

I shook my head and she smiled and watched me. I then grinned and looked sheepish again.

“I can’t seem to go with you watching me, I’m sorry,” I said.

“I’ll be right outside. That cord is the bell, okay?”

She left me and I was able to release the pent up fluid. Even this sensation seemed odd, as if I had never been for a pee before.

I tore off some loo paper and wiped, conscious of the very sensitive nature of my genitalia. I brushed my hand over the lips, shivering slightly as I touched something that almost gave me an electric type shock.

The excitement bubbled up deep inside me and I smiled. I felt a deep-seated feeling of contentment that went far beyond anything to do with family, train crashes or injuries. I couldn’t explain it, but for some obscure reason, I felt amazingly happy.

I wondered if it was the drugs they’d given me, but then Hannah interrupted my thoughts.

“Finished?”

“Yup.”

“Problems?”

“Nope.”

“Good.

She helped me up and we tottered together to the basin. I washed my hands and then stared into a mirror.

An utter stranger stared back.

I moved my head and she mirrored the movement.

I concluded that she must be me.

The first thing that struck me was my pallor, and then it was my extreme youth. The stranger’s face seemed very pretty and had blue/grey eyes. A bandage was wrapped round the top part of my head, but some golden hair was escaping out at the side.

Full, naturally red lips parted in shock and white teeth gleamed evenly behind them. The high cheekbones emphasised the large eyes above and my heart shaped face was blessed with a very pure complexion, which was very pale at the moment. Dark circles under my eyes made me look tired, yet as I smiled, the whole face lit up.

“Are you all right?”

“It’s weird, seeing oneself for the first time,” I said and she smiled.

“You don’t even remember what you looked like?”

I shook my head.

“I’m quite pretty,” I said, and she laughed.

“Yes, Jenny, you are, but don’t let it go to your head.”

“When does this bandage come off?”

“You’ll have to ask the doctor. I should think another few days yet.”

“Will I be able to wear my own clothes, this gown sucks!”

She smiled. “You are getting better, aren’t you?”

She helped me back to the ward and I was quite relieved to get back into bed. I was exhausted.

“Well, if you’d told me you’d be walking about this quickly, I’d never have believed it. You were at death’s door a couple of days ago,” Hannah said.

“Such is the power of prayer,” said my Dad.

“She wants some of her own clothes. If you get a chance, could you bring in an overnight bag and don’t forget makeup and toiletries?” Hannah said to him.

“Already? Gosh, I didn’t think that would happen for ages. Yes, it’d be a pleasure. I’m going to have to go home this afternoon, as Eleanor’s parents are arriving at tea time and it’s all a bit fraught.”

“Do you want to speak to someone, I’m sure there’s a counsellor you could see?”

“No, I’ll be all right. Now I’ve got my daughter back, I think I’ll manage,” he said, looking at me through tear brimmed eyes.

We chatted for another hour and then I really did feel sleepy. He kissed my on the cheek and left. I dozed for a while, to be woken up by an auxiliary asking whether I wanted some lunch.

“Am I allowed any?”

“Your chart says you can,” she said.

“Okay, what is there?”

“Macaroni cheese, fish and chips, or chicken Tikka.”

Somehow, I knew I liked all of them. How was that possible?

“Macaroni, please.”

“Do you want sponge and custard or fruit salad and ice cream?”

“Fruit and ice cream, please.”

The woman left me, and I felt normal for the first time. I was bored.

I rang for the nurse.

Hannah came along a few moments later.

“Jenny?”

“I’m sorry, but is there anything to read?”

“What sort of thing would you like?”

“I’m not fussed, anything.”

“Are you sure you remember how to read?” she teased.

I just smiled and she walked off chuckling.

She returned with a couple of old Readers Digests, a dog-eared Bella Magazine and a month old Cosmopolitan.

“There’s a library trolley that’ll be round tomorrow. You might be able to pick up a book, or order something from the lady who runs it. What books do you like?” Hannah asked.

I shrugged again.

“I don’t know. It might be quite fun finding out. I can read something I’ve already read and never realise it.”

“That’ll be the same with films, then?”

I smiled.

“I suppose so. I hadn’t really thought about it. Why is it that I can remember how to speak, but not my own name?”

“Different part of the brain, I guess. You can ask the psychiatrist when you see him.”

“Will I have to see one of them?”

“You know what a psychiatrist is?”

I nodded.

“A nut doctor.”

She laughed.

“You’re getting better all right!” she said, leaving me to see what another patient wanted.

I read the Readers Digests first. I enjoyed the ‘Life’s like that’ and Laughter the Best Medicine’. There was an article about a young boy trapped in a car crushed in an earthquake in South America. The harrowing story was a little too close to comfort, so I put it down and read the Cosmo magazine instead.

The letters page and advice column made me smile. I read a fascinating article about female multiple orgasms. I was so engrossed that I was unaware that lunch arrived.

The food was pretty ordinary, but I enjoyed it. I ate everything and as I picked up my magazine again, I looked round for my spectacles.

I stopped.

I read the first lot without any difficulty and didn’t need specs, so why was I looking for them now? I looked about the ward, realising that I could see perfectly. Both my long distance and close distance sight was perfect, so why did I think I needed glasses for reading?

Force of habit?

I rang for the nurse, feeling guilty as I wasn’t properly ill or anything.

It was a different nurse who came, looking a little stressed.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, but could I have a pen and some paper? I need to make a note of stuff to ask my Dad and the doctors.”

Her face softened and she gave me one of the two cheap ballpoints in her top pocket.

“I’ll get you some paper in a second. Is there anything else?”

“No, that’s all, thanks.”

She walked off and returned with a small memo pad.

I wrote.

Do I wear specs?

I picked up the magazine and read some more. I then felt bladder pressure again and looked up the ward for the nurse. Not wanting to be a pain for the busy nurses, I struggled into a sitting position, managing to swing my legs over the bed. Holding onto the bed, I hauled myself upright and waited for the dizziness to pass.

Keeping to the furniture, I negotiated my way to the loo and managed to sit down by myself. My ribs hurt and the tummy muscles screamed at me. However, I felt an enormous sense of achievement having done this by myself.

I had a pee and was once more fascinated with my body. It was like some wonderful Alien Life Form and I adored the feel of it. I felt strangely guilty, as if someone was about to find me out and make me go back to being whatever I should be. I just knew that it was all very strange.

I had just finished and was gearing myself up for the return journey when Hannah opened the door, making me jump.

“Oh thank God! There you are. Don’t you dare do that again! What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry, but you were busy with really sick people.”

“Jenny, you little fool, don’t you realise it? You are a really sick person. Now, lean on me and we’ll get you back to bed. Your father is back and your grandparents are with him. You gave me the scare of my life. I told them you’d popped to the loo, so hopefully they aren’t too concerned. Now, these are your Mum’s parents, so they’re really upset already, just so you know.”

I smiled weakly. “Thanks. Hannah?”

“What?”

“Why don’t I feel more upset?”

She smiled and stroked my cheek.

“Poor Jenny, you will. When everything comes back, it’ll all hit you and so don’t worry about it now. Let’s get your body fixed, then your mind and then we’ll let you get upset. Sometimes the brain knows what’s good for you and it may be you don’t need worry just now.”

“It’s just that I feel like someone else and that none of this is happening to me,” I said, as we left the loo.

“You’d better believe it, girl, this is happening to you!”

We walked back to the ward and I saw the man who believed he was my father with an older couple. The woman was clearly upset and had been crying. The man was doing a remarkably effective impression of being miserable.

As soon as she saw me, the woman started to wail and launched herself at me. Hannah managed to run an effective block, telling her that I was very delicate and not to hug me tightly.

I knew I looked a sight, with my bandage wrapped round my head.

“Oh, Jenny, you poor mite, thank all that’s Holy, you are all right!” she wailed and drew me close to her.

“Careful Gran, I’m a bit sore!” I said and she burst into tears.

“Poor Jenny has amnesia. Her head injury was very serious and she can’t remember anything of before the crash,” Dad explained.

“What, nothing?” my grandfather asked.

“Not even her name,” Dad added.

I smiled weakly and felt a real fraud. These were very nice people, but they weren’t my people!

“Is it permanent?” Grandpa asked.

“We hope not. The doctors are hopeful that she’ll make a full recovery. Doctor Rimmer calls her his miracle girl.”

“Why?”

“Well, she was brain dead for a while and suddenly came back to us. He’s never seen anything like it in twenty years.”

Gran finally released me and I slipped back into bed.

“I brought some of your stuff from home, sweetheart,” Dad said, and plonked an overnight bag on the bed. He passed me a CD player and a bag of CDs. I looked through it and didn’t recognise any of them.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“These had come for you. There are several cards from your classmates and teachers and some from the orchestra.” He passed over a pile of cards in their envelopes. I started to open them, but my Gran kept holding my hand and crying.

“Orchestra?”

“You play the clarinet in the school orchestra.”

“Do I?” I asked, and Gran started to sob.

I read the cards and the names meant nothing.

I read one…

               to a special girl, love Tim.

“Dad?”

“What, sweetie?”

“Have I got a boyfriend?” I asked, reddening slightly.

He smiled and even Gran stopped snivelling slightly.

“You seem to have about six or seven at the last count. But you seem to like Tim Barton best.”

I looked back at the card.

“I can’t remember any of them.”

“Oh, you poor lamb!” wailed Gran and she was off again.

I remembered my note.

“Dad, do I wear specs?”

“What?” he asked, startled.

“Do I wear specs?”

“No, why?”

“It’s just that I was reading this afternoon. When I wasn’t concentrating, I put the magazine down to eat and then when I picked it up again, I looked around for specs. I just wondered. I might just have seen someone else do it, I don’t know.”

“No, you’ve never worn glasses. Your brother wears them, but you don’t.”

“Oh.”

I put the card on the side. I’d have time later to put them up properly.

Gran was really upset, and I was at a complete loss to know what to say to her. Dad was struggling to keep on an even keel and Grandpa looked shell-shocked.

I touched him on his arm.

“It was ever so quick. She wouldn’t have felt anything!” I said and he smiled weakly and nodded.

“I know. It was as if our whole world came crashing down when your dad called. Then it got even worse when he called to say you might die too. It was like a little burst of sunshine when he phoned to tell us you had pulled through!” He had a lovely deep voice with the faintest Scottish burr.

As the afternoon progressed, I began to find that Gran’s constant crying and whimpering started to make me feel depressed. I had started the afternoon on a high and now she was making me miserable. I then felt guilty, as I knew her daughter was dead and yet I still felt that although they were lovely people, they really weren’t my people!

I said goodbye to Hannah as she went off duty and was sad to see her go. She’d built up a rapport with me and I trusted her.

Dad noticed my expression and decided to take his parents-in-law away.

“We’ll come back tomorrow, Heather, Jenny’s getting tired,” he said, kissing me goodbye and ushering them away. Grandpa gave me a wink. He never said much, but not a lot escaped him.
 
 
Chapter 4 - Family and Friends
 
 
I felt simple relief when they’d gone. I opened the bag that Dad had brought and pulled out a small bag. Inside were some alien artefacts - Cosmetics. I pulled a sort of whirly brush on a stalk out of a tube of blue stuff and guessed it was for eyelashes. There was lip-gloss, eye shadow and all manner of weird tubs, pencils and tubes.

I found a little paper covered cardboard tube and opened it. I stared at it for ages before it dawned on me what it might be. I went bright red and put it away quickly. It was as if I had never handled a tampon before.

I was definitely confused, as I had an awareness of life and yet no memory of how I obtained such knowledge or awareness. Without thinking, I inserted a CD into the small player and listened to some music.

I stopped it almost immediately and changed the CD. After trying all the selection, I decided that my taste in music was crap. It had lots of throbbing bass rhythm and an unintelligible alien language as lyrics. I put it away again. I may not know who I was, but I knew what I didn’t like!

My ribs still felt as if an elephant had stepped on me, but my headache had gone. I only realised it was there when I knocked the wound accidentally.

I read the Cosmopolitan, cover to cover and then picked up the Bella magazine.

There was a crossword on page six, so I picked up the pen and had a go.

Surprisingly, I found it easy and, before I knew what had happened, I had finished it.

Then I felt a little panic. It was a cryptic crossword. I had managed to solve all the clues and still I didn’t even know who I was. They told me I was Jennifer Adams. My mother was dead and I had met people who said they were my father and grandparents. Still, I felt like it was surreal and I was simply along for a ride.

The late shift nurse came over to me.

“Hi, how do you feel?”

“Bored,” I said, quite honestly and to my relief she laughed.

“That’s a good sign. Last time I saw you, you were unconscious. You look much better, I must say.”

“Thanks.”

“How’s the head?”

“Okay. I only know it’s there when I bang it by mistake. I keep forgetting. The bandage is hot, is there any chance I can take it off?”

“Let’s have a look.” She unwrapped the bandage and changed the dressing.

“That’s looking really neat. If we put a clean dressing on, you can leave off the bandage until bedtime. Before you go to sleep we’ll put on a lighter covering, just to protect the wound, okay?”

I nodded.

I dug out a mirror from my bag and looked at my head. They had shaved the area around the wound and left the long hair everywhere else. It looked silly now. I said as much.

“There’s not a lot anyone can do about that, I’m afraid. You’ll just have to wait until it grows out again,” she said. I found out she was called Sarah and was a student nurse in her final year.

“So, should I have it all cut short?” I asked.

“It would all grow back at the same rate if you do,” she said.

“Hmm,” I said, unconvinced.

“Why don’t you put on your own nightie and some makeup?” she suggested.

“I don’t think I know how,” I admitted.

“The nightie or the makeup,” she asked, teasing me.

“The makeup, I can’t remember how to do it!”

She looked at the crossword, lying on my table.

“You do this?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you a pickle?”

“Why?” I asked.

“One minute you solve a cryptic crossword and then you say you can’t remember how to apply makeup.”

“I can’t help it. It’s just the way it happened. I didn’t want to lose my memory!” I said, and felt emotions well up again.

She smiled and touched me on the arm.

“I didn’t mean to sound patronising, it’s just very weird,” she said.

“Tell me about it!” I said.

She stayed and showed me what each little tub and tube was for. As I watched in the little hand mirror, she applied a little make up for me. It was like a whole, new world. Heck, it was a whole, new world and I began to feel that somehow, for some unknown reason, I was privileged to be blessed with being allowed to have something special.

She allowed me to cast off the rather nasty hospital gown and wear my own nightdress. It was nothing slinky, just a cotton one with characters from South Park all over it. I stared at Kenny and Cartman, and wondered how I knew their names, when I still didn’t really know who I was.

Sarah brought me some more magazines, including a crossword book. Some of which had been partially completed by someone else. The tea-lady gave me some tea and a piece of fruitcake, so then I read for a while. I looked through the cards again, in the hope that something would click in my mind. It didn’t, so I arranged them neatly along the windowsill next to the bed.

The doctors came round again before supper. There were three of them; one, who was a little older, was probably more senior. I didn’t recognise them, but they seemed surprised to see me sitting up doing crosswords.

The older one asked me loads of questions and made notes on my chart.

“Howard tells me you still don’t remember much before the crash, is that right?”

I nodded.

“Even your name and other personal details?”

“Nothing.”

He smiled.

“Well to be honest, we didn’t expect you to pull through, so for me to be sitting here talking to you is a miracle. In my experience, this type of amnesia is temporary and you will find most of your memories will come flooding back in time. The only bit that you might not get back is of around the actual incident.”

“It feels frustrating, not knowing, I mean. I feel as if I am a stranger and even with people who tell me that they are my family. It’s not a very pleasant feeling,” I said.

He smiled at me.

“I’m sure it isn’t. I’ve asked Doctor Phillips to come and have a chat with you tomorrow. This is his field,” The man said.

“Is he a psychiatrist?”

“As it happens, yes. He specialises in major brain trauma cases and so he is very good at helping people remember things.”

I smiled uncertainly. I almost felt that I didn’t want to remember.

The doctors left. I was give a light supper of a sandwich and some fruit. I ate it, but didn’t feel that hungry. I had just finished when I saw my father coming down the ward. There was a younger man with him, as he got closer I saw he was more a boy really, about sixteen or so. He was quite tall, with curly brown hair, swept back and gelled. He looked as if he fancied himself. Although I thought he was quite good looking, it was the fact he obviously knew it that didn’t endear him to me instantly. I hoped this wasn’t my boyfriend!

“Hi Princess,” Dad said, kissing me. “You’re looking even better than earlier.”

“I’m okay. How are the old folks?”

“Your Gran is taking things badly, as expected. Reg is stoic, but I know he is deeply upset as well. It gave them a real boost seeing you.”

“I know, but Gran’s snivelling didn’t help me and I feel so guilty.”

“It’s all right sweetie. I brought Mike Wallis from the orchestra, just in case you needed a memory jolt. Strike a chord?”

I stared at the young man. He grinned at me, but had an uneasy expression in the eyes.

I shook my head.

“Nope, sorry,” I said and he looked a little crestfallen.

“If it’s any consolation, Mike, she didn’t even recognise me!” Dad said, with a sad smile.

“Hell, I don’t even recognise me,” I said, and both looked surprised.

“I looked in a mirror and it was as if I’ve never seen me before in my life!” I admitted. “I have absolutely no memory of before waking up in hospital. I know how to do crosswords, I even remember the names of the South Park characters, but I can’t remember anything about me or my life!”

“Wow, that’s heavy!” said Mike. “Nothing?”

“Nothing. I get funny sort of fleeting memories without any substance. But they seem very transient and elusive, never hanging about long enough to focus on properly.”

They both bombarded me with questions about these funny ghosts of memories and I did my best to answer them all.

I noticed that Dad frowning.

“What?” I asked.

“You, you’re using words and phraseology far more advanced than you used to.”

“Am I?” I had a feeling of danger here. I couldn’t explain it, but it was as if I was an impostor whose real identity was about to be revealed.

They drifted off the subject of my memory and chatted about anything other than me, my Mum, the crash or death. I could see Dad was struggling to keep a brave face up and wondered if he’d had an opportunity to have a good cry yet.

Two more people arrived, a man and a woman. I stared at them in the hope that a spark of recognition would suddenly enlighten me as to their identities. Mike stood up.

“Hi Mum,” he said and I was disappointed once more.

I said hello to Mike’s parents. It seemed odd, as they so obviously knew me well. Mr Wallis gave me a box of glazed fruits and Mrs Wallis, Gina, put some flowers in a vase she obtained from one of the nurses.

They didn’t stay long, as my condition made it hard to have a conversation. They left after half an hour, taking Mike with them.

After they’d gone, two nurses went to the old lady opposite me and pulled the curtain around her bed. A doctor and another nurse arrived, and there was a bit of coming and going for a while. Then a porter arrived, they put her on a trolley and pushed her out of the ward. It was quite a sobering experience.

I took Dad’s hand. It seemed so odd, as he was still a stranger to me, but I had to pretend to be his daughter, for his sake.

“Dad, it’s all right for you to cry, you know?” I said.

He looked at me and, very slowly, his face seemed to crumple. The tears started and just fell without any restraint. It was as if a tap had been turn on. He just put his head on my bed and cried. I rested my hand on his head and waited for him to finish.

One of the nurses came past, saw us and smiled at me. She mouthed the question, ‘ARE YOU ALRIGHT?’

I nodded and smiled weakly back.

It took a while, as he had all that grief and stress to release. Not that this was the end of it, but he needed to get rid of this lot first. I felt detached, still, as if I was this spectator, allowed to view the world from a ringside seat. It was rather like one of these virtual reality computer games and I almost felt that if I could work out how to switch it off, I’d return to normal.

What was normal?

Was I mad?

Why didn’t I feel that I didn’t belong in this body?

Why did I feel that I wanted to be here, but that it was cheating, somehow?

The questions just went on and on, with no answers I felt frustrated. With the weeping man I didn’t know, mourning the mother I couldn’t remember, I found my tears of frustration joined his and we made a right pair.

It must have done him some good, as he looked a little more cheerful once he had regained control and dried his eyes.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I feel a real wimp!” he said.

“Don’t be silly, you’ve more reasons than I to feel dreadful, why shouldn’t you express yourself?”

He stayed for a little longer and then told me he had to get back to see my brother Richard and his own parents. I tried to picture my brother, but failed.

“Dad, are you going to bring Richard in to see me?” I asked.

“I will now. I wasn’t going to before because I was told there wasn’t that much hope you’d survive. My whole world came crashing down after one phone call and then the moment I saw you sitting here, looking so alive and pretty - it brought me some sunshine again!”

I nearly lost it again and he gave me a very gentle hug.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Ricky is still out of school, so I’ll bring him in. Do you feel up to seeing Gramps and Granny?” he asked.

“They’ll probably want to see me, so bring them if you feel they’d like to come,” I said and he looked at me with a strange expression.

I smiled.

“What?”

“You. It’s as if you’ve suddenly become someone else. You sound the same, you look the same, but you seem so much older and wiser. It’s hard to explain.”

“Ah, that’s what happens when you get biffed on the head and can’t remember bugger all!” I said, and his shocked expression informed me I’d said something I shouldn’t have.

“Sorry, slipped out,” I said and grinned. I saw in his eyes that he would forgive me anything right now and my heart gave a little lurch. It was so tough knowing that he loved me so completely and I really didn’t know him.

He left with a smile on his face and for that I was grateful. I had another trip to the loo, under the careful eye of a student nurse, once again marvelling at my ‘new’ body. Everything was new, but with no memory, I suppose that’s what you get.

They gave me a painkiller so I could sleep and I slipped off without difficulty.
 
 
Chapter 5 - The Shrink
 
 
Dreams are very funny things. When you are in them, even the silliest situation can appear real and serious. But when you dream serious things, it’s hard to know what is real and what isn’t.

I dreamed.

I was dimly aware I was dreaming, and at the same time, I didn’t want to stop it in case I could learn something about myself.

I was at a funeral. I was standing in a church looking at a coffin resting on trestles up near the altar. I was aware that people I loved were standing beside me, but for some obscure reason, I didn’t want to look at them.

I was looking down at an open hymn-book that I was holding. The letters were out of focus and I was holding the book far away so I could read it. I could see my cuffs and I had a white shirt on, with a dark coat or jacket over the top. I had a black leather wristwatch strap on my left wrist, and a flash of gold informed me I was wearing a ring on my left ring finger, the wedding finger.

My hand was palm up, so I couldn’t see whether it was a plain wedding band, or had a stone or engraving plate on it. They seemed quite large calloused hands, but I knew that they were definitely mine.

I looked at the coffin, with the many bouquets of flowers that adorned it. I turned to my left and saw, across an aisle, a woman dressed in black. She was middle-aged, yet was crying almost uncontrollably.

I knew her. I should do, because she was my sister. I knew her name was Kathleen and she was married to a man called Bob, whom didn’t like very much. I looked back at the coffin and knew that inside, lay the lifeless body of my mother.

I woke up gasping for air and sweating. For a few moments, I was completely disorientated and forgot where I was. It dawned on me that I was still in hospital, and then, strangely, my hand went to my crotch, to check whether I was still a girl.

That action concerned me, particularly as I felt inexplicable relief to discover I was female. Indeed, on feeling the now familiar softness between my legs, I relaxed completely and the stress of my dream abated.

I scrabbled for my pen and notebook and wrote down what I could remember: -

Sister — Kathleen 40 -50???, married to Bob.. I don’t like him. Mother dead. Wedding ring? Black watchstrap.

Specs for Reading?

Now my father told me I had a brother called Richard. Why did I suddenly dream I had a middle-aged sister called Kathleen? She was older even than Dad, so it made no sense. I could still picture her face from the dream. It was as real now as it had been in the dream.

The ward was quiet. The old lady hadn’t returned to her bed opposite, so I was alone in my little cul-de-sac. It was dark outside, so I had no idea of the time. I was sleepy but aware that I needed another pee. There was a wall clock, but it was further up the ward. I slung my legs over the edge of the bed and sat up.

The ribs still hurt a lot, but my head was better. I waited in case the dizziness returned, but it didn’t. I considered buzzing the nurse, but decided to have a go on my own. I stood up, holding onto the bedside cabinet, set off slowly, keeping close to something to grab hold of should the need arise. As I passed the clock, I noticed it was only five a.m.

I reached the loo and as I approached the toilet itself, I had an overwhelming urge to pee standing up. It was silly, as the seat was down, yet I almost reached out and raised the seat as if I was on automatic. I resisted the urge and, lifting my nightie, sat down.

I tried to think what had made me do that. I was half-asleep, so I felt it was an unconscious action, born out of conditioning. That meant my feelings of not really belonging were right, and that somehow, I had been male and woke up in this slightly battered, but otherwise very beautiful young girl’s body.

The frustration of just not having any memory was almost tangible. The dream was still very real and I tried to focus on the face of the woman I knew was called Kathleen. It was the first, single, clear memory of anything and I didn’t want to lose it. As I sat there, I suddenly had another flash of memory involving the same woman, but a lot younger. She was dressed as a bride and was getting married. She was laughing, and there was another woman with her. I closed my eyes and the woman’s face turned towards me.

It was my mother, - our mother, Kathleen’s and mine. She was a small, slightly plump woman, with a big smile and greying hair. I smiled, as I could almost hear her voice…almost. I felt the warmth of her affection and it made me cry again.

I opened my eyes and the memory faded. It was still there, as my only memory so far, I wasn’t going to let it go!

I finished my pee and examined my new body. Although I have no idea of whom I really am and certainly no clue as to who I might have been before, I had to admit I was more than happy with the situation.

I did feel that I didn’t belong in this body, as much as I didn’t belong in a brand new Ferrari. That didn’t mean to say I didn’t like being in it, and could certainly get used to it!

In the absence of an irate owner demanding I quit and hand it back, I began to have a proprietary feeling about it.

I slipped my nightie off and examined as much of me that I could see. Limited somewhat by the restrictions of bandages and pain, I was able to appreciate what I could see.

I was about five foot six. This was another factor in my belief that somehow I had been someone else. I had a vague impression that I had been taller, quite a bit taller in fact. I had to stretch to see my breasts in the mirror and an involuntary smile came to my lips when I saw them. I was slender, with a very narrow waist, and hips that curved out gently. With long slender legs, bereft of hair, topped with that jewel nestled at their union. The smile became broader.

Whoever I had been, this was who I had always wanted to be, of that I was completely certain.

Feeling slightly chilly, I dressed and returned to my bed. My absence had gone unnoticed, so I snuggled in to warm up again. I must have dropped off, because the nurse woke me up to take my temperature and blood pressure.

“How’s the pain, this morning?”

“Okay. Still there, but bearable. I went to the loo in the night and it was okay,” I replied.

“That was naughty. Why didn’t you buzz me?”

“I didn’t want to bother you, besides, I was fine.”

“What if you’d have fallen?”

“I didn’t.”

“You could have done.”

“I didn’t, so it’s not a problem.”

She shook her head and smiled, then wrote down my readings on the chart. She wandered off to deal with someone else and so I dozed.

Hospitals aren’t really good places to rest or sleep. Armies of cleaners and all kinds of people come clattering in from six thirty onwards. But it was pleasant lying back and not feeling pain for a while.

As I semi-dozed, I recalled the dream when I was standing on the edge of a void. I couldn’t remember when I dreamed it, but the feeling of being given a choice was very strong. There was light and warmth and then there was the void. That was all I could remember. I thought about my other dream, and I wondered how true they both were, or whether I was just suffering the after-effects of being battered on the head, or given loads of drugs.

As it started to get light, the reality of my flesh, my pain and my senses seemed to over-ride the silly notions of being someone else. Everything inside me told me that was impossible and I concluded that it was all due to my bang on the head.

I still had no memory, except a picture of a sister called Kathleen, and a mother who loved me and was now dead.

I was roused by the arrival of another patient. It was a young man and he was unconscious. They lifted him off the trolley and onto the bed next to me, carefully, so as not to disturb the two legs that were in plaster. I saw steel pins sticking out of the side of both plasters, at various intervals up both legs. One arm was plastered, as was his other wrist, and his neck was in a neck-brace.

They pulled the curtains round as soon as the trolley was removed. Hannah came over to me.

“Hi Jenny, how are you today?”

“Okay, I think. What happened to him? He looks a real mess.”

“Motorbike accident. He’s been in surgery for hours. He was another one who very nearly died.”

“How many bones has he broken?”

“Lots,” she said, picking up my chart.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Oi, Miss Nosey, it’s none of your business,” she said.

“Go on, it’s really dull in here. The only excitement yesterday was when the old lady was taken out. Did she die?”

Hannah looked at me for a moment.

“Yes, Jenny, she did,” she said.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I felt terribly guilty all of a sudden.

She read my chart for a few moments.

“Well?” I asked.

She shook her head and smiled.

“He left the road near Sonning and ended up in some trees. No one else was involved, and a passing motorist called it in. Happy now?”

“Was he going too fast?”

“Probably.”

“Is the bike a write off?”

“I have no idea, but if he’s anything to go by, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“What make of bike was it?”

“Jenny, I have no idea. I think I’ve answered enough, don’t you?”

I grinned.

“Do you want breakfast?” she asked.

“Yes please.”

“Any memory come back?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, unsure whether to share what little I did have.

“Oh?”

“It may be nothing, but I remember going to a funeral.”

“That sounds cheerful. Is that it?”

I nodded. For some reason, I felt cautious and didn’t want to say too much.

“You’re to see the psychiatrist this morning. Maybe he can help.”

“I hope so, it’s really awful not knowing anything.”

“Do you want a wash?”

“Yes please. Can I have a bath?”

“Not yet. We’ll give you a bed bath, okay?”

“I suppose so, it’s better than nothing.”

By the time the psychiatrist arrived, it was nearly eleven o’clock and I was actually tired. I’d had breakfast, a wash, seen the doctors on their round, been to the loo, had a hair cut and put some make-up on under Hannah’s supervision. The last bit had been a real hoot and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

The hairdresser simply gave me a very short cut all round, leaving a reasonable fringe at the front. I felt a lot better when she had finished, as I only had a small dressing covering the wound on the back of my head now.

A young man wearing jeans and an All Blacks Rugby shirt appeared at my bed.

“Hi, Jenny Adams?” he asked. His accent was in line with his shirt.

“So I’m told,” I said, feeling impish.

His face fell a little. He was a good-looking man, in his late twenties, with dark hair and a rugby player’s build.

He sat down.

“I’m Bruce Phillips, you’ve been referred to me because of your amnesia,” he said, and held out his hand.

I shook it.

“You’re the shrink?” I asked.

He grinned and nodded.

“So I’m told,” he said and we both smiled. Touché.

I sat and looked at him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Physically, a bit stiff, sore and somewhat restricted. Mentally, I feel frustrated, angry, confused and bored out of my brain.”

He laughed.

“Okay, let’s forget the physical side, the other doctors tell me you’re getting better, and I can see that for myself. So, one at a time, what’s frustrating you?”

“I can’t remember anything before waking up with a tube down my throat. A man came in and told me he was my father and that I’m called Jenny Adams. I don’t even recognise myself, let alone anyone else. I’ve been given thirty eight cards from people who know me and I can’t picture any of them, even my supposed brother and boyfriend.”

Bruce was writing everything down on a pad.

“I’m writing this down, because my memory is awful, okay. What about anger, why are you angry?”

“Because I can’t remember.”

“That’s it?”

“It’s enough, isn’t it? I mean, I’m told my mother died in the crash, but I can’t feel anything because I can’t remember her. Wouldn’t you feel angry?”

He nodded.

“Yup, I probably would. Go on.”

“What’s to say, I’m confused because I can’t remember and every moment is new to me. I mean, it’s as if I was born a couple of days ago, with the ability to speak and wipe my bum, but no idea as to how I learned to do those things. I did a cryptic crossword yesterday and how the heck can I do that, but not remember my own name?”

“Good question, and to be honest, I don’t know. Head injuries are strange things. It’s not like illness; it’s more complex. No two patients are the same. What you and I have to do is work out a plan. We’ve got to get you to a stage that the past is something that is not that important any more. The important thing is now and tomorrow. You have a future, and that’s important. Yesterday is gone, but the memories may well come back and you have to be able to deal with them. Some might be nasty and others nice. Can you imagine what your mother looked like?”

The question almost threw me, for I immediately thought of the grey haired lady from Kathleen’s wedding.

I shook my head.

“No.”

“Okay. Your Dad has been in to see you, so you know what he looks like. I want you to close your eyes, and try to imagine him at home, and say standing next to the Christmas tree. Where do you keep the tree?”

I shrugged, my eyes closed.

“I don’t know.”

“Where would you like to keep the tree, given a choice?”

“In the sitting room.”

“Why?”

“Because…., just because.”

“Tell me about your sitting room, can you picture it?”

I shook my head, but in truth a picture was forming in my mind. I saw a picture on the wall above the fireplace.

“You must see something.”

“A fireplace?”

“What kind of fire?”

“A burning one.”

“Minx! Coal, wood or gas?”

I shrugged.

“Flames, coal or gas, I think.”

“Jenny, I just want you to watch the flames for a while. Can you feel their warmth?”

I nodded.

“It’s Christmas, what’s on the mantle piece?”

“A clock.”

“What’s it look like?”

“Brass, a carriage clock. There are candle sticks and a funny looking mug.”

“Go on,” he said.

I felt there was danger here and immediately withdrew. I opened my eyes.

“It’s gone. Did you hypnotise me?”

“No, you were awake and aware all the time. But I have at least managed to prove that your memory is there, it’s just hidden away somewhere.”

“Am I bonkers?” I asked, and he burst out laughing.

“Dear me, no. You suffered a major trauma to your skull and that impacted on your brain. There was a danger you could have suffered some brain damage and I have to say I am surprised at how well you have recovered. This temporary amnesia could be mental trauma or physical. I don’t believe it’s mental. That’s to say, it isn’t really a psychiatrist’s case, but a neurosurgeon’s. The surgeon has done what he can, so now it’s up to the two of us to rebuild your past.

“I want to play a name game with you. I’ll say a word, and I want you to tell me the first word that comes into your head, okay?”

I nodded, and off he went.

This went on for a while and he wrote down all my responses. Then he changed tack and we chatted about the news.

“Have you seen a TV since the accident?”

“No, why?”

“If I said - Iraq, what would it mean to you?”

“Iraq? A country in the middle-east, Saddam Hussein was dictator, there’s a war on, and the Americans and British have gone in to get the soldiers killed in a self-perpetuating conflict with no defined enemy.”

He frowned and looked at me.

“You don’t think we should have gone in?”

“No, but then I’m not the person making decisions.”

“Who’s Prime minister at the moment?”

“Tony Blair, why?”

“Who’s the American President?”

“George W. Bush, look, why does this matter, and how will it help me?”

“How do you know these things?”

I stared at him.

“Coz I do,” I said, surprised at myself.

“I’m going to ask you questions, and I want you to answer as quickly as possible. Don’t think, just answer with the first thing that comes into your head, okay?”

I nodded.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“Blue.”

“What’s your favourite drink?”

“Malt whisky,” I said and grinned.

“Come on, seriously?” he said.

“Um, chocolate milkshake.”

“Liar, you thought about that one. Try again, favourite drink?”

“Gin and tonic,” I said, quite truthfully, and his eyebrows shot up.

I grinned sheepishly and he smiled at me.

“Does your Dad know?”

I shrugged.

“Favourite food?”

“Thai.”

“Favourite place?”

“By the river.”

“Favourite band?”

“Status Quo.”

His eyebrows shot up once more, as he glanced at the pile of CDs on the cabinet.

“Favourite film?

I couldn’t think of a film.

“I can’t think of one.”

“Okay, do you like cartoons?”

“Of course, everyone likes cartoons.”

“How do you know?”

“Um, doesn't everyone?” I asked.

“Probably. Which character is your favourite?”

I closed my eyes. This was hard, but finally something did pop into my head.

“Shrek.”

He grinned.

“Yeah, mine too.”

“Favourite author?”

I shook my head.

“Any author?”

I shook my head.

“Try.”

Again, I closed my eyes and concentrated of picking something out of the soup that was my mind.

“Douglas Reeman.”

He paused, writing in his little book.

He then ran a couple more tests, and finally closed his book.

“Well, am I bonkers?”

“Confused, yes, but not bonkers. Jenny, your answers are perfectly normal, but not for a sixteen year old girl. If you were over forty, then you’d be discharged immediately, but you’re not. Either some wires are a little crossed, or you’ve taken on-board values belonging to someone else, like your father or mother.

“Everything about you is fine, except that your speech pattern and thought process are more advanced than I would expect. I can’t explain it, but memory or no memory, psychologically your mind is more mature than the rest of you.

“I don’t think your memory loss is permanent, as you can bring back things like favourite food and drinks. By the way, how come you like gin and whisky?”

I shrugged.

“I dunno; it was the first thing that came into my head. I can’t ever remember drinking either.”

He chatted to me generally, making me laugh at a couple of stories he told about a rugby tour he went on as a student.

“Are you from New Zealand?”

“Yup, can you tell?”

I grinned and nodded.

“Have you been there?”

I shook my head.

“I don’t think so, but then I'm not sure where I've been.”

“You’d like it. It’s a wild and beautiful place,” he said.

“So why come here?”

“Because it’s boring as buggery!” he said and grinned.

“Did you see them make the Lord of the Rings?” I asked.

“Ah-ha, remember that, do you?”

I frowned and nodded. I did, vaguely.

“I’m not sure, but I do know it was made in New Zealand. I didn’t have to think about that, it was just there.”

“Good. See, you’re getting better already. No, I was already over here in medical school.”

“Why become a shrink?”

“Because I’m not that good with blood. Actually, it seemed to be a greater challenge and the rewards are really satisfying. What do you want to do?”

I shrugged again. It was an easy way out.

“I really don’t know. My Dad’s a pilot, apparently, but I remember so little about me that I haven’t a clue. I think I’d rather work with people, rather than with things like money or accounts. Something like a doctor or a nurse.”

Bruce looked at me and smiled.

“Your future is an open book. With determination and hard work, you can be whatever you want to be!”

“Yeah, I just want to be me, but I’m not sure who that is,” I said.

“We’ll find her, together, we’ll bring her back better than before!”

“I hope so, I really do!” I said.

---

 
To Be Continued...

Synopsis
Tom Stewart is a rough, tough, seasoned, twenty-nine year veteran Police Inspector. Used to command, a popular, dedicated family man, he is on the eve of his half-century and is coming to the end of his career. He has lived with a secret for most of his life, successfully managing it. With retirement, he stands to lose the major factor in that success and he is very uncertain about how he will control the hidden urges.

Jenny Adams, a sixteen year-old schoolgirl, has her whole life ahead of her. She is bright, sensitive and pretty, she has everything going for her. She is returning from a day’s shopping with her mother on a train. The train is derailed in tragic circumstances. Jenny’s mother is killed while Jenny sustains serious head injuries and is in a coma.

Inspector Stewart is aware of the incident, but not directly involved. Time, however, is perhaps up for Tom, as he is rushed to the same hospital in which Jenny lies on the brink of death.

One of them survives, but which one?

---

 
Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

---

 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental.
 
I have based the tragic incident in the first chapter on a real event, and I salute those public servants and volunteers who worked so hard to manage the event, from every angle. My heart goes out to those directly and indirectly involved in the whole horrible affair, and I hope that I can, in some small way, pay homage to those who sought to bring relief and help.
 
I dedicate this work to the police officers, fire fighters,
paramedics, doctors and nurses and all the other
professionals and volunteers who give of themselves
on a daily basis for the sake of others.
 
The Legal Stuff: Every Little Girl's Dream  ©2005 Tanya Allan
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.

The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 
Chapter 6 - Home?
 
 
Later in the afternoon, Dad returned with both sets of grandparents and my brother - Richard. Hannah told them that I was tired after a long session with the psychiatrist, which caused Gran to start crying again.

I still had a terrible sense of displacement. ‘There’s been a mistake!’ I wanted to scream. ‘I’m not me!’

Dad’s parents were less upset and Richard was very quiet. He was as tall as I was, but very slim and had started being spotty, poor kid.

“They’ve cut off your hair,” he said to me.

“They had to, I had bone sticking into my brain and now they’ve put titanium in to cover the hole.”

“Cool! Did they keep the bits they cut out?”

Gran looked horrified and that made us both giggle.

They brought chocolate, fruit and more cards.

“Tim’s been phoning,” said my brother.

“Oh yeah?”

“He’s pining for you,” he said, grinning cheekily.

“Richard, don’t be an arse, he’s just worried about her,” Dad said.

“Yeah, so’s half the male population of the county,” he muttered with a sly look at me.

“I don’t remember him, or any of the others,” I said.

“That’s convenient,” he said, ducking as his father’s hand almost took his head off.

Actually, it was a good visit. Even Gran managed one smile and stopped crying for several minutes on the trot. I might have been rather callous, as I still felt emotionally detached.

I was quite sad when the late shift nurse advised them I was getting tired and asked them to leave. She’d been right, because I was tired and went to sleep for a while.

I dreamed again.

This time I was standing in a line and was looking as a man lying on the ground. A car was parked right next to him. Another man was standing over him.

“Right, you, Stewart, come and deal with this!” the standing man said.

I looked at him. He was a policeman and he had three stripes on his tunic sleeve.

I stepped forward and panicked. What should I do first? First aid, or what?

The answer never came, for the nurse gently shook me awake.

“Jenny, come on, wake up. It’s supper time, are you okay?”

It took me a moment to remember where I was, and then it all came back. I grabbed my pad and wrote, …Stewart/Stuart…first name? Surname? Police.

“What’s that?” the nurse, called Miriam, asked.

“Every time I have a dream, I try to write it down in case it means anything later.”

She looked at the scribble and frowned.

“Does it mean anything?”

I shook my head.

“Some stuff could be what I overheard, others might be memories or even from books or films I’ve seen. I can’t tell.”

“Stewart? The policeman who died, with the daughter who’s a nurse, he was called Stewart. Annie Stewart is his daughter, she’s off at the moment,” she said.

“Is that the man who died when I was in the emergency room?”

“I’m not sure. I wasn’t on. But he was brought in the day after the rail crash, I think. Anyway, do you want some supper?” she asked, dismissing Stewart and my dream at one stroke.

“What is there?” I asked.

I had the tomato soup and two slices of garlic bread, followed by a banana and an orange. The library trolley appeared as I ate my fruit, pulled by a spherical, jolly lady who smiled a lot.

“Hello dear, would you like a book?” she asked.

I looked at the selection, so told her I was suffering from amnesia. I remembered telling Bruce that I liked Douglas Reeman and I saw there was one by him on the bottom shelf.

“That one with a ship on it!” I said.

She picked it up, looking at it and frowning.

“I’m not sure that you’d like this. It’s a war book, wouldn’t you rather have this one? It’s about a girl and her horse,” she said.

“I’ll give Reeman a try, thanks.”

She shook her head and gave me the book.

I started immediately and by the end of the first chapter I began to feel that I’d read it before. As I got further in, the feeling became stronger and it was encouraging for me. Together with the strands that Bruce had drawn out and the dreams, I believed for the first time that my memory might come back.

I managed the loo again and this time it was much easier. I cleaned my teeth and had a wash in the basin. My ribs still hurt and any twisting or bending was a no-no for a while. But I actually felt pretty good otherwise.

I kept my light on for a long time after official lights out and finished the book. It was brilliant and at the conclusion I was convinced I’d read it before. It wasn’t as if I remembered the characters or the story, but the feel and atmosphere was strangely familiar.

The lad in the next bed groaned and was quite restless. The nurses kept checking on him and I felt very sorry for him, as he was a wreck.

I was doing a crossword when something made me turn and look at him. He was awake, eyes open and was looking right at me.

“Hi, do you want the nurse?” I said.

“Where the fuck am I?” he said, his speech was slurred and I didn’t know whether that was due to the drugs or the neck brace.

“Reading, in hospital,” I replied.

“Which hospital?”

I shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

“Fuck, I hurt!”

I buzzed the nurse. She came quite quickly, took one look at the man and summoned the night duty doctor.

They drew the curtain around the bed and spent some time with him. I got the impression they were relieved he had finally come round. They finally withdrew, pulling the curtains back.

“Thanks,” he said.

“What for?”

“Getting help.”

“You look a wreck.”

He laughed and then stopped abruptly.

“Fuck, I hurt!”

“How many bones have you broken?”

“Fucking loads! How about you?”

“Crushed ribs and fractured skull.”

“What happened?”

“Train crash.”

“I saw that on the news. Some idiot drove onto the track and committed suicide. Silly fucker!”

“My mum was killed too.”

“No shit? I’m sorry.”

“I don’t remember anything.”

“What, like amnesia?”

“Amnesia, yes.”

“Shit, heavy. What’s it like?”

“Horrible. I don’t remember anything from before the crash. My parents, nothing.”

“You look pretty good now.”

“Thanks. You don’t,” I said, giggling. He started laughing and stopped again. He then drifted off to sleep. The anaesthetic was still in his system.

I put my book down, turned my light off and settled down to sleep. I was just dozing off when he woke me up.

“What’s your name?”

“Jenny.”

“Hi Jenny, I’m Steve.”

He was asleep again, the sod!

I fell asleep and dreamed of dogs, - two Labradors, one black and one golden. They were playing on a lawn and I loved watching them. Then nothing.

The days seemed to drag. The doctors seemed pleased with my progress and Bruce spent at least an hour with me every day. I managed to claw back snippets of memory, but was selective with what I told him. I was getting pictures that didn’t fit with my life as a sixteen year-old girl, so I didn’t want him to deem me as being loony.

Steve spent the first couple of days in and out of post-anaesthetic sleep. He really was a mess and as he became more alert, the full extent of his injuries hit him.

“Fucking hell! I’ve done both arms and both legs!”

“And quite a lot in between,” I added.

“How the fuck will I wipe my arse?”

He made me laugh. He was twenty-three going on twelve, I think. He was a telecom engineer with BT and his life was his motorbike. He spent all his spare time on it and he used to spend all weekend either going round a racetrack or touring hundreds of miles with a couple of others.

His language was earthy and became worse as he became frustrated and angry with his injuries. I have to say the nurses were brilliant with him, but not entirely sympathetic. I thought they were a bit mean, but then Hannah told me that he’d been in the previous year with a broken leg after a previous accident on a bike.

“How’s the bike?” I asked him.

“Buggered,” he said, morosely.

“Will you get a car, now?”

“Fuck, no. Cars are dreadful things, what would I want one of them for?”

“To live a little longer?”

“Nah, bike’s the thing!”

“Haven’t you got a girl friend?”

“You offering?”

“No thanks, I’m spoken for, I think.”

He grinned.

“Just kidding. Not really, I did have, but she was on the back of the bike the last time. She told me, it’s the bike or her.”

“And you chose the bike?”

He nodded and grinned.

I shook my head. He had the brains of a rocking horse!

Finally, after I’d been there two weeks, the consultant surgeon told my father that I could be discharged. They’d done everything for my physical injuries and, in his opinion; the memory loss would recover in time and preferably in the home environment where familiar stimuli may spark a recovery.

Dad had held off having the funeral for Mum until I was out of danger. There was no excuse now, so he arranged it for the Friday after I was allowed home.

It was a Monday morning that I finally escaped. I was quite nervous as I dressed myself in proper clothes to go out for the first time. I’d been permitted to dress in my own clothes for a few hours every day, but I had to stay close to the ward. The bra gave me the giggles; particularly as it appeared in the week I’d been lying down, I’d put on a little extra flesh, particularly in the boob department.

I wanted to wear jeans and a tee shirt, but the jeans were too tight and I hurt too much to struggle to put them on. In the end, Hannah suggested I wore a loose top and a skirt. I felt my legs were really exposed, but she told me I looked fine and once I’d got the tights on, with some help, I felt warmer. She helped me put on a baggy sweater, as it was chilly outside. I put on some make up while waiting for my father, wishing my hair would hurry up and grow.

The stitches had dissolved or come out and there was a mean looking scar on the back of my head. Hopefully, the hair would grow back and cover it, but it looked pretty rough at the moment. Hannah gave me a woolly hat and once that was on, with my long fringe showing, no one could tell I was shorn.

“You could always get a wig,” she said.

“Nah, no point. It’ll grow back, and I don’t care that much. I’m just grateful to be alive and walking about!”

At that moment someone I really did know walked in. She was a tall, dark haired nurse, very attractive, with a lovely smile

“Annie!” I muttered and Hannah turned round.

She looked back at me and frowned.

“How did you know?”

I shrugged and shook my head.

“I don’t know. It is, isn’t it?”

She nodded and went to greet the girl. She was in her uniform and I was stunned. Here was someone I knew, but had never seen before. How?

Hannah brought her over to see me.

“Jenny, this is Annie. She looked after you that first day, and you remember her, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“I’m sorry, but we had a family tragedy. My dad died unexpectedly, so I had to take some time off. The funeral was last Friday. I’m so pleased to see you looking so well. The last time I saw you they were getting ready to pull the plug!” she said. She was almost in tears.

So was I.

The tears fell and we hugged each other. It felt right, for some strange reason this girl felt like family and I didn’t want to leave her. However, my father walked in and he didn’t understand why I was quite so emotional. If I had to be honest, I didn’t know why I was emotional either. I had found that I could burst into tears for no good reason and yet at other times, I felt emotionally dead. With Annie, I just felt that there was a history here, but I wasn’t going to be allowed to find out what it was, not today, at any rate.

“Hello Princess,” said my father, beaming at me. “Gosh you look wonderful, I never expected to see you up and dressed!”

“Hi Daddy.”

Richard was lurking behind him.

“Hi sis. Okay?”

“Yeah, you?”

He grinned and nodded. He was looking a little happier today. I think the fact that he was out of grandparents’ clutches for a while was enough to make anyone feel a bit happier.

I had a very emotional farewell from the nurses. I felt they were almost more my family than my family was. Even Steve seemed sad to see me go. He now had an old boy with a broken hip and Alzheimer’s to keep him company.

It was raining, so Dad held a large red and white golfing umbrella over me all the way to the car. I didn’t know which car we were heading for. Between them, Dad and Richard carried my small bag, all the cards, the CDs and books that I had accumulated over the fortnight. I followed them across the car park and to a dark blue Mercedes estate car.

I was very conscious that I was showing off a lot of leg, with my short skirt. Even with the tights on, I still felt chilly and I didn’t like the chunky shoes with big block heels.

Dad opened the doors with a remote, opening the front passenger door for me. On getting in, I was pleased the car was quite warm inside. Richard got in the back with all my stuff.

“Okay, sweetie?” Dad asked, as he slid behind the wheel.

“So far. Bloody cold though!”

He smiled and adjusted the heater/climate control. Warm air gushed out as soon as he started the car.

As he drove out of Reading and along the back roads, it was like a journey in a foreign land. It was new to me and I was very quiet. Richard kept telling me of things that happened on other journeys on this route, things like when he was sick after drinking a can of Sprite and a bag of cheesy puffs, but none of them was familiar to me. Just as well, I suppose.

The rain made the world seem grey and I tried to picture the home I was heading for. I found it very difficult to formulate a picture in my head, as it was hard to differentiate between wishful-thinking and reality.

“Are you going to okay for the funeral on Friday, Jen?” Dad asked.

“I think so. My head is fine and even my ribs are okay. As long as I don’t have to carry the coffin.”

He smiled, but without much humour. I put my right hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry, Daddy, that was in bad taste. I seem so remote from it all, I can’t seem to take it all in. I’m sure it’ll hit me eventually.”

“You’ve had a massive trauma. At least, that’s what the neurosurgeon told me when you were in a coma. None of us expected you to pull through, so my little love, I’m just so happy to have you back. The three of us will get through this together.”

“Does Granny have to be here?” said Richard from the back. His tone of voice spoke volumes.

“Ricky, your Granny has lost her daughter, so be a little more giving.”

“She was my mum, I don’t see why she has to have everything her way,” Ricky said, somewhat petulantly.

I could tell that Richard missed Mummy badly and try as I might I still couldn’t even picture her face.

Dad’s expression said a lot. He missed his wife and was having to allow others to take up his attention. I touched his arm again.

“I’m sorry Dad, I’ve really mucked things up,” I said.

He smiled and shook his head, reaching over and squeezing my hand.

“Don’t be silly. You’ve given us hope and something to be thankful for. Hasn’t she, Rick?”

“Suppose,” said my morose little brother.

We pulled off the road and up a driveway. It was about a hundred yards long, with a large house looming at the end of the drive. I’m not sure what I expected, but it was larger than I had anticipated. It was an old house, with a date etched on a plaque above the door.
 

Willow House 1883

 
Wisteria and ivy climbed the front, above the front door, and a short grassy bank ran off to the right, down onto the lawn. A tennis court was at the far right, and I saw a small paddock beyond that. Two horses were grazing in the paddock and one looked up as the car came to a halt.

“Flora will be pleased to see you,” said Dad.

“Flora?”

“Flora and Dora, the horses. You and Mummy used to ride every spare moment you got,” he said, as sadness fell across his face like a dark shadow.

“Which one’s which?” I asked, looking at them both. One, a lighter brown with a white mark on its face, was still watching.

“Guess,” said Dad watching me.

“The one with the white mark is Flora?” I said.

He smiled. “Right!”

I felt quite pleased.

“I won’t be able to ride of a bit. I mustn’t risk falling off for at least six months. Besides, my ribs are still so sore, I don’t think I want to for a while.”

I got out of the car and walked across the grass towards the paddock. The other horse stopped grazing and both walked towards the fence.

Flora shook her mane and whinnied, making me smile. I stopped at the fence, she came up and I nuzzled her velvety nose with my hand.

“Hello old girl, remember me?” I asked. She snorted and I smiled again. The other horse, Dora came along side and almost barged Flora out of the way. I stroked her nose too. Dad came up behind me.

“Who’s been feeding and mucking them out?” I asked.

“Charlotte from the village.”

“Is she a friend or what?” I asked.

“She’s your best friend, sweetie.”

“Oh.” The tears returned, and I got so annoyed.

I turned and he held open his arms and I allowed myself to be cuddled for a bit.

“I miss your Mum so much!” he said and we cried together.

“Come on, we’re getting wet,” he said. With his strong arm around my shoulders, he led me inside.

The inside of the house was as nice as the outside, and yet, at the same time, it didn’t feel like home. The furniture was nearly all antique and the decor had been very tastefully done. Pleasant pictures of horses and naval scenes adorned the walls, along with photographs and portraits of relatives. China and ornaments were displayed in lovely cabinets and the curtains matched the furniture. It was a warm and friendly house, but it didn’t feel like my home.

The grandparents were all in the kitchen, which was large enough for the four of them, the three of us, and several others besides. My Dad’s mother was making lunch, Mum’s mother was sitting being miserable at the large kitchen table. The two grandpas were cleaning the brass, and there was a heck of a lot of it.

They all looked up when we entered and the two female grandparents slobbered at me. I sat with them for a while, drinking the statutory cup of tea. Needless to say, Granny (Dad’s mum) had baked some shortcake biscuits, so we polished that lot off.

I asked Ricky to show me up to my room. He looked at me, as if I was still pretending, shrugged and took my bag. I followed him upstairs and into a room at the end of the landing.

“This is your room, mine is down the back. The bathroom is over there and that’s Dad and Mum’s room,” he said, pointing as he spoke. Then he realised what he had said and simply sat on my bed. The floodgates opened and I sat next to him and put my arm around his shoulders. I sensed he’d have rather have lost his sister than his mother, feeling slightly guilty that I survived instead of her. I said so and he shook his head violently.

“No, it’s not that. I just want her! I didn’t want either of you to die and I’m glad you didn’t. But, Jen, I miss her so much!”

We just held each other for a little while. The numbness I felt was odd, because when I wanted to feel emotion, nothing happened, but when I didn’t, the tears came without any trouble. I cried a little for him and that seemed to help. I don’t think he could cope with the fact I wasn’t feeling what he was.

I looked round my room and liked what I saw. It was definitely a girl’s room, but not a prissy room. Rosettes from horse shows were pinned to one wall and a couple of small trophies sat on the windowsill. Posters of boy-bands were on one wall and a large poster of Kenny from South Park on a toilet was behind the door.

A riding hat hung on a hook behind the door and my clarinet was on the dressing table, probably still there from when I left it there. A small collection of soft toys lay or sat on a shelf, only one rather moth-eaten teddy was on the bed. He was dark brown and had a slight squint. He looked as if he jealously guarded his privileged position through the use of extreme violence if needs be.

I smiled and picked him up.

“Who’s this?” I asked.

“That’s Roger.”

“Roger?”

“Yeah, you saw Roger Rabbit at about the same time as Mum gave him to you, and you called him Roger. Except, you couldn’t say Roger, so you apparently called him Woger for a couple of years.”

I smiled and cuddled Roger for a second or two. He felt he belonged. He was a tatty old chap and yet he was well-loved.

“Do you really not remember anything?” Ricky asked.

I shook my head.

“Not really. Sometimes I have dreams, but some of them are like I’m another person. I dream of people that aren’t from this family and I don’t really know who I’m supposed to be.”

“You’re not bonkers, are you?”

I smiled, shaking my head.

“No, I’m just suffering from trauma induced amnesia. Sometimes the memory comes back quickly and sometimes never at all. I just have to wait and see.”

“I’d hate to forget everything, it must be horrid,” he said.

“I don’t know what I’ve lost. It’s rather like a big empty space inside my head. It’s not very nice, but I suppose it’s better than being dead!”

“Yeah, I suppose,” he said.

He looked at me and I smiled.

“That’s part of the problem,” he said, and looked away.

“What is?” I asked, frowning.

“You look very like mum. You even sound like her now. You never did before. Maybe you did, but I didn’t notice.”

“Do I?”

He nodded and looked at me again.

“I suppose it means that she’s not gone completely, as I can see her in you. You just look like a younger version.”

I smiled, ruffling his hair with my hand. He made a face and knocked my hand away.

“Don’t do that!” he said, and smiled sheepishly.

“She did that, didn’t she?”

He nodded, looking very young and rather lost.

We had another cuddle and for the first time, I actually felt needed.
 
 
Chapter 7 - Funerals and Friends
 
 
The week up to the funeral was rough. Not least, because Gran would burst into tears almost as soon as she saw me after a break of anything from two minutes to two hours.

A few friends and relatives dropped in, but most were very embarrassed and clearly didn’t know what to say or how to deal with me. Dad had asked most people to stay away for my first week back, to let me become familiar with the house and get to know my relatives again. Dad and Ricky were great, they’d warn everyone that I had no memory of anything before the crash. It was quite funny the amount of people who didn’t understand at all.

Some thought I was pretending, while others couldn’t accept I didn’t remember them. They accepted I couldn’t remember my own name, but how on earth could I ever forget them?

The two grandpas were very good as well, and so was Grandma. Poor old Gran was inconsolable really and I knew she’d be bad at the funeral. I didn’t blame her, as it must be awful to lose your daughter and almost lose your granddaughter. However, she made it so much harder for everyone else, particularly Dad.

Dad was trying to be so strong and yet every evening, I heard him crying.

On the second night, I went in to see him. He was embarrassed and we just held each other for a while. Ricky came in and we made it a threesome. We all slept on his big bed and thereafter we slept like that every night up to the funeral.

I escaped Gran by helping Grandma in the kitchen. I know that Dad’s parents stayed just to help us deal with Gran, and Grandma was a wonderful cook.

She chatted away while we worked, so I was able to relax and follow her directions. We’d talk about anything and nothing and I found her so nice to be with. I didn’t have to think or mind what I said. We got on very well and she taught me a lot about cooking.

On the Friday morning, I was up early, as Charlotte was coming up to do the horses early. We’d met on the Tuesday evening after she came home from school and I found her to be good fun. I could see why we were friends. She came over most evenings and it was brilliant to get out of the house for a while.

She was tall, a couple of inches taller than I, but much slimmer than I was. I wasn’t fat at all, but my figure was more womanly, whereas she was like a beanpole. She had dark hair, and kept it quite short. She was quite pretty, with brown eyes and a big smile. Her face was a little long to be really pretty, but I liked her a lot.

After a stilted few minutes that first day, we just got on and mucked out the horses together. I wasn’t able to do much, but I was able to keep her company and do the lighter stuff.

“I was so shocked when I heard the news. It was awful. We heard that you and your mum were both badly hurt if not dead. The whole village was in shock for a couple of days. Then the news came through that Auntie Eleanor had died and you weren’t expected to last another day. Honestly, I cried myself to sleep. It was wonderful to hear you were getting better!”

I found her honest love too much and I started to cry.

We never looked back. She told me everything I wanted to know before I needed to ask.

“Tim Barton has been almost inconsolable. Mind you, I saw Samantha Spears trying very hard to console him last week.”

“Samantha, is she a friend?”

“No, Samantha is a tart, and definitely no friend to you or me. She hates you for going off with Tim at Rachel’s party last June. Every chance she gets she has a go behind your back. The last I heard she was saying you were no better than a vegetable and would probably not be able to wipe your own bottom.”

“The cow! Why?”

“She wants Tim; it’s as simple as that.”

“Do I like Tim?”

“Next time you’re in your room, read your diary. You practised writing your name, Mrs Jennifer Barton, so I guess you must like him a little!” she said, grinning at me.

“Oh, shit! Why can’t I remember?”

“It must be dreadful. I mean, you don’t know who’s nice and who isn’t. Looks like I’m going to have to keep a close eye on you at school.”

“Always supposing I can go back,” I said.

“Why shouldn’t you?”

“I can’t remember anything. I tried the clarinet last night and I was hopeless. I haven’t a clue how to play it.”

“Bummer!” she said.
 
 
Well, Friday had arrived and we were going to bury my mother. Charlotte, or Charlie as I came to call her, arrived at seven thirty to do the horses. She was off school today, as was half the school by all accounts. Loads of people were coming, as Mum had been very popular and all my school friends wanted to be there for me. It was quite emotional, but I still felt a bit of a fraud.

“Are you wearing black, or what?” she asked me.

“No. Dad says that Mum hated black. I found a red dress in her wardrobe that Dad used to like. He asked if I’d mind wearing it in memory of her. So I said yes.”

“Is that the one she wore at Christmas last year?” she asked.

I smiled and shrugged.

“I don’t know, Charlie, I can’t remember.”

“Sorry Jen, I keep forgetting. If it’s any consolation, you haven’t changed that much.”

“Have I changed at all?”

“Yeah, a little. You’ve grown up. You’d giggle at the slightest thing and to be honest, I found it slightly irritating at times. You’re more serious now. It’s as if you’ve just added several years. I suppose losing your memory does things like that. If anything, you’ve changed for the better.”

“Really? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“No Jen, really. We’ve been friends for ten years. We’ve shared everything and I wouldn’t lie to you. It’s almost as if your Mum’s spirit has come along and added something to your own. You are more like her now.”

I was quiet. I hoped it was a compliment.

In the event, the funeral was about as bad as I expected. It rained, but then it always rains at funerals, doesn’t it?

I was surprised at the amount of people who turned out. The little village church was packed and some people had to go to the church hall where there was a televised link. There were even national TV crews there, as the crash was still newsworthy. Dad kept the reporters away and to be fair they didn’t try to get close.

I wore Mum’s dress, with dark stockings and red shoes that matched. I wore a red coat and even a white hat with a red ribbon. I wore a red and white spotted headscarf, pirate style, which hid my lack of hair. Actually, my hair was growing back, but was very short. I was very conscious of it and thought the scarf looked very chic. It had been Richard’s idea, of all people. I hugged him for it.

I could see that some people were shocked that I wasn’t wearing black and then Granny appeared in a pale blue outfit and matching hat. Dad told everyone that I was wearing his favourite dress and that Eleanor would have wanted me to wear it.

I still ached, and found the hard pews quite a strain. I was conscious of everyone looking at me and could hear the, “Poor dear!” and “Isn’t she brave?” amongst other mutters.

I cried during the service, but not all the way through like Gran. Dad stood up and gave a eulogy. He was choked up, but fought his way through. He mentioned that the fact I lived was what kept him going and that every day he could see his dear wife in his daughter, and he thanked God for such a blessing.

I cried like a baby then.

So did everyone else. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

They didn’t bring the coffin into the church. We had a portrait of Mum on an easel at the front, with a garland of flowers around it. It had been painted when she had been in her twenties, at about the same time that she had married Dad. I stared at this face of the person I was destined never to know.

She looked a little like me, but her eyes almost hypnotised me. She had lovely eyes. I think of all her features, these were the most like mine.

They were smiley eyes that exuded a love of life and laughter. I missed her then, even though I couldn’t remember her properly. I missed the fact that now I never would and I felt very sad.

After the church service, everyone went to the hall for a cup of tea. Only close family and personal friends went to the crematorium. That was even more macabre. I was fine up to the moment the coffin slid out past the curtains and I knew that this really was an end.

We were all very tearful and I think, with hindsight, it was important to witness the finality of such an event. The human mind doesn’t like to give things up, so now there was denying that she wasn’t coming back.

In the limousine, Dad turned to the pair of us.

“Okay kids. Now we live for the future, your Mum would want that!”

Ricky and I were crying and Dad had tears in his eyes. I nodded and took his hand.

“I need you to tell me everything about her, Dad,” I said and he nodded.

The family and friends gathered at the house when we arrived back. Grandma gave me a cup of tea and made me sit down on a comfy chair. She thrust a sandwich in my hand and gave a little chuckle.

“It always makes me smile when I see the hungry ghouls that appear at events like these. Eat that up and I’ll get you some cake. I’ve had to keep some back from these greedy buggers!”

I was in the middle of stuffing the sandwich in the general direction of my face when a boy appeared beside me.

He stood looking uneasy for a moment.

“Um, er, Jenny, er, hi,” he said.

I craned my neck to look up at him. He was tall, broad and quite hunky. His short fair hair was quite curly and he’s let a single curl grow long down his neck. He had on a black leather jacket, with a collar and tie. However, it looked as if he would prefer to be wearing surf gear, as he appeared very uncomfortable. My pulse quickened and something deep within me stirred.

I took a guess, based on my body’s strange reaction to his proximity.

“Tim, hi,” I said.

His facial expressions went through a host of emotions and then he half smiled before actually crying. He dropped to one knee and took my hand that didn’t have a half-mangled sandwich in it.

“You remembered! My God, they told me you had amnesia, I can’t believe it. You’re even more beautiful than ever!”

I took my hand back and held it up like a stop signal.

“Hey, back up. Thanks for the lovely compliment, but I really do have amnesia. Charlie told me I was dating the hunkiest guy around. You are by far the hunkiest guy, so I took an educated guess, based on the fact my body seems to remember you even if my brain doesn’t. Maybe it’s wishful thinking but it seems I’m right. How’ve you been holding up? I heard you took the news pretty bad, I’m sorry.”

“Shit, you’re apologising to me? Bloody hell, Jenny, you’ve been to hell and back, and I never even came to visit you. I feel so guilty, but your Dad told me not to,” he said, obviously quite upset.

I smiled.

“Yeah, I know. Look, I woke up not even knowing my own name. It’s been a tough couple of weeks, particularly as I’ve just seen my Mum’s coffin burned to a crisp and I can’t even remember her at all. So, what do you say to starting out like we just met?”

He grinned and he really was hunky.

“Yeah, that’d be cool. I’m Tim Barton.”

“Hi, I’m Jenny Adams,” I said and held out my hand after transferring the mangled sandwich to my left hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, grinning self-consciously.

“Charlie tells me you play guitar in a band.”

“Yeah, you want to come and listen, one day?”

“I’d love to. I used to play the clarinet, but seem to have forgotten how.”

“Really? That means you don’t need to hang out with the orchestra geeks any more.”

“I suppose not. I’ll have to see.”

“Can you sing?”

“I don’t know, can I?”

He grinned.

“You’re okay, I suppose we haven’t found your style yet. We could find out?”

“That’d be fun. Won’t Samantha mind?”

He stared at me, a slow smile spreading across his lips.

“The jungle drums don’t half work fast. Actually, Sam and I are not compatible. She wanted us to be, but to be honest she really isn’t my type. You were in hospital and I thought she was very insensitive to come on to me as strong as she did. I think I upset her when I told her so.”

“Hmm, interesting, so you think we are - compatible, I mean?”

“Don’t you?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve just met you and so who knows. It’ll be fun finding out, won’t it?”

He looked at me and half closed his eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t remember?” he asked, disbelief in his tone.

“I promise, I don’t. By the way, can I have my hand back?”

He looked down at my hand. I was wearing a pretty little silver ring with a red stone on my right ring finger. I’d found it on my dressing table, and immediately liked it. It also went with the dress.

“You’re wearing our ring,” he said.

“Our ring?”

“I bought you this about a month ago. Just after we all went back to school and you told me you loved me. You gave me this,” he said, and pulled a chain from under his shirt. There was a little heart on it, with Tim & Jenny engraved on it.

“See, I told you we were compatible,” he said.

I felt so awful. I just wanted to remember. My tears started again, his face transforming into an expression of real concern.

“Shit, Jen, don’t cry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said.

“You didn’t, Tim. I just want to remember, but I cant!” I was so cross.

He took both my hands in his and looked down with distaste at the mangled sandwich he’d just grabbed.

I giggled and he laughed.

“I still love you, Jenny. I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to learn to love me again,” he said.

I smiled. He had such a sexy smile and he was just so earnest.

“It might not be that long, you soppy bastard!” I said and his eyes opened with surprise at my language.

Granny arrived with two pieces of cake. She relieved us of the now inedible sandwich and walked off chuckling.

“Come on, get me out of here!” I said and he helped me stand up. I was about five foot nine with the heels on and he was still a good five inches taller.

“You are big, aren’t you?” I said.

“You don’t know the half of it!” he said, and then realised what he’d said. I put one hand to his lips.

“It’s okay. Really. I just want to be normal, so don’t worry. We’ll get by.”

We walked out and crossed the lawn to the paddock. The horses saw us and came over in the hope we’d brought some treats. I went to the stable and brought out a couple of horse carrots.

“How did you know they were there?” he asked.

“Duh, I’ve been back a week. Charlie and I mucked them out this morning.”

“Oh. I thought you’d been miraculously cured.”

I smiled.

“Considering I was almost given up for dead, I am miraculously cured. The memory is a small price to pay.”

“I think you’re so brave.”

“Nah, Tim, I’m not brave. I haven’t a choice, so I just have to make the best of it.”

“I heard Mike went to see you in hospital.”

“Apparently his mother insisted Dad bring him in. You know his Mum?”

He smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, she’s a bossy cow.”

“Dad was too tired to argue and thought the face might jolt some memory. It didn’t.”

“I sent a card.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s by my bed.”

He grinned.

“I didn’t want to lose you, Jen. Not just after I’d found you.”

“It’ll take more that a train crash to get rid of me, buster!” I said and he laughed.

Flora nudged me for more carrots, so Tim went and brought another couple back out.

“Are you riding again yet?”

“No. I can’t for a while. Not until the skull heals up properly and the ribs are mended. If I fell off now, I’d probably die.”

“So what happened?”

I told him what I knew.

“And you remember nothing?”

“Nothing. No, that’s not quite true. I get glimpses, but I think they belong to someone else.”

“Eh? How do you know?”

“I don’t. Look Tim, I can’t explain it, and I don’t want this to go any further, but it is like I used to be someone else and for some reason I’ve been allowed to start again in this body.”

He looked at me with a very strange expression.

“Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have told you. Just forget I said anything. It’s probably due to the head injury.”

He didn’t say anything and I regretted saying what I did.

“Jenny, believe me, you are the same girl. If anything more beautiful and much nicer, but you are the same wonderful person I first kissed in the summer.”

“We kissed?”

He smiled and nodded.

“Ah, we, um, we didn’t, you know, um, go any further, did we?” I asked.

“No. I think we both wanted to, but you said no. I respected you so much for that. No, all we did was kiss and you are a wonderful kisser.”

I looked down, feeling embarrassed. He placed a hand under my chin, gently raising my head until he was looking into my eyes.

“I love you, Jenny,” he said, gently kissing me on the lips.

My mind may have forgotten, but my body hadn’t. I placed both arms around his neck, pulling myself closer to him. I opened my mouth and allowed his tongue entry. I explored him with mine. Our probing tongues met and caressed each other.

I felt a warm tingling sensation start deep within my abdomen and it spread outwards. My breasts seemed to swell and my nipples seemed to harden. I could feel his every move against me. He tried to move away a little, but I wouldn’t let him. I rubbed my body as tightly as I could against him, and I could feel him harden in his trousers. The ache of my ribs forgotten, I just allowed myself to surrender to my feelings.

The kiss went on and on. I raised my hands and ran my fingers through his hair. He had one hand tightly clamped on my buttock, and with the other he gently caressed my breasts through the silk blouse. I lowered one of my hands and felt him through his trousers.

He broke off.

We were both slightly breathless and very flushed.

“Shit, Jen! Where did that come from? I thought we’d just met?”

I smiled and gently kissed him.

“I’m trying to play catch-up. Any objections?”

He smiled, stroking my face. I licked his finger.

“None whatsoever. I’m just a bit surprised, that’s all.”

“Not as surprised as me. That’s my first kiss, by the way.”

“Well can I say, for a first timer, you rock, baby!”

I kissed him again, and I could feel my body craving the sensations that came with it.

“I don’t know what they did with you, but I’m not complaining!” he said, and returned the kiss.

“What do you mean?”

“Shit, Jenny, you are awesome. You used to be great, but now you are completely awesome!”

“Does that mean you still love me?” I said, kissing him again.

“Of course I do!”

“Then that’s fine, we can stop now, before I totally lose control!”

He took my hand.

“Are you okay?”

I smiled and squeezed his hand.

“Yeah, I think I am,” I said.

We walked slowly back to the house. He held my hand and we took it in turns to squeeze. It was like some weird code and I suddenly got a flash of déjá  vu. I’d done this before, but not with him!

I stopped as I realised. I had a fleeting mental picture of a funfair and a girl. I wasn’t the girl, at least I didn’t think I was. Then it was gone, but some music seemed to dominate the air. The lyrics went, “In the summer time, when the weather is hot….”

“Jenny, what’s wrong?” Tim asked, worry etched on his face.

“A memory. You remember I told you about feeling like a stranger in this body?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“I had a memory of another romantic walk. There was a funfair and I was holding hands. There was music and the lyrics went, “In the summer time, when the weather is hot….” Does that mean anything to you?”

He shook his head.

Sing it,” he said.

I did, as far as I could remember.

“Mungo Jerry. They had a hit in 1969 or 1970 with a song called In the Summer Time.”

“How do you know that?”

“My Dad’s still got the single. It’s crap, but fun.”

“Why should I remember that?”

He shrugged.

“This is weird, Jenny.”

“Tell me about it. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“No, of course not. But if you need help or to talk, just let me know, okay?”

I nodded and kissed his cheek. I loved the way he smelled.

He traced the side of my face with his finger and then frowned.

“What?” I asked.

“It would have been such a waste, if you’d died. You are so beautiful!”

I smiled. “You are such a softy!”

He laughed, kissing me again.

“Is the hair growing back alright?” he asked, nodding at my scarf.

“Slowly. I still look like a skinhead, but it should be okay in a few weeks.”

“You had gorgeous long hair, before.”

“Well, that’ll take some time, but it should grow back.”

“Jen?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.”

“What for?”

“Coming back, in one piece.”

“I wish I had. There’s still a piece missing, remember?”

“I don’t care, as far as I’m concerned, the pieces that matter are here, and I adore you,” he said, with a tear in his eye.

“You are a soppy sausage!”

We went back into the house.

Finally, all the people left, leaving just the immediate family. I felt a sense of anti-climax and there was a sombre atmosphere in the house. Charlie had stayed, to help us wash up and we were alone in the kitchen.

“I see Tim didn’t waste any time,” she said.

“It wasn’t really him, Charlie, I think it was me.”

“You? Do you remember?”

“There’s the funny thing. My brain doesn’t, but I think my body does. He gave me the warm fuzzies, just by being there, and his eyes…. Shit, Charlie, he’s gorgeous!”

She chuckled and I felt silly.

“So, Samantha Spears is going to be even more B and T?”

“B and T?”

“Bitter and twisted. You aren’t her favourite anyway and now, just as she thought you were out of the picture, she will dislike you even more.”

“She’s a silly cow and I haven’t got time for people like that,” I said.

“When are you coming back to School?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve an appointment with the shrink on Monday and he will make a decision then. I hope not long, but I’m not sure I will be up to A levels any more. I don’t know if I will be able to remember anything.”

“Why, is your short term memory affected?”

“No, I can remember everything that’s happened since I woke up in hospital, but I’m worried that my memory won’t work as well, or something.”

“Well, here’s hoping you’re going to be okay,” she said, draining her glass of white wine.

“Yeah, thanks.”

That night, in bed, I opened my diary and got a glimpse of the person I had been before the crash. There was little wonder that my body responded to Tim the way it did. The old me had written reams about how much she loved him! It was quite steamy at times and now it dawned on me why he’d been so upset.

I noticed the handwriting in the diary and pulled out the pad I’d written on in hospital. The handwriting was different, but not greatly. The diary was definitely written in a style that girls favoured, neat and flowing. My more recent scribbles were smaller and, if anything, more precise even than the diary.

Just as Charlie had said, there were loads of examples of where I had practised writing, Mrs Jennifer Barton.
 
 
Chapter 8 - Back to Normal?
 
 
I felt my cheeks burning as soon as I walked into assembly. Everyone was staring at me and applauding. Charlie took me by the elbow and helped me keep going. I settled down in my seat and saw Tim grinning at me. My heart skipped a beat as soon as I saw him, so I smiled at him.

As soon as hush settled, the Principal stood up.

“This is a special day for us. We welcome back Jennifer Adams, who had such a terrible time in the tragic accident and weeks that followed. It’s wonderful to see you back, Jenny, and I want you to know that we are all here to help you over the next few weeks and months. We have been praying for you and your family through your ordeal. We feel blessed that you have recovered enough to come back to school.”

He went on to make general announcements and I caught a vicious glance from a pretty, dark haired girl sitting in the row in front of me and along to my left.

“That’s Sam!” Charlie whispered.

I then glanced at Tim who was making funny faces at me and I grinned back at him, blowing him a kiss. Mike from the Orchestra was there, but I didn’t recognise anyone else. I’d seen some of them at the funeral and had even spoken to a couple of them, but they were all strangers to me.

It was the Wednesday morning. The funeral had been on the preceding Friday and I’d been to see Bruce Phillips, the psychiatrist, on Monday morning.

“How are you Jenny? You’re looking well,” he said, as I entered his consulting room at the hospital.

“I feel well, thanks.”

“How are the aches and pains?”

“Okay. I’ve just seen the consultant and he doesn’t want to see me again for at least six weeks.”

“The joys of being young, eh. The body heals itself very quickly at your age.”

“What about the brain?” I asked and he smiled.

“Ah, the brain. Good question, how is the old memory?”

“No real change. I met the boy who I think was my boyfriend and it’s like the body remembers, even if the mind doesn’t.”

“So, he’s still your boyfriend?”

I smiled and nodded.

“Excellent. The forming of relationships is crucial to our plan that you look forward. That really is a positive sign. But you aren’t getting any memory flashes?”

I frowned.

“Well, sort of. Like, I get very short flashes of things, but I’m not sure they’re my memories of life or pictures from TV or films. They are so short I can’t make them out. I got a song on Friday and found out it was a hit before I was born.”

“Does being at home help?”

I shook my head.

“Not really. It’s way better than being in hospital, but it doesn’t feel like my home. It’s all new and strange to me. Even my family are like strangers and it is very hard at times, particularly as it seems to offend some people that I don’t remember them.”

“That’s quite common. How about the clarinet, you used to play, didn’t you?”

“Oh, don’t! I tried to play it and was completely hopeless. That’s what really worries me. I started my A level course in September and what if I can’t do the work?”

“Well, do you want to go back to school?”

“I think so. I want to lead a normal life and stuck at home with Dad protecting me all the time isn’t normal.”

“Isn’t your brother there?”

“He’s gone back to boarding school today and all the grandparents have gone, so it’s just me and Dad. Dad wants to go back flying, as he needs to get his mind away from Mum.”

“That sounds reasonable. Do you feel ready for school?”

“That’s the funny thing. I sort of feel too old for school. Why is that?”

“Explain to me what you mean?”

“Well, it’s hard to explain, exactly. But I don’t feel sixteen. I feel much older. It’s like my taste in music and stuff; I seem to like things that people my Dad’s age like. I went through all my music CDs and listened to them. I don’t like any of them, but Dad has some really cool stuff, like Genesis, Deep Purple, The Who, Status Quo and the Beatles. I was listening to them on Thursday last week and he asked why I suddenly like his old favourites.”

“Why do you?”

“I don’t know. I just do. The modern stuff is awful. The lyrics are mindless and the heavy thumping beat is so repetitive. Another thing, if my memory has gone, how come I now know all the makes and models of cars?”

“Do you?” he asked, surprise in his voice.

“Richard is a car freak. So, we had a game in the car. We had to state the make of the car coming the other way as soon as it came in sight. I won hands-down and he was really surprised. Even Dad was shocked. I never used to know about cars, apparently.”

Bruce was scribbling on his pad.

“What else have you noticed?”

“TV.”

“What about it?”

“Well, Dad says I always used to watch it. The music shows, the soaps and all that. Now I think it’s all such bollocks. I tend to spend time reading, or playing cards on the computer. The old computer games I used to play don’t attract me any more either.”

“Oh, and what did you play?”

“All the Sims games, you know, building houses and cities and stuff.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know, you’re the shrink,” I said and he smiled.

“Do you feel, perhaps that you should be taking on the role your mother left?”

I frowned, this hadn’t occurred to me.

“I don’t think so. I’m doing the chores she used to do, but that’s only fair. Besides, Dad’s cooking is awful and he hasn’t a clue about the washing machine. He keeps mixing coloureds with whites and sets the wrong temperature. I’m even quite good in the kitchen and even that’s different, Dad says.”

“Okay. I think that could be an answer. After all, you’re a young woman, and with your mother gone, it would be natural for you to unconsciously accept the responsibility of running the home. It would be a natural thing to take on the attitudes and values of her generation. It’s like growing up quickly.”

I didn’t necessarily agree, but nodded anyway.

“I think getting back to school and being with people your own age is important for you. Now the surgeon is satisfied that you’re on the mend physically, I feel it would be a natural step for you. However, take things easy. No sports and if you get tired, just take time out. I’ll write a letter to the head, so if you need to start on half a day for a week or so, that should be arranged.”

“It’s A levels, so we don’t get that many lessons, in any case.”

“What subjects are you taking?”

My mind was a blank.

“I don’t remember.”

“What would you like to study?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Then I think you should go back on Wednesday. I will call the Head and speak to him. I think you need some careful tuition and re-assessment so you get the subjects you feel happy doing.”

So, that was it. I was to go back to school.

Stamford Hall was a co-ed private school, for kids ages 13 to A level. It was set on the edge of the Berkshire Downs and the bus came through my village every morning at seven forty-five.

I spent Tuesday sorting through my clothes. As a sixth former, I didn’t have to wear a uniform any more, but we had to be smart and girls were not allowed trousers.

I went through my wardrobe and honestly didn’t like most of my clothes. They were too young for me, particularly the shoes! That made me stop. I was sixteen and these were clothes ideally suited for a sixteen year old. Why did I feel older?

I asked Dad if I could have some of Mum’s clothes and he seemed pleased that I’d want to. It seems I was now her size, if not a tiny bit bigger.

I chose a smart navy skirt and jacket suit. With a cream blouse, a black velvet sparkly waistcoat, tights and smart court shoes with two-inch heels, I felt just about right. My hair was still cropped and I was very conscious of it. It had grown out a little. I no longer looked like a refugee from a concentration camp, but with pretty earrings, I was reasonably happy.

Dad wanted to give me a ride in the car. I refused, insisting on catching the bus with Charlie. In the end, he let me go by bus, but I could see he was worried.

“Dad, don’t worry. I have my mobile and if anything happens, I’ll call, okay?”

He smiled, giving me a hug.

“I’m sorry, Princess, I feel too protective. You’re right, you have to try to get back to normal.”

On Wednesday morning, I caught the bus and was surprised at the other kids’ reaction to me, particularly the boys. They stared at me and looked away, embarrassed.

I sat near the back with Charlie.

“Why are they staring?” I asked.

“Who did your makeup?”

“Me, why?”

“You look stunning this morning. Where did you get the clothes?”

“They were my Mum’s. Why, are they really awful?”

“Just the opposite, you look brilliant. You look more like a parent than a pupil!”

“Oh.” I felt strangely pleased.

After assembly, I had a meeting with the principal and the heads of department. I had been taking French, Music and Art for A level, and they wanted to give me an extensive assessment. After and hour and a half, they didn’t really feel that I could progress with the French and Music.

I explained that whatever musical ability I used to have was now gone along with the rest of my memory. It was the same with French. However, my artistic ability seemed relatively intact and I asked whether I could take history and maths instead. My GCSE passes were all A’s with the exception of a B in science and a B in Geography.

They set me some maths problems and a short essay to write. I solved the maths problems and finished the essay just before lunch. They gave me a choice of eight titles. I selected to make a brief comment on the causes of the Boer War and how the perceptions of the British were different to those of the Afrikaner.

I think I puzzled them all with my essay. I was quite surprised that I was able to write so much and produced quite a number of pertinent facts, including key dates, places, events and people. It was surreal, because I just managed to sit down and do what they expected, without really engaging my mind. With the French and music, it didn’t come naturally, and although I had some ability, it was nowhere near good enough for A level.

However, history was different. It was almost as if I could tap into a hard drive I didn’t know I had. With no recollection of studying the period, I was baffled to know where the facts came from.

After some discussion, the head agreed that I should be allowed to stay on and take the new courses. After lunch I went into my new sets, and in History, I was able to sit next to Tim.

“Wow, you’re here? Cool!” he said, but then Mr Scrivens told him to stop dribbling and face the front.

“Right, now Jenny, you’ve a couple of months to catch up, so I’ll see you afterwards to give you a reading list. I suggest you get together with one of the others and go through the work to date with them. We are looking at the Tudors and are still dealing with Henry VII.”

My first day back was actually relatively easy. Tim was attentive and I liked having him around. He wasn’t suffocating, as I thought he might be, but he was just there with a smile and a helping hand when I needed one.

I caught the bus home with Charlie feeling I had crossed another important bridge back to normal life.

Dad was in a better mood now Heather and Reg had returned to Edinburgh. Richard settled back into his school, anxious to return to some form of normality. Nothing would bring our mother back, but we could try to get on and lead our lives.

It was strange just being the pair of us in that big house. I changed into jeans and a sweater as soon as I arrived home and helped Dad get supper ready.

“Would you mind if I started flying again?” he asked as we ate our supper.

“No, why should I?”

“I don’t know. I just feel a bit spare hanging around here moping and feeling sorry for myself. But I am conscious that you might need me.”

“Dad, I’m back at school, I’ve friends and the doctors say I’m okay. I’m not loony, so apart from having no memory, I should cope fine.”

“I’d only do the short runs to Europe and within the UK.”

“Dad, go for it. You need to get back to a life as much as we do. I’m seventeen soon and I think you can trust me to look after the house if you get stuck overnight in Finland or something.”

“I was thinking about getting a housekeeper.”

“Why?”

“It’s too much to expect you to do everything.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. Together, you and I will manage. When you meet a nice woman and I approve, you can marry her and she can keep house for you.”

He smiled.

“Sometimes I think I’ve brought home someone completely different.”

I stopped smiling and he sensed he’d said something to upset me.

“What’s up, Jen?”

“Oh, Dad, I’m not sure, but it’s this memory thing. It’s so hard.”

“I’m sorry sweetie, it was a silly thing to say.”

“No, it’s not you. It’s me. I lied to the psychiatrist, you see, I do remember things - little things, and obscure things. Very little really, but I am convinced that they aren’t my memories.”

He frowned.

“Not yours? What do you mean?”

“Dad, this is hard, because I don’t really know what I mean. It’s just that I think I was someone else.”

“Someone else?”

He was looking worried now, and so much so I laughed at his expression.

“Nothing to worry about. Look, I was brain dead, right?”

“Yeah, so I was told, so?”

“Well, at the same time I was brain dead, lots of other people were brought in. Some lived and some died, right?”

“I suppose so. Where are you going with this, Jenny?”

“Just bear with me for a sec, Dad, this is important, as I haven’t tried to rationalise this before, so I’m just thinking aloud and maybe you can help. If loads of people were all milling around, all at that stage somewhere close to death, we know so little about the spiritual world, who’s to say there isn’t some form of slippage?”

“Slippage? What kind of word is that?”

“Dad, never mind the words, this is important to me! I think I have some memories that belong to someone else. It may be more than one person, I don’t know. How is it that I have a memory of a funfair where they were playing music from a group that was around before I was born? How can I remember a funeral of a mother, before I went to my real mother’s funeral? How come I remember a sister called Kathleen, who is now older than you?”

Dad stared at me in silence for a while.

“Go on,” he said, very quietly.

I shared with him everything that had happened - the pictures of the line of men in the police. The feeling that I knew the nurse, Annie, and somehow we were related.

“This is serious, Jen,” he said.

“I know Dad, but I needed to talk to you about it. You see, I think I picked up memories or parts of other people’s thoughts when I died. There is no other explanation. I shared a little with the psychiatrist, but he thinks I subconsciously am taking on Mummy’s role in the family, so that includes her generation’s attitudes and values. But Dad, the music, how come I suddenly prefer your old LPs and stuff to the crap I used to like before the accident?”

He looked thoughtful and smiled.

“You always were a complex little girl.”

I smiled. “I’m not mad, Dad, honest.”

“I believe you and to be honest, I have no idea what it must be like for you. You are so brave just getting up in the morning. What do you say we put this aside for a while and sit down to watch some home movies and videos? That way, you can meet your Mum again.”

That is exactly what we did. We snuggled together on the sofa and watched endless videos of us all. I watched the wedding video, the honeymoon, holidays, my birth and Richard’s, all manner of Christmases and holidays over the last twenty years.

My mother was a vivacious, beautiful and happy woman, who exuded laughter and love in every frame. Daddy and I laughed and cried together and in those few hours, we grew together in a way I can’t explain.

I found it strange watching the woman who gave birth to me and I now heard called Mummy. She was like me in a physical sense and I found myself naturally adopting expressions and mannerisms that she used repeatedly. There was no doubt that she was my mother. My doubt was that the inner me wasn’t all her daughter.

Even our voices and inflections were similar and Daddy kept telling me how alike her I am. I found it a compliment, as she was a wonderful looking person. Clearly, Daddy and Richard adored her.

The oddest thing was watching video clips of me. There were many, as Richard didn’t come along until I was three. It was like watching a complete stranger, and talk about surreal! I would see myself with my mother and other family members and had no memory at all of any of what I was watching.

Daddy watched me watching myself. He said nothing, would occasionally glancing at the screen and then back at me, particularly when the film became more recent.

It was after eleven when we watched the last one.

He put them away and I stretched. He was looking at me.

“Your mother stretched and yawned just like that.”

“Oh.”

“Jenny, I don’t have any answers for you. I just know you are the same little girl we have just watched. You have the same facial expressions and the same lovely temperament. I will never know what you are going through, but I do have an open mind. Together, we will get you back as much of your old memories as we can. If we can’t, we’ll still have each other and I will never love you any less. I can’t tell you why you remember stuff like the music and the funeral. Some day we may know why. For now, I don’t actually care. I’m just so pleased to have you back!”

We both cried and I kissed him goodnight. I lay awake for a while just thinking about what I’d watched. It was nice, now I had some memories, even if they were second hand!
 
 
Chapter 9 - Getting Stronger
 
 
Two events occurred within a very short space of time. They were both bound to happen sooner, or later. I was actually relieved when they finally did.

The first came to light when I got up on the Friday morning of that first week back. I felt a little strange, like I didn’t want to get up and I had a dull ache in my tummy. As soon as I was up, I saw the blood spots on the sheet and my nightie.

I felt two mixed emotions. The first was panic, in that I was ill and then, as the realisation of the truth dawned, I felt curiously relieved. The second emotion puzzled me. I knew now that I was having a period and yet something inside me was shouting with joy as if I was now fulfilled in some way. I shook my head and sorted myself out in the bathroom.

I took the bloodstained sheet and nightie downstairs and put them in the washing machine. Dad came in and asked what I was doing.

“I’ve got my visitor, Dad, you don’t really want to know,” I said.

“Oh,” he said, looking embarrassed. “Um, Jenny, as Mummy’s not here, I suppose I’d better talk to you about sex and stuff.”

“Dad, memory or not, I know about contraception, I know about sex, and I know about being sensible. I’m sixteen, I’m not having sex, and I don’t intend to for a while yet. I’m not on the pill, and don’t plan on going onto it until I’m in a steady relationship. I know about disease and how babies are made. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Like the crossword, I suppose.”

He looked somewhat relieved and put some bread in the toaster. I made him a cup of tea.

Life went on and, to be honest, the curse didn’t bother me too much. It was a bit messy, but I didn’t feel too bad. I knew that others got it really badly, so I was grateful for small mercies.

The second happened when Tim and I were having lunch in the school dining room. It was close to the end of term and we’d just had a history lesson. Tim was stating that he thought Henry VIII was justified in dissolving the monasteries as the Roman Church was leeching England of its wealth to support a corrupt and decadent Papal system.

I partly disagreed, as I believed that Henry was as greedy and decadent, and he saw a way of getting rich at the same time as further increasing his power over the church in England. I didn’t disagree that Rome was corrupt, but felt that Henry’s reasons were not as honourable as Tim made out.

The argument continued into lunch break and became quite heated in a good-natured way. We were oblivious to most of what was going on around us, until I heard a deliberately loud comment from Samantha.

“Look at little Miss Perfect! Who does she think she’s kidding? She’s such a phoney!”

It was unfortunate, because at the moment she spoke, Tim and I took a moment’s breather and total silence reigned in the large room.

All eyes suddenly were on her and she went bright red. Then she looked at me and I was surprised at the out-and-out hatred in her expression.

“You can stop pretending, you know. Everyone knows you just use people while it suits you,” she said.

The silence continued, while she went a little redder. I stood up, the chair making a dreadfully loud noise as it scraped the bare wooden floor.

I walked slowly over to where she was sitting. The noise of my heels on the floor seemed to build menace in that simple action. I was taller than she, and dressed in a skirt and pullover, I knew I looked quite smart. My hair was now covering all marks of my injury and was chic. Being short, it had a rough and tough quality that I quite liked.

I looked down at her, taking in the almost gothic black eye makeup and pale foundation she had scraped all over her face.

“Samantha, I’ve put up with this from you ever since I came back. Now, I’ve no memories of before the crash and, to be honest, maybe that is no bad thing. But, I’d really like to know why the hell you are such a foul, unpleasant little tart, and what I ever did to you that you cannot behave in a civilised manner towards me.”

“Oh, hark at her, doesn’t she sound so fucking eloquent. You make me sick!” she spat at me.

I nodded and a strange calmness crept over me. It was one of those feelings that I recognised as belonging to someone else. This wasn’t of Jenny Adams; this was of the other me. Even my voice took on a cold, unfamiliar quality.

“Samantha, you are going to grow into a very frustrated spinster if you throw teddy out of your pram every time someone else gets off with a man you might fancy. The fact that you have less charm than a slug, less intelligence than a tsetse fly and less sex appeal than a big arsed baboon, is irrelevant. Let’s face it girl, you are one of life’s losers, and unless you lighten up and rejoin the human race, you will die a virgin!”

She went a little pale and I saw her hand tighten round her drinking glass. I leaned very close to her and, for the first time, she had fear in her eyes. She drew back.

“Yeah, go on, throw it! With any luck, you’ll hit me on the head and then I’ll die. What will you do then, Miss Misery? You’ll go to prison and have to become a dyke, because in fourteen years, you’ll develop a taste for fanny!” I whispered very quietly.

“You cow!” she said.

I stared at her for a long time. Initially, she held my gaze and then dropped her eyes. I kept staring at her and people started to laugh at her. She sensed it and went red again, looking around uneasily. I remained standing there.

“Suppose you tell me, and everyone else, exactly why you hate my guts?” I said.

“Just fuck off, why don’t you?” she said, the shock of being confronted had wearing off, so she was gaining in courage.

There were audible gasps and sharp intakes of breath from the spellbound audience. I leaned even closer to her. My face was a couple of inches away from her. I made my voice become as cold as ice.

“No Samantha, I won’t. Do you know why not? I’ll tell you anyway. I was damn nearly killed in that crash and although I can’t remember anything or anybody from before the crash, everyone else in this entire school has been kind and nice to me, except you. Why is that, Samantha? Hmm, why? Is it, Samantha, that you are jealous of me? Could it be that you felt that if I died then you could have the boy I quite liked? Is it? And when I didn’t conveniently die, as you so wanted me to, not only did I come back, but I carried on where I left off with my boyfriend.

“Yes, Samantha, Tim is my boyfriend, B-O-Y-F-R-I-E-N-D. So, I’ll ask you to respect that and get off my case. You see, I am not the same nice little girl that you thought I was. I have been to hell and returned with ways to make you suffer that you could not even dream about. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

She looked up at me. Uncertainty and fear clearly displayed in her eyes and demeanour.

“IS THAT CLEAR!” I almost shouted and slapped the table with the palm of my hand. She physically left her chair for a short flight. She swallowed and nodded.

“Say, ‘yes Jenny, it’s clear, and I’m sorry!’” I told her.

She looked at me, with defiance smouldering in those dark eyes.

I leaned forward.

“Believe me, you really don’t want me as an enemy!” I growled. Something in my voice surprised and shocked me, but it terrified her.

“Yes Jenny, it’s clear, and I’m sorry,” she mumbled, somewhat reluctantly.

“Louder, please, just so everyone can hear,” I snarled.

“Yes Jenny, it’s clear, and I’m sorry!” she said, slowly, deliberately and with about as much hatred as anyone could squeeze into a sentence.

I leaned close once more and she flinched.

“I won’t hurt you, but keep out of my way. I’d rather be your friend, but if you can’t be my friend, you need eyes in the back of your head!” I whispered to her and she swallowed again.

I smiled sweetly, turned and walked away from her back to my table. Tim was still standing staring at me.

“Where were we?” I asked, smiling at him and sitting down in my chair.

“Shit, Jenny, where did that come from?”

“What?”

“That. The balls to do something like that.”

“It needed to be done.”

“I agree, what did you say to her?”

“Just some home truths, why?”

“She’s just left. She looked like she’s pissed herself!”

I turned round, and watched Samantha almost running from the hall, alone and in some distress. The girls who sometimes hung around with her had deserted her. One of them, Gail Brewer, came over.

“I just want you to know that I think she was out of order. I’m sorry if we upset you,” she said.

“You didn’t. She did, but I think she’ll be alright now.”

“What did you tell her?” Gail asked.

“The truth. Just the truth.”

I knew that wouldn’t be the end of the matter, but felt I’d at least stood up to her and clearly stated my determination not to accept her behaviour towards me. It surprised the hell out of me to hear she had gone home feeling unwell. She didn’t come back the next day either.

Every day that passed, I gained a little in confidence and learned more about myself. Everyone began by treating me with kid gloves. However, after a couple of weeks, things returned to normal and I was just another girl struggling along life’s path.

My visits to Bruce continued on a weekly basis. Monday mornings were set aside for my hour with him. I was having occasional flashes of memories and I was logging them all in my diary. They seemed rather meaningless and I couldn’t see whether they were my real memories or some more ‘other person’ memories. I actually took it in to show him. I decided that I needed to know, and he was there to help me, wasn’t he?

He read them with some interest.
 
 

...on a boat. Small sailing boat. On a lake. Sun's shining.         ...a dog. A golden Labrador. I'm throwing a tennis ball for it. It brings it back.         ...eating...Christmas dinner, crackers and silly hats... faces are blurred. Big clock... grandfather...chimed three.         ...I'm shooting a gun. A rifle. It has a wooden stock and hand grip. It has a magazine, because I took it off. It slides in underneath, and there is a pistol grip... Soldiers.         I'm on a computer, writing stuff.         I'm carrying a doll or a very young child. There is a car on its side, and there are blue flashing lights.

 
 
He looked up when he’d finished.

“Do any of these mean anything to you?”

“No, and I asked my Dad. He was quite excited as he took me sailing a couple of times at a lake near Theale. We were in a car crash once, but no one was hurt and no cars overturned.”

“How about the gun?”

I shook my head.

“Dad thinks it might have been at school. We have army cadets, and I did a little shooting a couple of years ago. But the gun is different.”

“How do you know?”

“I think the one I used at school is the same as the soldiers use today. The one in my head is older, I think it is the same as ones I’ve seen in the pictures of the army in the Falklands war.”

Bruce frowned, and he made me feel uneasy. I was aware, somehow, that these were not the sorts of things that sixteen year-old girls usually knew about.

He stood up and walked over to his overstuffed bookcase that ran along one wall. He selected, took down a book and leafed through it. He came over and passed me the open book. There was a news photograph of a Royal Marine standing by a pile of stones in the Falklands. He was wearing his green beret and was holding a rifle.

“Like that?”

I looked at the gun.

“I think so.”

“Okay. That’s an SLR, used by British and some Commonwealth forces from the 1960s up to the late 1980s. It takes a 7.62 round, and the magazine is forward of the trigger. Early models had wooden stocks and hand grips, but these were replaced by black plastic in later models.” He leafed through some more pages and showed me a picture of a soldier in the first Gulf war. He was holding a different gun.

“That’s the one we have at school,” I said.

“You remember that?”

I grinned. “No, I saw them last week.”

“This is based on the SA80, and it has gone through a lot of modification since then. The main differences are the smaller bullet and the magazine is housed in the stock, behind the trigger and pistol grip.”

He looked at both pictures again, and then replaced the book in the bookcase. He returned to his chair and picked up his pad once more. He wrote something on his pad.

“Bruce?”

“What?”

“These aren’t my memories, are they?”

He put his pad down and smiled at me.

“Jenny, they are in your head. That means that you have somehow retained them from some source. They are distorted, possibly by the trauma and in some cases they may even be imaginary. People just don’t borrow or receive memories from anyone else.”

“How about telepathy, how does that work?”

He laughed and shook his head.

“Jenny, this isn’t telepathy. As I think I told you before, the brain is a living organ, very complex and working off electric energy. Memories are stored in cells and if the connections to those memories are interfered with, then they can be distorted beyond recognition.

“You received a very nasty head injury, where bits of your skull actually penetrated the tissue of the brain. You nearly died and for a short while, your brain actually stopped working. That means the electrical energy actually switched itself off for a short time. Now, it stands to reason that your memory is bound to be impaired. To be brutally honest, we all expected you to be seriously damaged. It was a very pleasant surprise that you are as well as you are.”

“Do you think I’ll ever get my memory back?” I asked.

“Honestly? Probably, but not completely. I don’t think the brain can survive the kind of trauma you received without some lasting damage. The scan they took of your brain in the hospital showed some damage to the cells beneath the impact site and that is enough to interfere with your memory. But, the brain is a remarkable piece of equipment and it often will recreate paths and connections through different routes if necessary. This takes time and I am confident you will get some memory back eventually.

“However, and this is important Jenny, it is wonderful that you are alive and well. Your future is the crucial thing; so don’t worry too much about the past. If it comes back, brilliant, but if it doesn’t, then just accept it and get on with your life.”

“But the gun and …”

“Jenny, don’t worry about it. These things are pictorial images of things you’ve seen or even read about. Don’t get hung up on them, they are not important, your daily life and your future is what matters, don’t get bogged down in your past.”

It was a watershed in our sessions. I still noted my flashes of memory and any dreams, but I never shared them again. As December ground on, the end of term loomed and Christmas was evident in everything.

Not being involved in the orchestra was a bonus. I didn’t really appreciate how much time I would have had to spend practising, until now I didn’t have to, and I could see that I had loads of free time. There was a Christmas play and carol service. I wasn’t involved in either, thanks to my accident, so not being allowed to partake in sports; I was able to spend time reading or bumming around doing fun things.

One of these times found me at the music department. There was an orchestra practice underway in the large auditorium. In one of the smaller rooms, Tim and his group were practising. I got an enormous grin from him as I walked in the door and sat on a chair near the door. He was tuning up his Fender guitar and the others were fiddling with their instruments. There was a bass player, Rob; Mike, the keyboard player, and a drum set at the back. It was a Roland TD-8 electronic kit, having weird skin-like tops on electronic pickups, rubber cymbals and rubber pads. The drummer wasn’t here yet and the guys were getting fractious.

“Why is Benny always late?” Rob asked Tim.

“I suppose it’s because Mr Reynolds isn’t impressed with his grades. Poor Benny has an attention problem,” he said.

I knew Benny Collis. He was in my Maths set. He was a wiry little guy with enormous energy and no concentration span at all. He was bright, but not motivated. His grades were good, but he didn’t enjoy school. His father was a high-flying accountant with a big company of Chartered Accountants in London. He had ambitions for Benny and as hard as he pushed, Benny went in the opposite direction. I had been made aware, by Tim, that Benny was dabbling with cannabis and this wasn’t helping his other problems.

After ten minutes, it was obvious that Benny wasn’t coming.

“Who’s gonna play the drums? We’ve got a bloody gig next week and we’ll be sunk without drums,” said Mark.

“Can’t you synth in drum sounds with your keyboard?” Tim asked.

“Some, but not well enough for a live gig.”

“I’ll have a go,” I heard someone say, and then gasped as I realised it was me.

They all looked at me with a range of expressions, - doubt, humour, surprise and shock. The last one being mine!

I went over and sat on the stool. Tim grinned, shook his head and switched the magic control box on.

“Okay, you are fed into the mixer. This is your master volume control, leave it there, okay? This is your selector for drum kits. I think there are about sixty or so in this machine and you can program any amount of other ones to your taste. Are you sure you want to try?”

“What can it hurt? I know I can read music. I used to play the clarinet, B.C., so who knows?”

“BC?” Mark asked.

“Before Crash,” said Tim, smiling at me.

“Oh.”

“Okay?” Tim asked, as I aligned the two kick-pedals for the bass and high-hat.

I picked up the sticks and just hit the pads at random, getting the feel of the kit. It was a very strange sensation. I was sure that I had played drums before and yet I was equally convinced that Jenny never had!

“Can we try something old, like a rock and roll rhythm, to start, - straight four-four, and no fiddly bits?”

They all looked at me and Tim shrugged.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, how about something from Status Quo?”

“That old?” asked Mark and I smiled.

Tim strummed a simple rhythm and I followed on the bass and high hat, just getting a feel for the rhythm. Then I brought in a single and double strike on the snare and kicked a double on the bass every other beat. Status Quo only ever used three chords, so it was a dream to drum to.

I relaxed and made my mind blank. I found by not concentrating, the drumming came naturally. It was as if something inside me had become awake after years of being dormant and I closed my eyes. It was fun, and I even managed some basic fill-ins. My hands seemed to move automatically, and although sometimes I missed the pads completely at the start, as I took the smaller surface areas into account, I got better.

Flashes of memories flew past my consciousness. I knew with total certainty that I had drummed before and been quite good at it. That meant I hadn’t always been Jennifer Adams.

The shock of that one thought froze me completely and I dropped a stick and came to a halt.

The guys stopped too and all looked at me.

“Sorry, a bit rusty,” I said, bending down and picking up the stick. I sat up again and they were all still staring at me.

“What?” I asked.

Tim put his guitar on a rest and walked over to me.

“Why didn’t you tell me you could drum that well?”

“You mean a simple four-four and drop my sticks?”

“Jenny, you were brilliant, wasn’t she, boys?”

“Fucking right! She’s better than Benny,” said Rob.

“Got better legs, too!” said Mark, staring at my legs.

“See, that was brilliant. Let’s go through our repertoire and you just do the best you can, okay Jen?”

“Okay.”

They had six songs in their repertoire and all were well known. Tim was the main vocalist. He was actually pretty good. The other guys were fine as backing and I couldn’t drum and sing. Besides their selection wasn’t really suitable for a lone female voice in the background. It was a mixed selection, mainly rock and roll and, as far as the drumming was concerned, not that difficult.

I was still trying to learn all names of the current bands, and although I liked all the old stuff better than the new ones, I still didn’t know the names of the groups, the songs or any of the lyrics.

In the break between the second and third song, Tim’s mobile rang. He answered it and spent a few minutes talking.

“That was Benny, he’s been grounded by Mr Reynolds, so he’s taken off.” Tim explained after the call had ended.

Mr Reynolds was his tutor, and grounded meant not being allowed any extracurricular activities until the grades came up to what was expected.

“What do you mean, taken off?” I asked.

“It was bound to happen. He’s been pushed too far and for too long. He’s been planning this for months. He’s got a girl friend at college in Bournemouth, so he’s buggered off to stay with her,” Tim said.

“Looks like you’ve got the job, Jen,” said Mark.

“Hey, look guys, I didn’t mind a quick jam while we waited for Benny, but I’m no way good enough to play for real!” I said.

“Duh, you see Benny?” asked Rob.

“That’s not the point. Thanks for the offer, but I couldn’t.”

“Why not? You seem more than capable to me. Get real, Jenny, none of us is that brilliant, so come on, what have you got to lose?” Mark said.

“Unless you miss the orchestra and their little bits of pineapple and cheese at Christmas?” said Tim with a special smile.

I smiled back and gave in.

It was fun. My shortcomings were actually greater than my skill, but once I relaxed, I managed to maintain a reasonable rhythm. I didn’t drop my sticks again. It was so odd doing something that I’d never done before, but at the same time, somewhere in the deep recesses of my battered brain, I truly believed I had.

After the practice, Tim waited behind with me.

“You were bloody amazing, Jen!”

“No, I wasn’t. I was barely adequate, but I’m rather rusty.”

“I never knew you played,” he said.

“Neither did I. Do you remember the conversation we had about my memories, and how I believed I’ve acquired some that belong to someone else?”

“Uh, yeah, why?” he asked, guardedly.

“Oh, Tim, stop being so bloody wary, I need your help and support here. I know, don’t ask me how I do, but I know that I can play the drums. Now, this isn’t because I could before the bloody crash, but someone else did, so now I have his or her skills.”

Tim looked at me, partly worried and partly interested.

“Look, you know me, did I ever play the drums?”

“No. You had a go once and were crap!”

“There! You see, I’m right. I have a theory. Can you promise that you’ll never ever tell anyone?”

“Of course, but are you sure?”

“Look, I have to talk to someone. Dad will send me to the doctors. The shrink will lock me away and study my brain. You are the only person I can trust, and Charlie of course.”

“Go on, what’s your theory?”

“Okay, now, first, I have memories involving a road accident, a group of policemen learning how to do the job, shooting an old style army gun, a funeral of someone who is my sister and yet she’s way older than my Dad, sailing, a dog that we’ve never had and lots of other silly little things. Now, second, I am in hospital and I’m brain dead, right? Then after a day or so of me being in veggy land, in comes a heart attack victim, okay, with me?”

“Uh, I think so,” he said, doubtfully.

“Okay, now this man is a policeman, an Inspector, or something. He’s old, I mean he’s nearly fifty and his daughter is a nurse in the ward I end up in, okay?”

Tim nodded.

“Right, he dies at about the same moment that my brain comes back from being dead, with me?”

He nodded, a worried expression creeping in.

“So, I wake up, don’t remember anything. The doctor says that I said that I remembered going to bed, but later even that went, right?”

“Right.”

“I’d been on a train, but the policeman had gone to bed. Then, after I’d got well enough to come home, this nurse walks into the ward. As soon as I saw her, I knew her. Her name is Annie and she’s the policeman’s daughter. She’d been given leave due to his death and stuff.”

“So?”

“Duh! Tim, I think I’ve some of his memories.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Look, I’m going to try to find out who he was and everything about him. I need you to help me, okay?”

“How will we do that?”

“Start with the only link I know, his daughter, Annie.”

Tim was frowning, slowly it cleared and he smiled at me.

“Cool, this is like a detective story,” he said and I kissed his cheek.

“Thanks, Tim, you’re a star!
 
 
Chapter 10 - A Glimmer is Revealed
 
 
The following weekend was the last before the end of term. The school play had been on the Friday and Saturday and the concert was due to be on following Thursday, with the Carol Service on Friday with the end of term commencing after it finished.

I had an appointment with Bruce on Monday, so Saturday was precious to me. I asked if I could go to Tim’s place to practice the drums. Dad was mildly surprised that I was now drumming, but he thought it was because I was infatuated with a certain tall blond boy. He was partly right, but my main reason was so we could access the Internet and in particular the Thames Valley Police Web site.

He’d found out that Inspector Thomas William Stewart, born in 1955, had served for very nearly thirty years before succumbing to a fatal heart attack in the early hours of Monday the 9^th November.

He left a widow, Maria and two children, Matthew and Annie. He had lived in Shiplake-on-Thames and was very highly regarded by everyone with whom he came into contact.

There was even a photograph of the man and his family, taken a few years previously when he was awarded a long-service medal.

I stared at the man who I thought might have given me some of his memories.

He was a handsome man. Bigger than my Dad, so he was over six three. He looked quite a hard man and his eyes gave nothing away. He looked at home in his uniform and I didn’t think much would get past him. He looked shrewd and yet the smile lines seemed to soften the image.

His son was very like him and both had the same wicked smile. Annie was younger in the photograph, nearer my age I guessed. She looked like her mum, but was taller than she was in the photograph. His wife looked very Mediterranean and exceptionally pretty too. They all were smiling, portraying a typical happy family.

I stared at him, hoping something would trigger a memory or something in my mind, but nothing happened.

“Nothing?” Tim asked.

“Nah, bugger all,” I said.

“You even sound like an old copper. Your language occasionally drifts in a downward direction, were you aware of that?”

“I suppose,” I said, trying to get something from the photograph.

“How can we find out about his family?” I asked.

“What do you want to know?”

“If he had a sister called Kathleen; that would be a good start.”

“If we look on the website of the local papers, they are bound to report his death and probably his funeral.” Tim whizzed through the Internet sites, finally giving a triumphant shout.

“Yes!”

I looked on the website for the local Berkshire Gazette.

Tim started to read.

“The funeral for the late Inspector Tom Stewart was held yesterday at St Mary’s Church, Shiplake-on-Thames. The church was full to overflowing as relatives, friends and colleagues all came to pay their last respects to a well loved and highly regarded man.

“Maria, his widow, children - Matthew and Anne, and sister, Kathleen (pictured above), were surprised at the massive turn-out at the small parish church. Eight colleagues carried the coffin into the church, and over eighty officers in uniform crammed into the back. The ……”

I didn’t need to hear anymore. I was staring at the photograph of Kathleen. She was standing next to Maria and Annie. I knew this woman, as she was the one I had seen in my flash of the other funeral, that of ‘our’ mother.

“It’s him!” I said, very quietly.

“What is?”

“He’s in my head.”

“Are you sure, Jenny? I mean, this is way spooky.”

“She’s Kathleen, I’ve been at a funeral with her for our mother, is that spooky enough for you?”

“Shit, Jen, are you sure?”

I nodded, it all made sense, of sorts.

“Now what, Jenny?”

I shook my head.

“I don’t know, I really don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to speak to Annie and take it one step at a time.”

“What will you say, ‘Hello, I’ve your dead dad in my head.’ Or what?” he asked.

I smiled, as that sounded so silly, yet, that was near enough what was happening to me.

“At least I know I’m not imagining it, like the shrink thinks. I’m not going mad, and who knows, I could have fifty years of knowledge that if I could tap into….” I trailed off as the enormity of what was happening began to sink in.

“Jenny, this is heavy, shouldn’t you tell someone?”

“Tim, I tried to tell the shrink and Dad, but they don’t or won’t believe me. No, this we keep to ourselves and never tell anyone else, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Promise me?”

“I promise.”

“If you break this, I’ll become very nasty indeed!”

“Jenny, I promise, absolutely. Who the hell would believe me, anyway?”

I was thinking. How could I ever hope to find out how much of his memory was inside my head? How much of me was left, or was it him?

Was I Jenny Adams with a little Tom, or mostly Tom in Jenny’s body?

Would I ever find out, exactly?

Did it actually matter?

I looked down at my body and wondered if that was the answer. Was that why I felt such a stranger in my own body and in my own life?

Tim was right; this was very heavy.

Tim and I went to see The Incredibles at the cinema, and it was so pleasant not to have to think about anything at all. We had a Chinese meal afterwards and then his Dad came and picked us up.

I liked his parents. His father was an engineer. He designed power stations, turbines and stuff. His mother had been a teacher and now looked after Tim, his two sisters and one brother. Tim was the eldest, followed by the girls, Holly at fourteen and Katie, twelve. Holly was at our school and Katie was due to start next year. Roger, the little boy, was eight.

They lived about two miles away from us in a big house outside another village. His father worked all over the world, but often spent weeks working from home.

I kissed Tim goodnight and ran indoors.

Dad was in his study and Richard was watching TV. He came home at most weekends. His school broke up for the holidays on the Sunday after mine.

“Hello, Princess, did you have fun?” Dad asked, coming out of his study.

“Yes thanks, we went to see The Incredibles.”

“Cor, what was it like?” Richard asked.

“Pretty good. It was good fun.”

“You were snogging in the back row, weren’t you?”

“Richard, enough!” said Dad.

“It’s all right, Daddy, he can’t help it. No, we didn’t, we just watched the film.”

“How was the drumming?”

“Okay.”

“You’re drumming, how come?” asked Richard.

“I prefer it to clarinet, okay?”

“Duh, I’m not that thick, drumming is hard and you never did it before.”

“Well, I’m learning and it seems I’m a natural. So shove it, little pest!”

“Kids! Enough, Richard, leave your sister alone, she’s having enough problems with her memory as it is, all right?”

“Yes Dad, sorry Jen.”

“It’s okay. Me too.”

I went up to my room and shut the door. It was nice being able to get away from everything. My thoughts often threatened to overwhelm me, but I was beginning to feel I was on the brink of understanding what was going on.

I undressed and stood facing the full-length mirror on my wardrobe door.

My bruising had almost gone now and although I was stiff, the pain was rarely present, only when I moved unexpectedly or suddenly. My hair was thicker and although short, was at an acceptable length now.

I looked at my figure - the pert, round breasts and very graceful hips. My legs were slender and, to be honest, I was thrilled with what I saw. That’s not to say that I was used to it, but I had to accepted it as being mine now.

I sat on the bed and stared into the reflection of my eyes. In a way, they were familiar and yet in another way they were the eyes of a stranger. I smiled and the girl in the reflection smiled. I caressed my breasts, and watched as the nipples hardened under my touch. A flutter of excitement seemed to begin in my belly and I gently stroked the outside labia lips of my vagina.

Shivers of pleasure coursed through me and the flutters increased. I watched myself as I masturbated, rubbing myself slowly and gently with one hand, caressing my breasts and nipples with another.

The feelings were wonderful and I lay back on my bed, rubbing faster. I generated my own lubrication and my fingers slid around, increasing the pleasure until I felt a glow of unadulterated pleasure build until it exploded inside my being. I kept going and seemed to maintain a peak for some time. Eventually I stopped, gasping for breath and feeling as if I’d suddenly discovered the secrets of the universe.

I sat up, looking at myself in the mirror. I was sitting on the bed with my legs out, knees up, and I opened my now swollen labia with my fingers so I could see the pale pink tunnel of my vagina. Pearls of moisture clung to my fine hairs and it was gleaming with the lubricants. I inserted a finger and squirmed as I tried to feel myself. There wasn’t a lot of sensitivity inside, but at the opening and around the clitoris, there was a lot.

I suddenly wanted to know what it would be like to have a penis inside me and Tim came to mind. I grabbed a tissue and wiped myself dry. As I slipped on my nightie, I thought about who I was.

I was a girl. I liked being a girl. No, I adored being a girl and every day was like a new adventure. My body pleased me and I now felt at home in it. My home was lovely and my dad loved me. Even my brother was bearable for a thirteen year-old boy.

If I wasn’t me, who was I?

That was a daft question, because I was ‘me’. I wasn’t sure what ‘me’ comprised of and, to be honest, I don’t think it mattered very much. I was thinking, breathing and living a life. I was capable of independent thought and action, so did it really matter about who I used to be?

I was the ‘me’ of now and tomorrow, just as Bruce was trying to impress upon me. The ‘me’ of yesterday was gone and I had to accept that.

As I lay down to sleep, I smiled, as I was content. It was as if a barrier had been broken down that was preventing me from moving forwards.

The dream was so obviously a dream, but I willed myself to take a note of what was happening.

I was reading a magazine. I was sitting and as I glanced up, I saw things pass the window. I was in a train. Now at this point I knew that there was going to be a crash. This is what gave it away as being a dream.

I looked across at the woman sitting opposite me. I recognised her as being my mother. She smiled at me and then things all started going wrong.

The world seemed to just stop and yet we kept going. Lights went out, I was flung forward and felt pain and that gritty calcium taste came to my mouth as if I’d chipped teeth.

I saw my mother being flung violently to one side like a rag doll, and then there was enormous weight on my head and back.

The pain stopped and I was floating. My mother was with me. She was smiling again and we were headed towards some light. I thought they’d opened up the carriage and we were just able to float out.

Something held me back and I saw a chord was attached to an object. I looked and saw it was my body, lying in a heap of wreckage.

I watched as they released my body from the broken wreckage, and my mother was still with me. She had no such impediment and yet she stayed to keep me company.

We remained with my body as it was taken to hospital. It seemed an age, but after a long wait I became aware of another person. It was neither a man nor a woman, but something of both. He or she was in some distress as I received a deep feeling of regret and unfulfillment.

I instantly knew what the problem was, and offered him the only thing I had. Then I was free. My mother smiled and together, hand in hand, we floated towards the beautiful warm light. We were together at last, and forever. Daddy would join us later.

I woke up gasping, drenched in sweat and scrabbling for my pencil.

I put on the light, glanced at the clock and scribbled down what I could remember. It had been very vivid and as I wrote, but the memory faded slowly.

I wondered how much was imagination, spurred on by my own theory of what had happened. As I thought about it, it did make sense in a weird sort of way.

Why did the person, obviously the policeman, give me the impression he was both male and female?

That was a real puzzle and as I glanced at the clock, I realised that the answer could well never be answered. It was four in the morning and chilly. I went to the loo and afterwards threw my damp nightie into the wash basket. I slipped a clean one on, snuggling down into bed again.

I wasn’t sleepy, but felt excited as I had actually a memory of my mother. The dream was still there, although, as with all dreams, it was fading fast. I picked up my pencil and A3 sized sketchpad, attempting to draw what I remembered of my mother just before the crash.

I sketched for ages. The picture in my head took shape on the page. She was sitting opposite me and I attempted to capture her very essence. I was quite pleased with the result. She had on a pale blouse with a neck scarf tied in an intricate bow at her throat. She had a bolero style jacket on, her hair cut in a long bob style, and I managed to catch the expression as she smiled at me. I dozed off at about six o’clock. The alarm woke me at seven. I was up and in the shower quickly. The heating had come on, so it wasn’t so chilly any more. I was already dressed and downstairs before anyone else. Then I remembered it was Sunday.

I had some breakfast, but found the TV so moronic that I switched it off and went into Dad’s study. I had my own PC, - a laptop, and we were allowed to use his when he didn’t need it. Richard was into games, and his grandparents had bought him an X-Box for his birthday.

I logged onto the Internet and typed in ‘man/woman’ into Google. Various weird eastern sites came up, and loads of sites with man and woman as separate things. I typed in ‘girly-man’, and got back loads of musical stuff.

I then tried, ‘man-woman’ and was just as unsuccessful. ‘Girly-boy’ and got sites for gay sex. But there were some reference to TG, TS and TV. I tried ‘TG’ and got loads of educational and Scientific sites. But on page six I found the Transgender Forum Resource Center.

After trying a load of different words, I found several sites for the trans-gendered and transsexuals.

This was very interesting, as it seems that there existed a myriad of individuals who did not fit into the straight female/male role models.

There were those who like dressing as the opposite gender, those who want to be the opposite gender and many who are content looking like one, but having the sexual organs of the other. It was a revelation to me. I had no idea that such people existed in such numbers. I knew about homosexuals and some who liked wearing drag, but the sheer quantity of people who seem trapped in the wrong body astounded me.

I really felt I was onto something here and spent ages looking at different sites. There were so many, I didn’t know where to start. I read some stories on one and some letters and advice pages on another. I looked at photographs on yet another and started to believe that here was an answer to my question about the mysterious person in my dream.

What if the policeman, Tom Stewart, had been a secret trans-thingy and had never been able to be whom or what he always wanted to be?

That would explain the feelings of unfulfillment I sensed in the dream and it would also explain why part of me was so excited and pleased to be a girl.

It was food for thought and I knew that if he’d kept it a secret to his death, then his wife and children would never have known. I logged out of the computer and then saw a possibility. The computer kept files and logs of where someone had been searching. Unless he was particularly meticulous in erasing his pathways, it might be still there!

How could I get into his house and onto his computer?

I smiled. I was going potty. I couldn’t do that. There had to be another way.

I went and had some breakfast. It was still only half past eight, and I heard Dad get up and go to his bathroom. The Sunday papers arrived, so I spread them out and was reading them when Dad came down.

“Jenny, you’re up early. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t sleep. I had a dream. I dreamed of Mummy!” I said, showing him the sketch I had completed.

He took it and started to shake. He sat down and I could see tears in his eyes.

“When did you do this?” he asked, his voice shaking too.

“A couple of hours ago. I had a really vivid dream - more a flashback really. I dreamed I was on the train and she was sitting opposite me. I went through the crash and everything!” I said, omitting the part about the light and hospital.

He reached out with his right hand and stroked the picture with his fingers, as if he was caressing her face.

“It was just what she was wearing too!” he said, starting to cry.

I felt awful, having done this to him, but he reached out and drew me to him.

“I am so thrilled you did this. More than that, it means that you have some memory and I’m getting more of my little girl back!” he said, smiling through his tears.

We had a soppy session and I think it did both of us some good. I was able to ask him about her and he was able to talk without breaking down as he had done every time previously. We seemed to become closer as a result and the love he showed me was properly reciprocated for the first time. I did love this gentle giant, who had lost so much, yet still was strong enough to get up and face his grief every morning for the sake of his children.

“Can I have this?” he asked, referring to my sketch.

“Of course, it’s not very good though. I was in a rush before the picture faded.”

He looked at it again.

“Don’t do yourself down, it’s brilliant. You’ve captured her wonderfully. It’s how I want to remember her.”

It dawned on me then that he would have had to identify that rag doll of a body. No wonder he was so cut up!

“Oh Daddy, this has been so hard for you and I’ve just not been there for you,” I said.

He looked surprised and then his face softened into a smile.

“Princess, you’ve been my reason for living. You and Ricky, that is. With you in the hospital fighting for your life, I could put my own grief aside and it helped, I think. Now you are so much better, I am beginning to be able to think too much and that’s not a good idea.”

There wasn’t much I could say, so I hugged him.

Tim called at ten o’clock, wanting to know whether I wanted to go over for lunch. I was planning to cook a roast for Dad and Ricky. Richard had to be back at school by seven in the evening and so lunch was our last time together for a week.

“Why don’t you come to us? There’s plenty, Dad always buys too much,” I suggested.

He asked his parents and was dropped off at eleven.

It was lovely to see him again and I gave him a big wet sloppy kiss, as soon as he walked in through the front door.

“Wow, what’s up?” he asked, coming up for breath.

“I had some more memory come back last night; of Mummy and the crash.”

“Cool, is that good or bad?” he asked, cautiously.

“Oh, good. You see, now I know that I am still me!”

“I never doubted it for a moment,” he said, grinning.

“Hello Tim, how are you?” Dad said, coming into the hall. “Jenny, shut the door, it costs enough to heat this damn house as it is without you letting all the hot air out!”

I shut the door and took Tim into the kitchen. He sat and chatted to me as I prepared lunch. He even peeled the potatoes for me as I made the Yorkshire pudding mix.

“How come you remember how to cook? I didn’t think you were much of a cook before.”

“The same as the drumming, I suppose. I’m not questioning it, as it might go away. I think I was right, by the way.”

“About what?”

“My theory. I’m not sure how much of me is Jenny or how much is the policeman, but I really believe some of him is in here somewhere.”

“How come?”

I told him about the whole dream and his face took on a glazed expression.

“This is weird, Jenny. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Not really. I’m still me. Just with extra bits filling in those old bits that are missing. It’s not like I’m suddenly going to be a monster or something.”

“Well, I know you are still you, but don’t you think this theory is a little far fetched?”

I realised then that my credibility was being stretched in his eyes.

“You’re right. It’s just a silly theory and I’m obviously trying to see things that aren’t there. Let’s forget it, and get on with life!”

He looked relieved and I changed the subject onto the band and music. I popped everything into the oven, putting the vegetables into a pan. They needn’t be cooked yet, so we went into the sitting room and I put on some Status Quo on the record deck.

“Cool, ancient relics!” Tim said with a silly grin.

“Less of that young man, I’ll have you know these were state of the art when I bought them!” Dad said, as he came in. He walked over to the fireplace and took down the picture of some fat woman standing next to a horse.

He then put up a new picture in a frame.

He straightened it and stood back to admire it.

“Well what do you think, Tim?” he said.

We moved round to see it. It was my sketch and Dad had framed it behind glass.

“Wow, when was this done? It looks just like her!”

I went red.

“Jenny did it this morning. She had a dream, did she tell you?”

“Um, yes, she did.”

Dad smiled and looked at the sketch again.

“It captures her last moments so well and that smile is so exactly as I recall.”

“You did this?” Tim asked, with something akin to awe in his voice.

“Yup. I saw her in my dream. I told you. I wanted to remember what I saw, so I sketched it.”

“She’s almost as beautiful as you,” he said and I looked sharply at him. He was staring at her, so I softened.

“They are so alike, aren’t they, Tim?”

“Yeah. No doubt whose daughter she is,” Tim said with a smile.

We had a happy lunch. I seemed to step into the ‘mother’ role with no problem, even my Yorkshire puddings rose spectacularly. We all helped wash up afterwards, and then settled down to watch a film in the afternoon. I snuggled up with Tim and enjoyed feeling his arm over my shoulders. Richard managed to restrain himself from making kissing noises after an hour or so.

I went to bed that night more relaxed than ever and slept soundly with no dreams.
 
 
Chapter 11 - Chance Encounter
 
 
The final week of term shot past. My meeting with Bruce on Monday was interesting, only to the extent that I decided that he couldn’t or wouldn’t help me in the way that I wanted, and so I wasn’t interested in sharing with him any more.

I think he realised this, so we came to an agreement that he would see me at some time in the New Year, or at any time I wished to make an appointment.

“I have to be honest, Jenny. I feel we have probably gone as far as we can. Unless you get back any flashes of memory, then we’ll leave it like this. You know you can call me any time, if you need a chat or are distressed.”

I left his room, feeling relief. I was early, so on the off-chance, I took a trip to my old ward.

It had been over a month since I left and I was interested to see if Steve was still there.

He was.

I found Hannah at the nurses’ station.

“Hi Hannah, remember me?”

“Jenny, wow, look at you! You look great, girl!”

I smiled. I was in jeans, a heavy sweater and a canary yellow ski jacket. I had found an old woolly hat of Mum’s with a matching scarf that was about nine foot long. It was really cold, so I wasn’t taking any chances.

“Seriously, you are looking brilliant, how are you?” she asked.

“Great. A few memories have come back, but it’s a slow process. I’ve been signed off by the shrink, so I thought I’d drop in on Fragile-boy,” I said.

She laughed.

“You’ve been to see The Incredibles, haven’t you?”

I nodded.

“It’s good to see you. We like our successes to come back now and again.”

At that moment Annie walked into the ward. I received an overwhelming urge to run over and hug her. I had to curb it.

“Hey, look who it is. How are you?” she asked, with a genuine smile of warmth.

“Fine. How are you? I read about your Dad. I’m so sorry,” I said.

“Thanks. I’m okay. Mum is still a bit cut up, but we’ll manage. It was a real shock, as he was one of the indestructible ones. Yet, after all, he wasn’t!”

“He was in the ER at the same time as me, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, only you came out. He even talked about you with me the evening before. I told him about you and what a waste it all was. He was a nice guy, Jenny, you’d have liked him. He was one of life’s good guys!”

“It’s funny, I almost feel we know each other. Thanks for looking after me,” I said.

“You remembered?”

“No. They told me, and well, I got a sense of your father when I was away with the fairies.” I stopped, feeling I was on dangerous ground.

“Really? I’ve heard about near death experiences, did you have one of them?”

I nodded.

“I think so. Bright lights and all that. Yes, I think I did.”

“Look, I’m due a break, have you time for a chat? I’ll buy you a tea or something.”

I looked at my watch. Dad wasn’t picking me up for another twenty minutes.

“Okay. I need to be at the front door by eleven.”

She took me to the canteen and we sat at a table to drink our teas.

“What was it like?” she asked.

“What, being unconscious?”

“You know, that bit when you were near death?”

I sipped my tea and tried to decide how much to tell her. I’d seen with Tim how much belief could be stretched, so I didn’t want to frighten her off, nor make myself out to be doolally.

“I’ve dreamed the moments before the crash. My mum was sitting opposite me on the train. She had her back to the engine. The carriage stopped dead and buckled. I was flung one way and she another. I was crushed and I felt sharp pain. Then, the pain went. I was floating, with no pain and feeling wonderful. Mummy was there too and we held hands. I couldn’t leave, though. I was still attached to my body by a sort of invisible thread.

“I watched as the police and fire fighters cut their way into the carriage, in fact it was weird, because something metal was pressing my body against the ground, but I could feel nothing. I wasn’t hot or cold, and there was no sound at all. They moved my body to hospital with me still attached by the sort of chord thingy. It was about then that your dad came in, so he was there as well. He wasn’t attached to anything, and it wasn’t as though I could see him, like I’m seeing you, but I just sensed he was there, knowing that he was another person. I didn’t actually feel I was myself, it was like watching a movie, or being in a story or something. I’m sorry, I’m not making much sense.”

“Don’t worry, go on.”

“Well, there was this bright light. I know, it sounds so corny, but it’s true, there was a light. The light was so inviting. It was warm and promised everything nice. It’s hard to explain. This is the confusing bit,” I said, pausing for a drink. I had to be so careful how I phrased the next bit.

“Your Dad was there and somehow we sort of communicated. I had a flash of a woman called Kathleen, you, a boy, and Maria. His memories sort of mixed with mine and then we were separated. He was a nice man and I’d like to think he gave something of himself to me before we parted. The next think I remember was waking up and having no recollection of anything before the crash.”

“How do you remember this bit then?”

“In the dream, because I still can’t remember much of before the crash. I often have dreams, these days. Sometimes they mean something and sometimes they don’t. It’s hard. The shrink says I suffered major trauma and I may never get my full memory back.”

“It must be awful for you. Have you some things back?”

I nodded. “Some little things, but they don’t mean anything, yet. Can I ask you something about your Dad?”

“What?”

“Well, this is going to sound weird, so please don’t feel I’m potty or anything, but, did your Dad ever play the drums?”

“Why?”

“Well, before the accident I used to play the clarinet. Now I can’t. I’ve tried, but it’s like I never did, but I sat down at a set of drums and found that once I sorted out my hands and feet, I could play quite well. I had a theory that your Dad gave me stuff to fill the gaps that I’d lost forever.”

She was very quiet and she put her cup down.

“Dad belonged to a rock band back in the seventies. He was the drummer.”

“Shit!” I said and she smiled.

“Anything else?”

“Um, was he a good cook?”

“Dad loved cooking. He found it a great way to relax. He adored food and he loved creating new dishes, his favourite food was…”

“Thai. I think I knew that!”

Annie looked at me sharply.

“What else?” she asked.

“A dog, a golden lab?”

She nodded.

“We had two for a while, a yellow and black lab. We’ve just got the golden one left now.”

“Do you have a green sponge in the shape of a spider on the side of your bath?”

“I don’t but… How did you know about that? Mum gave one like that to Dad last Christmas as a joke. He always moans about having to get spiders out of the bath for her.”

“He also likes Douglas Reeman’s books, his favourite colour is blue, and he adored the film Shrek. He likes malt whisky occasionally, and his favourite tipple is a long cold gin and tonic with loads of ice and lemon,” I said and her eyes opened wide in surprise.

“You said likes, don’t you mean liked?”

“Annie, I don’t know how, or why, but I think some of your Dad is still here, in me!”

I fell silent then, unsure whether I’d gone too far.

A tear welled up in her eye and she brushed it away.

“I want you to come and meet my mother,” she said.

“Oh shit, I don’t know…”

“Jenny, you don’t need to tell her any of this. I’d like you to meet her and, well, it might help both of you, a bit. I don’t know whether I believe you, and I think it is because I don’t know if I understand. I actually would like to feel he is still here and still able to see us. My Dad meant everything to me, very much like your Mum did to you. I miss him dreadfully and, well, I get an uneasy feeling around you, it is as if, I know you and I’m not sure why. I think I’d like you to come to our home, his home, and just get to know where he lived and the people he lived with.”

“When?”

“Do you have a mobile number?”

I gave it to her.

“I’ll ring you. You’re still at school, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Okay, sometime in the holidays, around Christmas. This is going to be a rough time for us, without Dad. I suppose it will be the same for you. It would be nice if your Dad and my Mum meet. Both grieving, they could help each other.”

“Dad starts flying again soon, short haul only.”

“He’s a pilot?”

“He’s a BA Captain.”

“Cool, any cheap flights on the go?”

I smiled and she laughed.

“Only teasing. This is very weird, you know, Jenny?”

“Tell me about it! I’ve tried really hard to get used to things, and yet, not remembering anything is tough. Those memories I do have aren’t all mine, so somehow I’ve either imagined them or acquired them from someone else. Your Dad was the only other person there.” I paused, unsure if I could mention the unmentionable. She must have sensed my unease.

“What is it Jenny?”

“I’m not sure if I should,” I said, honestly.

“Go on, please?”

“Well, this really is tough, because I can’t ever know whether I am right or not. While I was floating and your Dad was there, there was something about your Dad that was different, somehow.”

“Like?”

“Shit, you’ll hate me, but, well, it was like he wasn’t just a man.”

“How do you mean?”

“It was like something about him was female too.”

She went very still.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, I’m probably way off…”

She held her hand up.

“Exactly what do you mean?”

“Look, I’m confused, I don’t….”

“No, I need to know what you mean.”

“I’m not sure, honestly. It was just he seemed to be both a man and a woman at the same time. Daft, but that’s what it seemed to me.”

Annie was quiet, looking at me quite intently.

“Jenny, you’re right. Dad had a secret. Only, even I don’t know exactly what it was. He was evasive when on the computer. I thought perhaps he was after porn and, at one point, I was worried it might even be kiddie porn. I know now that it wasn’t, because I went onto the computer after he died. I found the files and saw a couple of the websites he used to go and check out. Tell me exactly what you felt, please Jenny, this is important!”

I took a deep breath.

“I think he always wanted to be a girl and when I died, this was his opportunity. I think he and I are somehow joined as this new person.”

There, I’d said it.

She said nothing, but nodded slowly.

I looked at my watch.

“Shit! Dad’ll be here. I have to go Annie, sorry.”

She reached out and took my hand. Tears were in her eyes.

“The first time you saw me today, what did you want to do?” she asked.

“I, I wanted to run and hug you, why?”

“Weird, isn’t it. Goodbye Jenny. I’ll call you soon, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks for the tea.”

“It was worth it. If you’re right, it could be well worth it!”

“And if I’m wrong?” I asked, standing up. She stood up and let go of my hand.

“I doubt you are. I need to think and look at that computer again. Bye!” she said, turned and walked rapidly away.

Dad was waiting for me when I arrived at the main entrance.

“Sorry Dad, I got talking to one of the nurses.”

“That’s okay, sweetie, I’ve only just arrived. How did it go?”

“Fine, I’ve finished with him. He doesn’t want to see me again unless I have a problem,” I said.

“Wonderful, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

He dropped me off at school and I went straight to the music department. The band was due to start a rehearsal at twelve and I wanted to have a few minutes just to think by myself.

I was in luck, as the room was empty. I sat at the drums and just practised some basic fill-ins. My mind was elsewhere though.

Annie had confirmed nearly everything I had said and I still hadn’t asked some questions. She knew her dad had kept a secret from everyone and it was the most important aspect. It meant that part of me had possibly been him. It wasn’t like reincarnation, more like a second and fresh chance. I now believed that I wasn’t going to get any memory back, not mine, or anyone else’s. I watched, slightly detached, as my hands and feet played the drums while I was mentally unconnected to the operation. This was where I would be at an advantage. Not with memories, but with hidden skills that would come out whenever the need arose.

Like with Samantha. There is no way that I could have dealt with her as coolly and as controlled as I had. I smiled. Inside of me was a grizzled old guy who always wanted to be a girl. Together we would rock!

I was literally a new person, a combination between a girl, physically strong but with a severe head injury, and a man, psychologically strong but with a body weakened by heart disease. With a strong will to survive, a depth of hidden talents and an excitement in being gloriously female, what could possibly stop me?

It was almost a relief to discover that it wasn’t so much amnesia I was suffering from, but birth pains. I was a new individual and so it stood to reason that I had to start from scratch. It made perfect sense in a completely screwy situation. I felt an excitement build up inside of me and I felt gloriously fulfilled.

I let rip on the drums with unconscious exhilaration and surprised the heck out of the guys who walked in at that minute.

“Bloody hell, we wondered who that was. That was amazing, Jen!” said Mark. Tim just grinned at me and shook his head.

The session was better than the previous one. I was completely relaxed and much more adventurous than before. Whatever they played, I managed to adapt and keep solid rhythm. It was such fun and I felt so happy, I kept wanting to laugh and sing. The electronic drums were fantastic, as they could literally make whatever sound I programmed them to.

Going home on the bus, that afternoon, I couldn’t help but smile.

“What are you so happy about?” Charlie asked.

“I’ve cracked it Charlie, I don’t have to worry any more.”

“You’ve got your memory back?”

“No, better than that, I’m finally aware who I am.”

She frowned.

“I didn’t think there was any doubt, was there?”

“Not to anyone else, just me. It doesn’t matter who I was before. That Jenny is gone. The Jenny I am now isn’t the same, the crash put paid to her. I’m me, Charlie, I’m really happy to be me and life is great!”

“They haven’t given you some of those funny mushrooms in the science block, have they?”

I laughed and shook my head. I was really and truly free of the past. Free from whomsoever I’d been. It didn’t matter who that person had been. I was now me and I had my whole life ahead of me.

The house was empty when I got in. There was a note from Dad on the dresser in the hall.
 
 

Gone to Heathrow. Back at six. Make supper, mince in fridge. Love Dad

 
 
I smiled. He was finally going to talk to his boss and arrange to get back to work. It had been over a month and a half and I was worried he’d become rusty.

I went into the kitchen and made myself a drink. It was odd being at home - all alone, but I was in such high spirits, even being alone couldn’t dampen them.

I went upstairs and into my Dad’s room, opening Mum’s wardrobe. All her clothes were still there and I knew Dad was having a problem coming to terms with throwing them away.

I stripped off my clothes down to my bra and panties. Then I had a private fashion show, with just me watching in the mirror. I tried on several dresses, some skirts, blouses and a seriously sexy trouser suit.

Finally, I found a stunning little black dress, with the tiniest shoulder straps and shape-hugging cut. It was silk and utterly gorgeous.

I took some sheer dark stockings and fiddled about with the suspender belt for a while as I worked out how to wear it. It reasoned that the panties should go outside the straps, otherwise loo times would be fraught!

I sat at Mum’s dressing table and looked at her makeup. I made myself up, as near as I could to the way she looked in the photographs I had seen. I even got an album out and opened the page at a particularly good one where she was wearing the same dress.

My hair was much shorter than hers in the photo, so I fluffed it up and backcombed it to give it some body.

The result surprised even me, as I posed in front of the mirror. I found some nail varnish, carefully applying it to my shaped nails.

I looked suddenly much older than sixteen and it dawned on me how some girls got into trouble.

I slipped on an expensive looking pair of Mum’s shoes and returned downstairs. I laid the dining room table, setting two places, with a candle in the middle.

Putting an apron round my middle, I then worked hard preparing my father a lovely meal. I even remembered to open a nice bottle of red wine, to allow it to breathe.

I made homemade tortillas and then braised the mince, adding the spices and chilli. I sliced up some onion and made a salsa with tomatoes, peppers and more chilli. I didn’t have Mexican rice, so I made a savoury rice with basmalti, by soaking out the starch, frying onion and garlic in olive oil, then with a beef stock cube, some cashew nuts and pine nuts, added the wet rice and boiling the water away a couple of times.

The tortillas were baking gently when I heard Dad arrive home.

Anxious that he wouldn’t be angry with me for wearing Mum’s clothes, I took off my apron and waited by the door with a gin and tonic, with ice and lemon. I took a sip and was sorely tempted to make another for myself.

He came in, looking tired, so I kissed his cheek, handing him his drink.

He took one look at me and almost collapsed.

I took him by the hand and sat him down in his favourite chair. I knelt at his feet and looked up at him.

“I’m sorry Daddy, I thought you’d be pleased.”

His face broke into a sad smile.

“I am, Jenny. More than you know. It’s just you look so like her. It hurts so much!”

“I know. I tried to, I think. I’m not Mummy, but I want to look after you after you’ve looked after me.”

“That dress suits you. It was her favourite little black dress.”

“I love it, it feels fantastic!” I said.

“Oh, Jen, I miss her so much!”

“Me too Daddy, me too,” I said, giving him a hug.

I left him to check on supper. Just as well, for the Tortillas were about to burn.

I dished up and carried it all through to the dining room. I returned to the sitting room to find him crying in the chair. I hugged him again.

“Come on, Daddy, dinner awaits.”

He followed me in and gasped when he saw what I’d done.

“Jenny, you never did all this?” he asked.

I nodded, with a big smile.

“Sweetie, it’s wonderful!”

“Dad, never say that before you taste it. Sit down and I’ll dish up.”

I served him, showing him how to roll the tortillas. They were a little crisp, but with the moist mince and salsa, they were fine.

“I’m sorry, you didn’t get any avocados, so I couldn’t make you guacamole.”

“Jenny, when ever did you learn to do all this?”

“I don’t know. I just did it.”

I poured him some wine and I took some in my glass. He toasted me.

“To my little Princess, thanks for coming back to me!” he said and we both cried a little.

He ate everything, as we chatted about his meeting.

“I’m starting flying next week. The Christmas rush is on, so they need all the pilots they can get. I’ve pulled the early Heathrow to Edinburgh flights, so I can get home early. You can look after Ricky for me, can’t you?”

“Of course. I’m pleased you’re going back. You need some normality in your life.”

“I’ll be pleased when you can drive. That’ll take a load off my mind, and give me more flexibility,” he said.

“Um, Dad?”

“What?”

“I actually could drive now.”

“You’re not seventeen until April.”

“No Dad, I mean a moped. Some of the girls at school have little scooters and I’m sure I’d be fine.”

“They’re bloody dangerous things. I’m not sure I approve. Don’t forget, you sustained a serious fracture to your skull, you don’t want to take any undue risks.”

“It wouldn’t be for that long and I can’t just stay wrapped in cotton wool forever. Besides, horse riding is more dangerous and I’m not doing that. I’d still get the bus to school and back. But for pootling into the village to shop and stuff, it would make your life easier, wouldn’t it?”

He frowned, obviously imagining me in a ditch minus several limbs.

“Dad, in April I’ll be in a car. This way I can pick up some road sense before the driving lessons.”

He nodded.

“On one condition,” he said.

“What?”

“You will do the right Compulsory Basic Training. You will take the theory test and practical test as soon as you can. None of this keeping ‘L’ plates up until you pass your car test. If you do it, then you do the approved course and make sure you know how to ride properly!”

I couldn’t believe it. I so nearly hadn’t mentioned it, as I was certain he’d refuse to even consider me getting a bike. My head injury was the most likely reason he’d refuse to, so I was utterly surprised and pleased.

“Oh, Daddy! Thanks,” I said, giving him an enormous hug.

He smiled.

“I never could resist your mother when she wore that dress, either.”
 
 
Chapter 12 - Stepping Out
 
 
December is definitely the wrong month to buy a motorcycle. Even if it is a sexy little, jazzy red and black Italian pseudo-scooter. I persuaded Daddy to buy me a helmet, boots and leathers to match.

Daddy took me in after school on the following afternoon to buy it. All schoolwork was finished for the term and we were all busy preparing for the end of term events. I really loved drumming and just being in close proximity to Tim for several hours a day. He was still not over possessive or even proprietary with me. Instead, he was relaxed and so trusting. I had imagined that he might be rather jealous, but he didn’t seem to mind to whom I chatted and, if he did, he hid it brilliantly.

I could have spent more on the leathers than on the bike, if I’d wanted to. Even so, the sales office arranged CBT and all the training courses and I signed up for the works. I wasn’t allowed to ride it until I completed the CBT in any case.

The courses were booked up until the New Year, so I had to curb my patience. In a way, I was quite pleased, as it gave me a little longer to mend my head. I was still reluctant to ride, for some reason, it was as if I had never ridden and I was a little fearful. Yet, a motorcycle seemed more familiar. This was another little item I’d like to speak to Annie about, the next time I saw her.

It was a lot of money, but Dad was adamant that my independence would be worth it. Who was I to complain when he paid the bills?

There was a car park adjacent to the showroom and the salesman took me out and allowed me to practice riding around to get the hang of it. It was easy, with automatic gears, a twist-grip throttle, and simple brakes. It was a simple step up from a bicycle and once again, I felt an inner confidence in riding the machine. I had an inkling that 49cc was nothing to the mysterious talent that lurked somewhere in the depths of my psyche.

I was loath to leave it behind, but at least I could take the leathers home. The leathers looked as if they were made for a rider of a much larger machine, but Daddy wanted me to be as safe as I could be, so only the best for his precious little girl.

They were black and red, with white piping down the legs and sleeves. Cut for the female figure, with padding on the shoulders, elbows knees, and thighs, they looked dead sexy. The helmet was black, full face, with darkened visor and red flames with yellow edges down each side, just to make it more visible.

When wearing the leathers, the helmet and leather boots I felt like a TT racer, until I got on my little scooter, that is. Once again, familiarity knocked on my brain. I didn’t know how to let it in, or out! The scooter had a sweet little back box in which I could keep a change of clothes and schoolbooks.

I was desperate to show it off to everyone, but Dad was really adamant about my training. I could have taken it home and used it on private roads, but he was too strong for me.

“I know you. You’ll be tempted to use in on the roads, just to see Charlotte or to the shops. Until the CBT is under your belt, it stays here. Besides, it’s your Christmas present and I’m not paying for the bike until you take delivery!”

“But in April I’ll be old enough to drive a car!” I said.

“Jenny, in April, you’ll be still in school, I’ll be flying, and although you’ll take lessons, this will give you the independence until you pass the test, which probably won’t be for at least a year from now. Up to then, a full licence holder will have to be with you wherever you go. Your little scooter will do until then. I have to be honest, I will be happier to see you in a car, but acknowledge that it isn’t practical while I’m on my own.”

“You’ll have to remarry, then!” I teased.

He smiled. “Jenny, I’m forty nine, and with two children both at private school, I’m hardly a good catch.”

“Dad, you are a handsome and charming man, who is so sexy and fun to be with. Your children are so wonderful, or your daughter is at least, any woman with half a brain would flock to your door.”

“That’s the problem, I’d rather my women have whole brains,” he said chuckling.

“You now what I mean.”

We arrived back home and I put my leathers and stuff away. I was quite excited and could hardly wait to get on the road. I went back down stairs and Dad was sifting through his Emails.

“Ron and Heather want to know if you want to go and stay with them for Christmas,” he said.

“Not really, Gran will just be all miserable and cry all the time.”

“I thought of asking them to come south.”

“Do you have to, Dad?”

“No, as your aunt Mary is also planning to have them, as Uncle Keith and the boys are over from New Zealand for Christmas. I think that’s why they want you to stay.”

“I don’t remember any of these people. Who are the boys?”

“Mark and Luke. They are your cousins. Keith is Mum’s younger brother and he emigrated back in the seventies. He married Kay, a New Zealander, but they got divorced in 2001. The boys are a little younger than you and Richard. Mark is fourteen and Luke is twelve. It’s his turn to have them for Christmas and as they couldn’t get back for the funeral, they are coming over to see your grandparents.”

“Do I get on with them?”

Dad smiled.

“Not really. But you haven’t seen them for about six years. It’s anyone’s guess.”

“Is Ricky going?”

“I haven’t asked him yet.”

“I don’t want to go, Dad. For two reasons; one, I don’t think I could take Gran for that long, and two, I want to be here with you.”

Dad grinned.

“I can think of another reason,” he said.

“Oh?”

“It’s called Tim, and it seems to mean a lot to you at the moment.”

“Oh!” I went red.

“That has become more serious since the crash,” he said.

“Has it?”

“Oh yes. I mean, before, you two were sort of an item, but you both also went out with the girls and other boys. Now it’s either him or your old father.”

“Well, you’re both hunky,” I said.

“Jenny, I’m not going to nag, but you are only sixteen.”

“Dad, I like him. He makes me feel good. I need to feel good, particularly now. We laugh at the same things, we like the same music, and he is the most wonderful kisser!”

Dad opened his mouth, saw my expression and closed it again, as he knew now when I was teasing — sort of.

“Fine, then I’ll say no more, but now you mother isn’t here, I feel I ought to be telling you all about contraception and things.”

“Dad, we’ve been here before. I’m not having sex and I am aware of the realities of life. I think somehow, you will know when I become sexually active.”

He stared at me and shook his head.

“I never knew how much I’d miss your mother. Thanks, Jenny, but I think we can trust each other not to need to have graphic discussions about sex.”

“We can if you want, Dad. I do have some questions of position ninety four in Karma Sutra.”

He laughed and I went to start supper.

Tim called me on my mobile as I was cooking.

“Hi, Jen, what’s up?”

“I’m making supper, why, what are you doing?”

“Thinking of you. Are you free this evening?”

“Why?”

“I want to see you.”

“Why?”

“Just do. We could listen to some decent music.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Can I come to your place? My parents are going out to a school do for my brother. It’s his end of term play, or something.”

“Yeah, do you need picking up?”

“I’ll cycle over, it’s not that far.”

“Do you want to come for supper? There should be enough.”

“Are you doing the cooking, or your Dad?”

“Me, why?”

“I’ve had your Dad’s cooking, thanks.”

I laughed.

“I’ll come now, if that’s okay?” he said.

“See you soon.”

I went and told Daddy that we were having a guest.

“See, far too serious!” he said, ducking when I threw the oven gloves at him.

It was lovely having the two men in my life for a meal. Tim and Dad got on very well, and Tim seemed interested in aeroplanes and flying. It was Dad’s passion, and ever since he’d been very young it was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do. He’d joined the RAF straight from school, and trained up as a pilot on large transports, Hercules, VC10s and Tristars.

He took a golden opportunity and joined BA, moving up to the 747 fleet and making Captain about five years ago. Tim was so interested and they both became so animated with the subject that I felt somewhat neglected.

I cleared away and washed up. I stopped in mid wash and just thought for a moment. It was strange, as I was quite content with domestic chores, but somehow felt there was more to life for me than this. I’d thought a lot about Tim and me as a couple. Despite adoring his company, I knew that I shouldn’t be tying myself to any one boy for some time yet. I thought about sex quite a lot, and yet, the being wanted and loved was more important to me than any squishy sex act. I suppose the act came as reinforcement of the emotional feelings and not the other way around.

I put the cutlery and crockery away and hung my apron up. I had occasional waves of feeling like my mother. It was daft, as I still couldn’t remember, yet little actions like hanging up the apron, made me feel like her.

I was confused. Just as I thought I’d worked out what I was, something changed it. Now I felt as if some part of my mother was residing somewhere deep inside me.

Was I a kind of ghostly bus service?

I put the kettle on and made some coffees. I took them in and found Dad and Tim still in mid technical discussion on the new fly-by-wire technology used in the Airbus fleet.

Dad looked up as I plonked a coffee mug in front of him.

“Jenny, love, did I hear you do the washing up? You shouldn’t have bothered, Tim and I could have done it.”

“It’s done now, Dad. Your turn tomorrow, okay?”

I sat with them and Tim lost interest in planes and asked me about Flora and Dora.

“So, been tempted to ride again, yet?” he asked.

“Not really. I think I’m a bit frightened of falling off.”

“What about the bike, won’t you fall off that?”

“I hope not, anyway that’s different.”

“Why?” asked my Dad.

“Because it is lower, slower and for some reason I feel more confident. I’m not sure I remember how to ride a horse.”

Dad looked at me with one eyebrow raised and Tim coughed. He was embarrassed and he thought my theory was a little nuts.

Tim cycled home and I was a little sad to see him go. I felt good when he was around, even if we weren’t actually together. It was daft, but I just felt secure he was close.

Dad helped me tidy up and he kissed me goodnight.

“You have grown up so much. A couple of times I had to blink, as you looked so like your mother.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Don’t be, sweetie. At least I know that she lives on in you and I’ve still got some of her with me.”

“I won’t be round forever, so you’d better find yourself a good woman.”

He chuckled and went to bed.
 
 
The concert was a great success. Benny had returned, briefly, and then promptly disappeared again, this time with his parents. He was obviously not cut out for A levels in this school. They were looking at getting him on a vocational course in a subject in which he was interested. I was glad I didn’t have to deal with him, he was a little loony, I think. Hark at who’s talking!

The band all dressed in black tee shirts and black jeans. So I tried the same uniform, but got so hot I rebelled. Standing strumming a guitar or playing a keyboard is far less energetic than playing drums. I ended up in a strappy black top and a black miniskirt. I couldn’t wear tights or stockings, as I overheated. I found I needed proper shoes to work the bass and high hat pedals, so heels were out. I ended up in trainers, black, of course.

Charlie did my makeup. She decided that I ought to go for a sexy, vamp look, and I sat back and allowed her to do her worst. She then gelled my hair and put some sparkly stuff into it. She made me wear dark nail varnish, just to complete the look.

I was just about ready to go on when she rushed out and handed me something.

“You must wear these, they are so sexy!” she said.

I walked out onto the stage. The curtain was closed, and I looked at what she’d given me. They were fingerless long fishnet black gloves, and they did look amazing. I slid them on, settling in behind my drums.

Tim checked his guitar and looked at each of us in turn. It was our first real concert and I was very nervous. So were the others and we all grinned inanely at each other.

“Okay, good luck everyone, let’s do it!” Tim said, as he nodded to the stage hand.

The lights were extinguished, the curtain drawn, and I started with a slow roll on the snare drum. It built up and at the crescendo, a flare was set off behind us and we launched into the first song.

The hour flew past. I lost myself in a weird surreal experience. I closed my eyes and was able to visualise other concerts in a different life. I know I drummed well and the whole band seemed to rise to the occasion as we really kept it together. Old songs, new songs, it didn’t seem to matter. We went through everything we rehearsed, and were cheered on for two encores.

When we finally ended, the applause was deafening. We grinned triumphantly at each other as we hurried to get our kit off the stage for the next group. Ironically, it was the school orchestra, and I got some rather funny looks from my erstwhile colleagues. It seems they considered me a traitor.

We were on a high. The adrenaline was still pumping through our veins, as we were shooed out into the courtyard. We buzzed with excitement and drank litres of cold drinks. I was so hot, it was lovely being outside in the colder air.

Tim came over to me and put his arm around my bare shoulders.

“You are so beautiful and sexy tonight, did you know that?”

“Do you like my trainers?” I said, sticking my leg in the air.

He grabbed my leg, kissing my knee.

“I love everything about you. But I have to say, they are the least sexy thing about your outfit.”

I laughed, delving into my backpack. I took out a pair of black high heel boots, exchanging them for my trainers.

“Better?”

He said nothing, tilted his head and kissed me gently on the lips. I returned it, and we stayed like that for a few minutes.

“Barton, put her down. She can breathe by herself, you know?” said a passing master.

Tim smiled and we broke off.

“You were fantastic tonight, Jenny.”

“Just tonight?”

“You’re always fantastic, but especially tonight, on those drums. You made us better.”

“Nah, we did it together, didn’t we Mark?” I said.

“Yeah, we did it together. Thank fuck Benny buggered off.”

We calmed down and sneaked back in to listen to the orchestra playing their jazz medley. They were very good, but I thought the percussionist was mediocre. I could have done better. Tim looked at me and grinned.

“Any regrets?”

“None,” I said.

It was the end of term and everyone was on a high. School was out for four weeks, Christmas was coming, so there were loads of parties being arranged.

I said my goodbyes to those I wouldn’t see until next term, and as I was collecting my stuff from the band room, I was aware someone was watching me. I turned and saw Samantha lurking by the door.

I glared at her and she glanced down.

I stood, folded my arms and waited. She had studiously avoided me since our confrontation and I was expecting some reaction or retaliation.

“Well, Samantha, do you want me, or what?” I asked, eventually.

“Yeah. I suppose so. I want to apologise.”

I must have shown surprise, because she almost smiled.

“I’m not really that horrible, you know?” she said.

“I never said you were. I just wondered what the hell I’d done for you to be so foul to me.”

She was unable to meet my eyes.

“Nothing really. I was just fed up with you always being better than me, and when you took Tim from me, that was it.”

“I took Tim from you?” I said, my voice betraying my surprise.

“Yes, well, no, but it could have been. I was getting on well with him at that party and then you came along. He only had eyes for you and he just pissed off leaving me standing there like a lemon. Then, the next time I see him, you’re wrapped around him, and he’s forgotten I existed.”

I looked at this girl with fresh eyes. She was very pretty, but with an air of gloom as portrayed by her gothic makeup, clothes and hairstyle. I had some idea that Tim was the root cause of our problem, and it was nice that she felt able to talk about it at last.

“I’m sorry. If I had any memory of before the crash, it wouldn’t help, but I honestly had no idea you felt this way. I knew you fancied him, I mean, who wouldn’t? He’s gorgeous, but if I’ve hurt you, it wasn’t deliberate, I assure you.”

“I know. I think that’s what made it worse. You’re so bloody nice all the time. I really thought that when you nearly died, I could win him back. Then you came back even nicer. I knew I was being nasty, but couldn’t seem to stop myself. I’m so sorry.”

I was standing a few feet from her. This must be very hard for her, and I realised I wasn’t making it any easier with my closed up body language.

I unfolded my arms and approached her.

“Sam, I accept your apology. I’m happy to start again. As I said to you before, I’d rather be a friend than an enemy. I don’t expect us to become lovers, but we can be friends. On one condition,” I said.

She frowned.

“What condition?”

“Tim is not negotiable. I don’t want him used as a pawn by anyone, even me. Okay?”

She smiled and made proper eye contact for the first time.

“Deal!” she said, holding out her hand.

I looked at it and then we shook.

“You scared me shitless, in the cafeteria the other day,” she admitted.

“Why?”

“You had the scariest eyes and your voice made me go really cold. It was as if you’d been taken over by a powerful force. I knew then that I couldn’t beat you.”

“Beat me?”

“Yeah, I think up ‘til then, I still thought I had a chance. But you really scared me. Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Yeah, if you want.”

“What happened to you, in hospital, I mean, when you were in a coma?”

“Why?”

“It’s weird, you seem different, somehow. I mean, this may sound silly, but I used to watch you. Jealousy does that, I suppose, I watched you a lot. I thought I knew everything about you, and now, you’ve changed.”

“Changed? In what way?” I was interested now, for if my father and those close to me couldn’t see any change, how was it someone like Samantha could?

“It’s so difficult to explain, especially now I’m standing here with you. Well, it’s as if you’ve suddenly grown up. Before, I suppose you used to act no differently to the rest of us, at least, you used to act your age, but now, well, it’s different. It’s like, well, it’s like you’re suddenly the next generation up.”

She seemed embarrassed and doubted what she had believed.

I stared at her.

“Tell me what you mean. In what way do I seem older?” I asked, calmly.

“There, you don’t react like you used to, over anything. It’s as if you’re my parents’ age. You speak like them and behave like them. I watched you drumming. You were brilliant, but you weren’t like the others, all laughing and giggling. You were having fun and smiling, but it was as if you’d done it all before, and were completely confident in what you were doing.”

I was half smiling, as I found this reinforced my own concepts of what had happened. I was amused that she could see it though. She mistook my expression for something else and became quite upset.

“Oh God! I’m sorry, Jenny, I’m way out of line. What with your mum being killed and everything, the last thing you need is some neurotic fool like me seeing things that aren’t there.”

“Sam, I’m not upset. You have to realise that I remember absolutely nothing about before the crash. I don’t even remember me. When I looked at myself in the mirror, it was like seeing me for the first time, so it’s no wonder I appear different.”

“What, nothing?”

“Just about. I have a few memories, but they are snatches and nothing real. I dreamed of my Mum just before the crash, but most of it is a blank.”

“What about Tim?”

“What about him?”

“You remembered him.”

I shook my head. “No. I was told about him, and when he came up to me at the funeral, it was as if my body remembered, but my brain didn’t. It was fun getting to know him again.”

Samantha smiled for the first time.

“Just my luck,” she said.

She relaxed a little, so I reached out and took her hand again.

“Sam, lets start again. I’m not the kind of person who steals men. I hope you can learn to forget, and move on.”

“I think I have. I’d rather be a friend, you scared me, so I’d not want to get on your bad side.”

We had a hug and parted. We weren’t exactly friends yet, but at least we weren’t enemies any more.
 
 
Chapter 13 - Contact
 
 
“Jenny, phone!” Dad yelled.

I switched off the Genesis CD and picked up my extension. The music had been so loud that I hadn’t heard the phone ring. It was the Wednesday in the first week of holidays. Christmas was a week away.

“Hi?” I said, half expecting Tim, even though we’d spoken only a couple of hours ago.

“Jenny, it’s Annie Stewart.”

“Annie, hi.”

“How are you?”

“Brilliant, things are settling down really well. I played drums in a concert at school last week.”

“Cool. How’s the memory?”

“Still not a lot. Little snatches, but nothing concrete.”

“Look, I’ve spoken to my mother. Would you and your Dad like to come over to our house for lunch this Sunday, the 19th?”

“What about my brother? He’s home from his school now.”

“I forgot about him, of course, bring him too.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Positive. I told Mum that you were the girl from the crash that I nursed. I didn’t mention what we’d discussed.”

“It sounds a bit potty now.”

“You think so?”

“It sounds potty, but I’m convinced of it. I just don’t talk about it with anyone else anymore. I used to, just to keep myself sane, but I know Dad was upset and my boyfriend gets all worried about me. It’s best just between us, I think.”

“I agree. I’ve spent a lot of time on Dad’s computer, so now know what troubled him. He actually wrote a story, but it was never finished.”

“What kind of story?”

“I’ll Email it to you. Please delete it when you’ve read it. I don’t want any of this getting out. Mum is completely ignorant of the whole thing, and I don’t ever want her to find out her husband was a transsexual.”

“He was?” I asked, excited, as this could explain so much.

“I should say so. The story was semi-autobiographical in parts, and was a real cry from the heart. It shows how strong he was to carry it with him for as long as he did and never let anyone see what an enormous burden he carried.”

“Okay. Are you living with your mother?”

“Yes, I’m staying at home now. I sort of moved back after Dad died as I’m not happy leaving Mum alone. I was sharing a house with two other nurses, and they’re cool about it. It won’t be forever, so if I could get you over, then I could show you what I’ve found. Also, you never know what memories may be triggered when you see the house.”

“You do believe me?”

“I honestly don’t know, Jenny. As you said, it sounds potty, but then how come you suddenly play the drums?”

“Exactly, and there are loads of other things I feel are lurking beneath the surface.”

I told her about the motorcycle and my dealings with Samantha.

“Dad’s bike is still in the garage, it’s a Honda Goldwing. He and Mum used to go touring on it a few years ago. I called it his ‘Menopause Moped’.”

I chuckled.

“I’ll ask Dad, hang on,” I said, and went down and found him in his study.

“Dad, we’ve been asked out to lunch this Sunday.”

“Who by?”

“Do you remember Annie, the nurse?”

He frowned. “Which one was that? There were lots of nurses.”

“She was the one who looked after me that first night.”

“I remember, tall dark girl, looked Spanish or something.”

“Her grandfather was Italian, yes, that’s her. She’s asked us all for lunch on Sunday, what do I say?”

“Do you want to go?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“Then that saves us cooking. You do know Richard’s here?”

“I know, I’ve told her that.”

“I’ve no problem with that. Is it just her, or what?”

“Her and her mother. Her Dad died the day after I got taken in - a heart attack.”

Dad frowned and looked at me suspiciously.

“Are you match-making?”

I laughed and shook my head.

“No, Daddy, I’ve never met her Mum, so I don’t even know what she looks like.”

He smiled.

“Alright then. What time?”

“I’ll find out.” I went back to the phone.

“We’d love to,” I said.

“Great. Twelve o’clock?”

“Fine, see you then.”

“Bye.”

I hung up and wondered what implications this visit would have on my already confused life.
 
 
Dad took us into Reading to do some Christmas shopping. It was tough, as we could see so many married couples and mums with their children. Dad became very melancholy and as a result, we came home early. It was only four in the afternoon, but was already dark and gloomy outside.

An air of depression hung over the house. I’d decorated a tree, and tried to decorate the house the best I could, but it seemed empty somehow. The tinsel, cards and lights seemed a sham. The hollowness and desolation of our grief was too great.

Dad sat in his chair in the sitting room, staring at the sketch I’d drawn.

Richard slumped onto the sofa and for the first time I really missed my mother. Christmas was a time of joy and family togetherness and we were missing an essential ingredient. No amount of tinsel and phoney snow could replace whom we’d lost.

“I don’t think I want Christmas lunch here, I’m sorry,” Dad said.

“Neither do I!” said Richard.

I stared at my sketch, hoping for some sign that she was watching or something.

“Would you mind, Jen?” Dad asked.

I shook my head. I didn’t trust myself to speak, as I was getting choked up again.

Dad stood and came and gave me a cuddle.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I’m not being very strong at the moment.”

I shook my head, hugging him back. I buried my face in his shoulder, and breathed in his scent. He smelled of father - a strong and homely smell, of Sandalwood and sweat, a secure smell.

Richard joined us, so we wept together. The season of joy didn’t seem to permeate our home this Christmas time.

I cooked supper, with Richard, for a change. He was taking Mum’s death harder than I was. I still half-expected my memories to return and suddenly to be swamped with over-bearing grief. Richard actually noticed that I was doing most of the chores and helped me without being asked.

I couldn’t remember how we got on before the crash, but I couldn’t wish for a nicer brother. Dad implied that our relationship had changed beyond all measure, this observation being backed up by my diary. I read countless entries where I had had enough of Richard, and referred to him as a ‘pain’, a ‘little sod’, a ‘menace’ and many more even less flattering.

Tim was my one real blessing. We’d spend a lot of time together, just listening to music, talking or even jamming a little. He had a small drum kit at his house, so we’d just tinker away, passing the time. His parents were bemused at how casually domesticated we were together. I’m not sure what they expected, more intensity, I suppose.

Tim asked me if we wanted to have Christmas lunch with his family.

“I know what a hard time this must be for you. We’ve family coming from Hertfordshire, but if you three want to join us, Mum is more than happy.”

“I’m not sure, Tim. It’s a lovely thought, but I don’t know what Dad wants to do. I think the sights of happy couples may be too much for him. We may just go out to a restaurant, or something. Can I get back to you?”

“Of course.”

The Email from Annie arrived and I read it. The story made me cry. It was very sad and yet had a happy ending. I was about a teenage boy who wanted to be a girl. He was good at sport and did everything that was expected of him. One day he found an old charm bracelet, and he took it home. His father told him to hand it in to the police, as it could be valuable.

Being an obedient boy, he did just that, filling out his name as the finder. No one claimed the bauble and he found himself intrigued. After the statutory time, he went and claimed it. Taking it home, he cleaned it up and was surprised at how nice it really was. Idly he put it on, but the bracelet locked onto his wrist and wouldn’t open.

He tried everything, but it wouldn’t budge. In the end, he gave up and went to bed. He woke up in the morning and had the shock of his life. He was now a girl.

Dashing out of his room, he bumped into his mother who behaved as if nothing was wrong. She treated her daughter as if she had always been a daughter, and life went from dreary to wonderful. It ended with the girl marrying a wonderful man and expecting their first child.

Tom Stewart obviously wanted to finish it, but had never got round to it. Tom appeared to me as being a man who had desperately wanted to be a girl from his earliest recollection, but was forced to be a square peg in a round hole.

Sunday arrived and we all had a nice lie-in. Dad hadn’t been to church since the funeral. He just felt that God wasn’t really there for him. I didn’t know and Richard wasn’t really into religion in any case. I dressed in a black woollen dress. It was one of Mum’s. I tended to wear more of her clothes than my own. I preferred the cut and style of the slightly more mature woman to the teen fashions that everyone expected me to wear.

Dad managed to blackmail Richard into wearing a jacket and tie. I thought Dad was looking really hunky in his navy double-breasted blazer, cavalry twill trousers and silk shirt. He’d made an effort and I smiled. I wondered whether Annie’s mother would appreciate the trouble he’d gone to.

The drive into Shiplake-on-Thames was odd. Even now, the roads around my home were still unfamiliar to me, but as soon as we turned down the lane towards Shiplake, I suddenly felt as if I knew where I was. The shape of the trees, the gaps in the hedges and landmarks arrived as I expected them to.

I said nothing, but was able to point to a house when we arrived in the village,

It was quite a modern house, almost American in style, with the garage as part of the house and a bedroom above it. It reminded me of many American TV shows and still it was strangely familiar. Built in red brick, with white UPVC cladding and white windows and doors. There were pansies in winter hanging baskets, the open plan garden looked neat and cared for. A Renault Clio was parked in front of the double garage. Dad pulled up next to it.

I felt a weird anticipation and slightly nervous. It was more like coming home than my real home.

Annie opened the front door and came out to greet us, along with an enthusiastic Labrador. The dog came up to me and wagged its entire body, not just its tail.

“Hallo Goldie,” I said and Annie looked sharply at me.

“Hi, you made it then?” she said, giving me a hug and a kiss.

Dad kissed her cheek.

“I remember you. You were so kind to me that first evening. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been so wonderful!” he said and she chuckled and put a hand on his arm.

“Just doing my job. You must be Richard?” she said turning to my brother.

We followed her inside. As soon as I walked in the house, it hit me. I stopped in my tracks. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer and I almost couldn’t breathe. The dog was still fussing at my knees.

“Jenny, are you alright, sweetie?” Dad asked.

I looked about me and concentrated as I nodded. I knew this house. I heard footsteps approach from where I knew the kitchen was. I turned and looked at Annie’s Mother.

Now I’d seen photographs in the papers, but as she stood in front of me, wiping her hands on a tea towel, a jumble of memories came bursting in on me. I knew this woman better than anyone else in the world.

“Mum, this is Jenny Adams, her father — Robert, and brother Richard,” Annie said, introducing us. “This is my mother, Maria.”

My first reaction was that she was taller than I thought I remembered. Then I realised that her husband had been taller than I, so all things were relative. Her eyes had the same lost and sad expression that Dad’s eyes reflected. She looked tired. My heart gave a lurch as I realised how much her husband had meant to her.

Maria came and gave me a hug. Even her smell was familiar. I yearned to hold her for longer, but knew I couldn’t. She shook Richard’s hand, aware, probably, that teenage boys don’t like being hugged by strange middle-aged women. She was dressed in a dark skirt and sweater, which emphasised her figure and suited her darker colouring. She still didn’t look anything like her forty-seven years, with a fresh complexion, and wonderful mane of full dark hair.

She took Dad’s right hand and looked up at him. He very slowly bent forward and kissed her cheek. He was so slow and shy that I smiled.

“I’m so pleased you all could come, Mr Adams.”

“Please, call me Rob,” Dad said with his best smile.

We went into the living room and I stopped again. The fireplace, with candlesticks, carriage clock and strange mug sat there, exactly as I recalled from the hospital. Now I was certain.

Annie was watching me like a hawk. I met her eyes and nodded ever so slightly. She smiled and then offered everyone a drink. Richard saw a collection of police hats in a corner and went and looked at them.

Once we all had a drink, Annie excused herself to go to the kitchen, so I volunteered to help her.

That left Dad alone with Maria, which was a bonus. Annie checked the oven and then turned and stared at me.

“Well?”

“I’ve been here before, it’s so familiar.”

“Okay, what’s in there?” she asked, pointing to a door.

“The utility room, and then a door to the garage. The motorcycle is near the door, and a Vauxhall Omega is next to it. There’s a deep freeze along the back wall, with a tool chest and shelves next to it. An old pair of water-skis are….”

“Okay, I’m convinced. How?”

I shook my head.

“It just keeps flooding back. That clock, the one above the window, we bought that in Austria the year you were born. I remember…”

“Jenny, stop, please. I’m happy that you remember, but think, what does this mean?”

“I’m not Jenny?”

“No, you are Jenny, but somehow you’ve some of my Dad in there with you.”

“I know that, but how much?”

She shook her head.

“Come with me.”

I followed her out of the kitchen and to the small study. There was a computer on the desk. It was reasonably up to date, and had a plasma screen.

She opened up the files, showed me the stories, the sites and everything her father had looked at. Everything was to do with transgender issues and they reinforced what the story had told me about him.

“I liked the story,” I said.

“Did you?”

“I think something magical like that has happened to us.”

Annie looked at me.

“Us?”

“It’s like I’m two people, wiped clean like a video cassette and made into a new one.”

“This is so weird. To think that you could be my Dad!”

I smiled.

“I’m not though. I might have been once, or part of me was. I’m me, Annie. I’m a sixteen year-old girl, with a family and a future. I can’t be your Dad, he died. I am standing here with snatches of his past.”

“Help me with the veg,” she said and we both put on aprons.

We dished up, and Richard wandered through.

“Dad and your Mum are getting on well,” he said to Annie.

“Thank God, I hoped they might. Mum has been so miserable since Dad died. She’s refused to socialise at all. She only agreed to this as I made her feel sorry for you.”

“Sorry for us?”

“Jenny, you’ve had it really rough. It made Mum feel that she was not as badly off and that’s why she agreed to have this lunch.”

We carried everything through to the dining room, and this was as familiar as the rest of the house. It was so hard. Although Annie knew what I was feeling, I couldn’t tell anyone else.

Maria placed Dad at the head in Tom’s old place and she sat at the other end. Try as I might, I couldn’t identify myself as being Tom. I was Jenny now and for all I knew always had been. I had some weird memories as Tom, but they weren’t of the ‘me’ of here and now. They were as alien to me as anything I had learned of Jenny from before the crash.

The meal was roast turkey roll, with loads of roast potatoes, veg and gravy. This was followed by cream-filled profiteroles and chocolate sauce. Annie poured a pleasant red wine and I had one glass. Richard drank Coke.

It was a very happy time. I wasn’t really able to contribute much, as I was constantly receiving a barrage of confusing and conflicting memories. It was hard to keep alert to what was going on around me and to keep track of memories that flitted through my consciousness at the same time.

After lunch, we all went for a walk with the dog.

Maria was amused at how well the dog related to me.

“Goldie seems to have taken a real shine to you, Jenny. She was very much Tom’s dog and she’s been so miserable since he died. It’s really wonderful to see her as frisky as this.”

The dog hardly left my side except to pick up the occasional stick, retrieving it for me to throw for her. I noted that Dad and Maria were deep in conversation, with both of them smiling and even laughing quite a lot.

Goldie let Richard throw the stick, as she discovered he could throw it further than I could. We walked past some enormous houses on the river, returning over the railway line through some fields back to the lane behind the house.

Annie walked beside me.

“Are you okay?” she asked, with a hand on my shoulder.

“Yup, so far. I don’t feel so alone any more. I just wish I could tell Maria.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea. She’s coming to terms with Dad’s death and it would screw her brain something rotten if you announced you were Tom.”

“But I’m not! I might have been once, but look at me! Do I look like your father?”

Annie smiled.

“Shh, gently. No you don’t. This is so weird!” she said, giving me a hug.

“It must be odd for you too, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Odd yes, but interesting.”

“What was your Dad like?”

“He was everything a father should have been. He was strong, funny, fun, helpful, loving, caring and committed. He was a loving father and a wonderful man. I miss him so much, Jenny!”

It was my turn to hug her back.

“I’m sorry. This can’t be easy for you.”

“I’m not the one with strange things floating around in my head. Are you happy, Jenny?”

I thought for a moment, and then grinned.

“Yes, I am. More than I thought possible. I adore being a girl, and I can’t complain about my looks or my body. I have a super Dad, a bearable brother and a wonderful boyfriend. Materially, it seems my family is relatively secure, so I have a lot going for me.”

I frowned.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. It’s just a feeling I have. It’s as if something bad is missing. It’s as if a feeling of not belonging has gone. It’s like that everything has now been completed and I have been set free. Does that make sense?”

“Remember Dad’s story?”

“Yes.”

“Imagine you are now the girl who used to be a boy, but you remember it all. How would you feel?”

I though about it for a few seconds.

“Like everything was complete and I was set free?” I tentatively asked.

“Bingo! I think that maybe a greater power has allowed something wonderful to happen and that we shouldn’t worry too much about the how or why. Why don’t we just accept things, and say a very quiet, thanks?”

She was right, and so we both looked into each other’s eyes, and said, “Thanks!”

We stayed for tea, reluctantly leaving at nearly six o’clock. For me, it was a wonderful experience. I’d found out a lot about who I might have been and found it didn’t matter at all. It was as if I was able to draw a thick line under everything that had happened, and was now able to look forward with clear vision for the first time.

Dad was quiet on the way home, but he was humming. This was unusual, as he only ever hummed when he was in a super mood.

“You sound pleased, Dad,” I said.

“He’s in love!” said Richard with a leer.

“Shut up, Richard!” Dad said, but his voice belied his stern words.

“I thought they were nice,” I said.

“Hmm,” said Dad.

“Did you like Maria, Dad?” I asked.

“Course he did, he’s in love!” said my brother.

Dad ignored him completely.

“I thought she was very nice. Not at all what I expected.”

“It’s so sad losing her husband like that,” I said.

“We were able to help each other quite a bit.”

“Do you think we’ll se them again?” I asked.

“Well, how do you feel about spending Christmas day with them? We’ve nothing planned, but it makes sense, seeing how we’ve both lost our spouses and everything.”

“You’ve already discussed this?” I asked, surprised.

“A bit. As I said, nothing definite is planned, but I think it would help her, poor girl.”

“Dad, she’s forty seven, she’s hardly a girl!” said Richard.

Dad just smiled, and started humming again.

“I’ll tell Tim that we won’t be taking them up on their offer?” I asked.

“Their offer?”

“Daddy, I told you, Tim asked us all to join them for Christmas. He did say they’ve got some family coming down from Hertfordshire, but we are welcome to join them.”

“You’d like to spend Christmas with Tim, wouldn’t you, sweetie?”

“I see him every other day, so you guys can choose. Put it this way, I’m not sure if I want to see a large extended family with all the mothers organising things,” I admitted.

“Richard?”

“I’d rather go to Annie and Maria’s,” he said.

Dad smiled, and started humming again.
 
 
Chapter 14 - Sorted?
 
 
I brought my scooter to a halt on the gravel outside Tim’s house. I’d passed my CBT, so was finally allowed on the road. Dad was flying and Richard was back at school, so the only person I could tell was Tim.

I was taking my helmet off when he came out of the house.

“You did it!” he said and I was off the bike and in his arms.

When we came up for air, I offered to take him for a ride.

“No thanks. Not on that.”

“When I get my Goldwing, you’ll beg me then,” I said.

“Yeah, like that’ll happen.”

It was cold, so we went indoors. I said hello to his mum and we went up to his room. We spent the next ten minutes snogging. I was so close to wanting him to make love to me properly, but something held me back.

We chatted about Christmas. From dreading the event, actually ours had been actually pretty good. We’d gone to the Stewarts, taking the starters - a smoked salmon, and the mince pies, fruit and brandy butter. They’d done the main course, so together we had the whole caboodle.

Matt and Sally had been there. Sally was looking quite pregnant now and it was like coming home for me. They were all very friendly, and it turned out that Dad and Maria had taken to E-mailing each other every day.

It had started with her asking him about a central heating problem. He’d replied with a possible solution, which just happened to work, and that was it. We could all see that something was happening between them so Annie and I did what we could to fan the flames.

Although Matt was a teacher, Richard took to him really well. I spent ages chatting to Sally and Annie, feeling so pleased we’d all got together. In the afternoon, we all went to the two graves, sharing a time of real sadness. I’d not seen Tom’s grave, so it was so strange looking down at something that I didn’t believe was actually finished. I looked at Maria, as the tears rolled down her cheek. Dad was next to her, holding her hand and crying through sympathy.

We moved on to Mum’s grave, to repeat the performance. I didn’t like it, as life should be for the living and we should all look forward. It made me think about death again. There was the light and the void. I wasn’t particularly religious, but knew with total certainty that the void was to be avoided.

Annie looked at me and through her tears, she smiled and winked. I cried too, for the hurt that had been caused. It made me think about life and death. About where we come from and where we go to after life finishes. It was all rather too much, so I was more than happy when we returned to Shiplake.

We’d exchanged gifts before visiting them, but were surprised when they gave us each a gift. The nature of the gifts displayed the level of communications that had gone on between Dad and Maria. They gave Richard a game for his X-Box, a Genesis compilation CD for me, and a bottle of malt whisky for Dad.

Dad produced a huge box of chocolates and half a dozen bottles of wine for them. We stayed and had tea; followed by a light supper as we all watched a film on their television. I sat, looking round the room, receiving a warm family feel about the whole scenario. I belonged here, not necessarily in the house, but with those around me.

Returning home was a slight anticlimax. Dad was very thoughtful, seeming to be more relaxed than I had seen him before. Richard went up to his room, eager to try out his new game on his X-Box. I put the kettle on and watched Dad as he put his new bottle in his drinks cupboard. He stopped by the sketch I had drawn, looking up at the image of his late wife.

Entering the room behind him, I overheard him talking to her.

“Oh, Ellie, my love. I so wish you could have been with us. Jenny is so like you, but I do so miss you. I’d like you to meet Maria, I think you’d like her, and it’s so important to me that you would!”

Tears came to my eyes so I left him as quietly as I had come. He never realised I had been there.

Tim brought me back to the present. Christmas was now in the past, with so much, it seems.

“I bought you this, but never got a change to give it to you for Christmas. Too many people milling about. Thanks for my new guitar strap and spare strings.” He handed me a small wrapped gift.

“That’s okay. I know how often you break them, and your old strap was getting so tatty.”

I started opening the box. I’d guessed it was jewellery, from the size of box if nothing else. I was amazed when I opened it.

It was a ring, with matching bracelet, necklace and earrings. It looked like they silver, studded with diamonds. I was speechless, for a change.

“Tim, this is too expensive, I can’t….”

“Shh, they’re only zirconian stones; that’s man-made diamonds. I promise, when we get engaged, I’ll buy you the real thing!”

“I don’t care, these must have cost you a fortune.”

“Jenny, don’t you get it? I’d buy the world for you if it meant I could have you forever!”

I started to cry then, just when I wanted to be cool, calm and collected, my bloody hormones made me cry!

He took me in his arms and I thanked him the only way I could, by kissing him. He then helped me put them on. I felt daft wearing them with my leathers.

“My God, you are so sexy, Jen!”

“I bet you say that to all the girls, Tim Barton!”

“There’s only one girl for me. Shit, Jenny, if I feel like this now, what the hell am I going to do when we get old and in our twenties?”

I smiled.

“Twenty is not that old,” I said.

His face looked rather grave.

“Seriously, Jenny, I love you so much. I know we aren’t supposed to be old enough to form lasting and meaningful relationships, but I don’t think I want to lose you.”

“Who says you will?”

“Life. I mean, we’re going to leave school, move on to university or work and drift apart. They say if you form a relationship when you are too young, it’s good for experience but that’s all. You have to wait for the right person to come along. I want that person to be you, Jen!”

“Oh Tim, stop planning the rest of your life. I’m with you now, be happy about that. Tomorrow, you or I might get run over. Live for the day, stop getting wound up over what might or might not be in the future. If we’re still together in five or ten year’s time, great, if not, then let’s deal with that if, or when it happens. As for me, I’m with who I want to be right now, and that’s what matters to me!”

Tim’s face melted into a smile, and he pulled me towards him again.

“You are too fucking sensible for your own good, Miss Adams!”

“And you are far too hunky to be allowed to look at other girls, Mr Barton!”

“With you around, why should I ever want to?”

“Shut up and kiss me again!”

---

 
End of Book One