Chapter 1
Caitlin
I ran into the hospital ward, soles squeaking on the vinyl floor. ‘Where is he?’
The nurse at the desk looked up with tired eyes. ‘Who are you looking for?’
‘Jack Garvey.’
‘Mrs Garvey?’
I nodded. ‘Caitlin.’
‘I’ll take you to him.’ Her sympathetic gaze presumed my rough appearance was down to hating hospitals – true – and probably the shock of the call I’d received out of the blue about Jack’s accident. Also true, but not the full story.
‘Thank you.’ My voice shook. I knew my face was shiny and pale, eyes red-rimmed from crying while I drove through the night, finally arriving at the hospital as daylight broke through the murky sky.
‘He’ll be ready to go as soon as the doctor’s done his round.’
‘Is he going to be OK?’ A mix of love and anxiety inflated my chest where my heart was thumping at double its usual rate.
‘Like we said on the phone, he has some nasty cuts and broken ribs, and his ankle is badly sprained, but he’s lucky it wasn’t much worse.’ The nurse gave a little shake of her head, short ponytail bouncing. ‘He was out cold for twenty-four hours and seemed confused when he came round, but he’s been under close observation, and the brain scan showed no signs of damage.’
‘And he can’t recall what happened?’ I held my breath.
‘Not at the moment, but that’s common after a head injury, even a minor one. He might never remember the accident itself.’
I swallowed a rush of saliva, picturing Jack being tossed like a rag doll through the air, the car that hit him speeding off into the night.
‘Good job he remembered your number,’ the nurse continued when I failed to respond. ‘No ID, no mobile phone. The police were ready to launch an appeal.’
My heart lurched. ‘I’m here now.’ I managed a weak smile as I hooked a strand of hair behind my ear. Had she noticed I was wearing pyjamas under my coat? It probably wasn’t that unusual under the circumstances.
I followed her down the ward, averting my eyes from the patients who weren’t curtained off, stuffing my shaking hands into my pockets. ‘Did they catch the driver?’
‘Not that I know of, but it’s early days.’ The nurse threw me a resigned look over her shoulder. ‘Maybe whoever it was will have an attack of conscience and come forward. It happens, sometimes.’
I tried not to imagine Jack lying, twisted and bleeding, by the roadside. Thank God a passing motorist had stopped and called for help. My chest tightened. Jack had asked for me as soon as he came round. I had been the first person on his mind.
What would he look like?
‘The doctor will be along shortly to sign him out.’ The nurse stopped by the furthest bed, closest to the window. A man was standing, looking out at a line of trees shaking in the breeze, hands resting on the narrow sill. He was hunched beneath a thin T-shirt, shoulder blades rising, every knobble of his spine visible. Needs feeding up, I imagined my mother saying. He’s too skinny. ‘He won’t stay in bed, I’m afraid. He’s fine but needs to take it easy.’ The nurse lowered her voice as she touched my arm. ‘Don’t worry about the bruising – it’ll soon fade.’
My breathing grew shallow. Through Jack’s dark hair was a patch of bone-white scalp around a wound that had been cleaned. The sight of it brought fresh tears to my eyes.
‘I’ll leave you to it, but call if you need me,’ the nurse said, her attention diverted by a pitiful cry from a neighbouring bed.
‘Thank you.’ For a split second I wanted to turn and run. But this was Jack.
As if sensing me hovering, he straightened and turned, his movements slow and stiff as though every part of him hurt.
‘Caitlin.’ His deep voice was thick with emotion, reminding me of the last time we’d spoken. ‘Thank God you’re here.’
‘Oh, Jack.’ A hand flew to my mouth. One side of his face was purple and puffy, strips of tape holding together a couple of cuts on his forehead. I tried to focus on his eyes, deep-set and dark, brimming with love and anguish. ‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know.’ He took an awkward step towards me, his angular face contorting with pain. ‘I’ve tried to think but … nothing. I woke up in here and thought the nurse was you.’ His gaze slid over my pallid face, taking in my same-old blue eyes, childish freckles, the frizz of dark hair pulled into an untidy ponytail, the purple duffel coat I’d thrown on. His brow furrowed as though seeing something he couldn’t quite pin down. ‘I spoke to a police officer,’ he said, haltingly. ‘He explained about the hit and run, but it’s a total blank. I asked them to call you.’
Instinct taking over, I stepped around the end of the bed, reaching for his hands. They were warm and dry and so recognizable. He had craftsman’s hands, sleeves always rolled up, as though ready for action. I squeezed his fingers, heart racing so fast and hard I was worried I might pass out. ‘You knew my number.’ My weak and wavery voice sounded alien to my own ears.
‘Of course I did.’ His face was so close it made sense to tilt my head and graze his lips with mine. His breath smelt stale with something medicinal, but underneath he was still Jack, the scent of him dizzyingly familiar. He briefly closed his eyes, lashes brushing the bruised skin beneath. When they opened, they held a question. ‘Why wouldn’t I remember?’ The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. ‘You’re my significant other.’
The words landed like a punch. A laugh erupted from my throat and turned into a sob. It was the term we’d settled on when people used to ask about our relationship. Not wife or husband – yet – but too old at thirty for girlfriend and boyfriend. When Jack proposed, four years ago, he’d made a point of asking whether I would officially become his significant other.
‘That’s right.’ A smile spread over my face. I reached up and gently touched his cheek, his face swimming in and out of focus through a wave of tears. ‘I’m so glad you’re OK.’
‘I’m a mess.’ He sounded wretched with frustration. ‘I have to wear this boot thing for a while and will need to use crutches.’
‘It’s not your fault.’ Was it? How would I know? ‘Come on.’
As I helped him over to the bed, where he dropped down still holding my hand, his other cupping the back of his head, doubt and apprehension flooded in. I studied him for a moment, feeling on the edge of a precipice. It wasn’t too late. I could leave and not look back, explain there had been a mistake. But was that what I wanted? Jack loved me. I could see it in his eyes, in the way his hand clung to mine like a lifeline. Emotion flowed between us like an electrical current, as strong as it had ever been. It was obvious the accident had affected his memory, but how far back did it go? He clearly had no recollection of the call he’d made, two weeks ago, asking if we could meet.
‘I didn’t have my wallet or phone on me.’ There was a bewildered edge to his voice. ‘I don’t know what happened to them.’ He looked at his finger, where the gold band that matched mine used to be. ‘I’ve lost my wedding ring too,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how that happened.’
‘It’s fine – you left it at home.’
I sat beside him, gazing at the clunky black brace-boot encasing one foot, the other bare and vulnerable. He really had forgotten. Jack didn’t know we weren’t together anymore, that we hadn’t been a couple for over a year – that he’d placed his wedding ring on the windowsill before walking out and we hadn’t spoken to each other until his phone call a fortnight ago.
‘Try not to worry.’ I pressed my face into his shoulder, felt the warmth of his skin against my cheek and breathed him in as the moment to come clean slipped past. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’
Chapter 2
Caitlin
‘I really am sorry about this, for panicking you. It must have been horrible getting that call in the middle of the night.’ Jack was finally in the car, the passenger seat pushed back to accommodate his stretched-out leg with its protective brace, a brown leather boot on the other foot that I’d never seen before, smarter than the bashed-up kind he used to wear.
‘It’s fine – don’t think about that.’ I took the crutches the hospital had issued and laid them in the back, alongside a carrier bag containing the few items of clothing Jack had been wearing at the time of his accident. He fumbled with his seat belt while I tried to calm my breathing and still the shake in my hands.
As we’d left, signed out by a doctor with a harassed expression who gave Jack a letter for his doctor, a prescription for strong painkillers, and instructions for follow-up visits, my heart had drummed with worry that a nurse would beckon us back. We’ve just had a call, asking if someone called Jack was brought in over the weekend. She says she’s his partner … and then, when we reached the cool brightness of the car park, my ten-year-old Ford Fiesta badly parked in my haste, I half-expected Jack to stop as reality crashed back, crowding out the love on his face as he stared at me in horror. Hang on. This isn’t right. I’ve just remembered, I left you.
But here I was, paying the parking fee at the machine, half-wondering about CCTV and number-plate recognition; how quickly I would be found out and what I might be charged with. Kidnapping? Reclaiming my husband? Tricking a former partner into believing we were still together? Deception. I’d betrayed Jack once and he’d vowed to never forgive me. He was black and white in that way. Lying by omission, he called it. Just as bad, in his eyes.
Back in the car, pulling onto the main road, I almost leapt out of my skin when his fingers brushed my knee. ‘You didn’t even have time to get dressed.’
‘I wanted to get here as soon as possible.’
Shooting him a sideways glance, I saw him looking at my pyjamas – or rather his pyjamas. I’d held on to them after he walked out, along with most of his clothes – still wore them sometimes, like I had when we were together, though his scent had long since been washed out.
‘They always suited you better.’ His fingertips touched my hand, as if he couldn’t help himself. ‘It’s so good to see you, Caitlin, I can’t tell you.’
Relief thudded through me. ‘I think you just did.’ I risked another glance, hardly able to believe he was there, sitting beside me, as though we’d only been in the car together a couple of days ago. ‘It’s so good to see you too, Jack.’ More than you know.
‘What was I even doing on that street?’ I felt the heat of his gaze, like twin lasers on my face. ‘Did you report me missing?’
I chanced another quick look, fresh shock rippling through me as I noticed the hollows beneath the bones of his cheeks. He was gaunt – thinner than I’d ever seen him. Sunlight pushed through the windscreen, deepening the colour of his bruises and bloodshot whites of his eyes. What had happened to him? ‘What do you actually remember?’ I tightened my hands around the steering wheel, feeling the sticky heat of my palms. ‘Before the accident, I mean.’ Waiting for his reply, I fixed my eyes on the road leading out of Brighton where Jack had grown up and where we’d lived together. He won’t know that I’ve left.
‘I can’t remember where I was going, but I think I was walking away from the flat.’ His words emerged slowly, edged with frustration. From the corner of my eye I watched his calloused gardener’s hands crunch into fists on his knees. He was wearing baggy grey jogging bottoms that the hospital had unearthed, the sort of thing he would never normally choose. We had to cut him out of his jeans. I’d lied and said that, in my hurry, I’d forgotten to bring a change of clothes as they’d requested. Jack’s things were still in cardboard boxes in the spare room, as I hadn’t decided what to do with them. Panic whipped through me, taking the air from my lungs. Breathe. I hadn’t had an attack for a while.
‘Everything’s blank after that.’ Jack’s voice anchored me back in the moment.
‘And before?’
‘Before?’
‘How far back can you remember?’ Slowing at the lights, I turned to face him. If he gave it too much consideration, if his memory came back now, the game was up. I would have to confess, say I’d acted in a moment of madness, or instinct, even if it was as good as admitting I still loved him and wasn’t over him leaving.
Jack tipped his head back and closed his eyes. I longed to reach over, push a hand through his wavy hair the way I once had, but after all this time it would feel strange – to me, if not to him.
‘I think … I’ve a feeling that maybe we’d … argued?’ His voice rose on the word, as though he felt it to be true but couldn’t quite believe it. We’d rarely argued before that day – the day it all went wrong. ‘I’ve a vague memory of walking around until it got dark. It was raining, I think. I felt …’ He brought a hand to his forehead, as if the movement might force the memory to return. My breath stalled, pulse spiking. Jack was remembering – or rather misremembering – that day. ‘I was annoyed.’
‘That’s it?’ My foot trembled over the accelerator as the lights changed to green. ‘What else?’
He lowered his fist, unfurled his fingers. ‘To be honest, Cait, I’m struggling. I wasn’t completely honest with the doctors.’
Alarm flared along my nerve endings. ‘How do you mean?’
‘When I woke up, I felt … weird.’ His hand rose, then fell. ‘Disconnected. I knew something awful had happened, but I couldn’t think what. They asked me questions: name, date of birth, what year it was, who the prime minister is, about my family – basically checking I hadn’t woken up with amnesia, I suppose. Luckily, I knew all the answers, and when I gave them your number they were obviously relieved. They told me having a blank spot from just before the accident was common, the brain protecting itself, but—’ He gave a twitch of impatience that was so familiar, so typically J...
