‘But it’s been days and she’s still unconscious!’ a deep voice said angrily. ‘You’re the expert. Do something.’
It must be her they were talking about. She heard the anguish in the tone, and she wanted to reassure whoever it was. She was fine—and a baby—she was having a baby... She lay motionless, the dull ache in her head gradually easing slightly. Slowly, very slowly, she tried to open her eyes. Everything was misty grey; she moved her head, and winced. Suddenly a dark shape loomed over her. The mist evaporating, her eyes gradually focused clearly.
‘Thank God you’re all right!’ Warm lips brushed her brow, and fiercely glittering eyes stared into hers.
He was big and dark, unshaven and dishevelled. Who was he? Where was she? She looked down, unable to stand the intensity of his gaze. Railings at the bottom of the bed, a square clipboard attached. A hospital. Panicking, her eyes flew back to the man leaning over her. He did not look like a doctor.
‘Where am I?’ Was that thin sound her voice? Her throat felt sore, her lips dry and cracked as she nervously ran her tongue across them. What was the matter with her? And who was this man sitting on the bed?
Another voice answered. ‘Well, Josie, you’re with us at last.’
She moved her eyes. Another man stood at the other side of the bed. Older, with white hair, a white coat; a doctor. He smiled down at her.
‘Good, so you’ve finally awakened. You had us all worried for a while, but now a few simple tests and it won’t be long before your husband can take you home.’
‘Husband?’ Her puzzled gaze shot back to the younger man. She lifted her hand to her aching head but the glitter of gold and diamonds arrested her hand in mid-air. ‘I’m married?’
‘Very much so, my dear; married and pregnant, and I’m happy to say the baby is fine.’ The doctor chuckled. ‘As for your husband, he has never left the hospital since you arrived—the staff have christened him the Ghost of St Martin’s.’
‘Oh, St Martin’s.’ That rang a bell—a nursery rhyme—and her cracked lips parted in a brief smile at the pun.
‘You know where you are, Josie?’ the deep-voiced man, her ‘husband’ asked urgently.
She lifted puzzled eyes to the dark-haired man. ‘No, a nursery rhyme.’ What was the matter with her? She could not remember anything. He had called her Josie, so that must be her name. But what was his name? She had no idea, and she was having his baby... Warily, she studied him. He had a strong, attractive face, and she felt a tiny glimmer of recognition as she gazed into his eyes.
He heaved a deep, heartfelt sigh as she watched, then his lips curled back over gleaming white teeth in a broad smile, and he caught her hand in his much larger one. His clasp was firm, as though afraid she would vanish.
‘Don’t be afraid, Josie; you and the baby are going to be all right.’
‘But what happened? I don’t remember, I don’t remember,’ she repeated, her eyes filling with tears.
‘Hush, Josie; please don’t cry. You’re safe; you are in St Martin’s Hospital in London. You were in a car accident, and suffered a nasty blow to the head. It isn’t a particularly severe injury, but you have been unconscious for a while. It’s natural for you to feel a little disorientated.’ The man lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, and, looking across the bed, he added ‘Isn’t that so, Dr Ferguson?’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ the doctor quickly confirmed. ‘But if you wouldn’t mind leaving now, Mr Zarcourt, I can examine your wife thoroughly and put her mind at rest.’
‘All right, but I’ll be back soon.’ He rose to his feet and planted a swift kiss on her dry lips before leaving.
A nurse arrived, and gave Josie a drink of juice, then stood by the bed as the doctor examined her. The doctor continued talking as he took her pulse, shone a light in her eyes, her ears, listened to the baby’s heartbeat, subjecting her to a thorough examination. It was only when he asked her how old she was that she realised she still could not answer him. No matter how hard she tried, she could not remember anything.
‘My name is Josie. I’m Josie,’ she said helplessly.
‘Yes, it’s alright, Josie.’ His kindly voice soothed her. ‘You’re Mrs Josie Zarcourt, and it’s as I thought. You have the classic symptoms of post-traumatic amnesia. The fact you remember nothing from before the accident is not abnormal.’
Amnesia. The word echoed in her head. She was swamped by the most incredible feeling of loneliness, doubting her very existence. ‘Please tell me.’ She lifted her hand in a pleading gesture. ‘Will...will I get my memory back?’
‘Don’t worry, Josie; that’s the worst thing you can do. All you need is rest. You may suffer from headaches, perhaps a little giddiness, but that will pass. Trust me. I’m sure you’ll recover your memory completely, but don’t try to force it.’
‘And the baby?’ She ran her hand over the soft swell of her stomach. Unless she was fat, there was no doubt she was expecting a child. ‘Oh...’ she gasped. ‘I felt something move.’
Dr Ferguson chuckled. ‘Perfectly natural. You’re about five months pregnant, the baby is fine, and so will you be. Tomorrow we’ll give you an ultrasound just to make sure everything is as it should be, and in a few days
you can go home with your husband. In the meantime the nurse will fill you in on anything else you want to know.’
The nurse gave her a quick wash, and helped her into a clean nightdress, chattering all the time. Her name was Ann, she was unmarried, and she was obviously smitten by Josie’s husband.
Josie lay for a long time after she had left, her mind a mass of disjointed thoughts. Dr Ferguson had said ‘Don’t worry’. She groaned; it was impossible not to. Deliberately she began to list in her head what she did remember. She knew the months of the year, the days of the week. God, religion, the changing seasons.
Then she realised the futility of the exercise. It was not knowledge she had lost so much, but memory. Who was she? Her family? Friends? The hospital was in London, so obviously she lived here. She was married to a man she did not know, and was carrying his child, and yet she did not remember the conception...