Then and Always (26 page)

———

I WAS SURPRISINGLY
hungry and managed to do reasonable justice to our impromptu dinner.

“I
do
love prawns,” I declared as I chased the last morsel from a container with a pair of chopsticks.

“You always did,” he replied with a smile, and there was something oddly touching about the fact that he had remembered. I looked up and noticed him regarding my healthy appetite with poorly concealed approval.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?” he asked, clearly unaware that I’d caught him watching me.

“Check up on me. Make sure I’m all right all the time. That I’m not about to pine away, or starve myself to death, or do anything … stupid … in a fit of depression.”

“I don’t do any of that,” he denied, his voice full of bluster, which didn’t fool me at all. I had, after all, known this man for a long, long time.

“So what was that all about earlier on tonight, when you came storming in here?”

He met my eyes, but didn’t reply.

“I don’t need another parent looking out for me, you know,” I declared. I was in danger of sounding ungrateful but I needed to be certain he understood. “It’s not your job to keep rescuing me.”

His eyes were unreadable, but he finally answered quietly, “I know that. It’s just I feel …” His voice trailed away.

“Yes?” I prompted softly.

“I feel … partly responsible for what’s happened to you and Matt.”

That was definitely
not
what I’d either been expecting—or hoping—to hear.

“How on
earth
do you figure?”

He sighed deeply and sat down in the armchair opposite me, putting the coffee table between us.

“Matt and I have never really got on that well …”

“That’s hardly breaking news.”

He ignored my sarcasm and continued. “And I guess in the weeks since your attack, you and I have spent quite a bit of time together. I’ve certainly seen more of you than Matt has.”

An unbidden image flashed through my mind at his unintentional double entendre.

“So that can’t have helped the situation between you two.”

I started to interrupt, but he put up a hand to stall me.

“And what happened today, at his place … I guess I must take some responsibility for that too.”

I stared at him incredulously. “Not unless you paid Cathy to take her clothes off and climb into bed, you don’t!”

He ran his hands through his hair, clearly exasperated. “God, Rachel. Don’t be so glib. Don’t you think that at least some of the reason he did that today was in retaliation for what nearly happened between us?”

I felt like I’d just been kicked, very hard, in the stomach.

“What? Do you think I told him about that? Just dropped it casually into the conversation? Why would you think I’d do that?”

He searched my face for an answer. But whatever he saw did not elicit the kind of reaction I’d been hoping for, as there was a tightness and control to his tone when he finally replied. “No reason. No reason at all.”

We cleared away our dinner in silence then, each lost in our own thoughts. After waiting so long for him to finally acknowledge our interlude at the hotel, I now wished the subject had never been raised at all. Jimmy deeply regretted the whole incident and apparently assumed I felt the same way. The weight of the day and all its many revelations was suddenly too much to cope with, and I wasn’t feigning my overexaggerated yawn when I announced, “I’m feeling pretty exhausted, so I’m going to turn in now. Are you sure you’ll be all right on the couch with those blankets?”

As we both knew the only other alternative was to share my bed, I was not surprised to hear his hasty confirmation.

“No. That will be perfect.” I was almost at my bedroom door before I heard his softly voiced reply. “Sleep well, Rachel.”

SURPRISINGLY, I DID
. No dreams. No mysterious alarms, strange aftershave, nothing. Jimmy had clearly been up and dressed for some time, as there was coffee gurgling in the filter pot and a plate of golden croissants on the kitchen counter. I grabbed one and began nibbling on the light buttery flakes as he poured me coffee—with milk.

“I see you’ve been shopping.”

He smiled, and the awkwardness of the night before was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen. I figured we would be all right as long as we just confined everything to neutral territory. He pulled out one of the high kitchen stools and tried not to smile as I struggled to get onto the seat.

“It’s easier with heels on,” I muttered.

Before I could stop him, he had taken hold of me by the waist and lifted me effortlessly onto the high wooden seat. His
hands lingered only fleetingly upon me as I settled in place, but even that brief contact made me shiver.

“Are you cold?” he inquired, taking in the tank top and cotton jogging bottoms I had slept in. It was hardly my most alluring look, especially with a face devoid of makeup and my hair pulled back in a swinging ponytail, a style I was happily embracing again after a five-year absence. Without waiting for an answer, he shrugged out of his jacket and laid it around my shoulders, enveloping me both in warmth and the irresistible smell of him.

He looked down on me, and his eyes were warm. Suddenly I wasn’t cold at all. His gaze traveled from my head down to my bare feet, dangling some ten inches off the floor. I thought I could see appreciation in his look, I swear I didn’t imagine that, but then his lips curled in a grin I had seen a thousand times before.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, taking a large sip of coffee to hide the blush I could feel beginning to form.

“You. Just sitting there like that, you look just like you did when you were thirteen years old.”

“Wow. It’s compliments like that which have kept you single,” I laughed, reaching for another croissant.

IT TOOK OVER
an hour to carry out all the boxes and load them in the back of Jimmy’s car. We were in the lift, halfway back up to my floor to collect the next load, when my mobile phone began to ring once again, as it had been doing at regular intervals for the past few hours. I pulled it from the pocket of my jeans, checked the identity on the backlit display, and pressed the button to disconnect the call.

“Matt again?”

I nodded, sliding the phone back into my pocket. “He’ll give up eventually.”

“You think so?” Jimmy asked as we reached our floor. He had his back to me as the doors opened, so I couldn’t read his expression when he added softly, “I wouldn’t.”

Interesting. Very interesting.

I PULLED THE
door shut on the flat for the last time a little while later. I supposed I would have to come back here at some point in time to sort out the lease and utilities, but to all intents and purposes I had now officially moved out.

“You okay?” Jimmy asked, giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“Surprisingly, yes,” I answered.

“Good,” he declared. “Because if you get your memory back and want this stuff all moved in again, you’ll have to find someone else to do it!”

I laughed, but a part of what he said lingered with me as we made our way back to his car. What if I did regret the decisions I was making now when my memory returned? The picture of Matt and Cathy drifted back to me—it really
was
going to take some time to get rid of that one. No, some decisions would hold up whatever Dr. Andrews helped me to remember.

The traffic was fairly light considering how close it was to Christmas; perhaps the darkening sky and gusting wind were keeping people away from London. Either way, it was warm and safe in Jimmy’s car, or was that just the way he made me feel when we were together?

“Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do about your magazine job?”

I frowned. I had thought about it. A lot. It was actually a much harder prospect to give that up than almost anything else. That particular career had been my dream for so many years; it was ironic that it should now feel vaguely wrong and fraudulent that it was mine without having earned it.

“That’s daft,” said Jimmy, when I tried to explain my hesitancy in staying there. “You saw those articles you wrote. You are
good
. You deserve that job.” I basked a little in his praise, and gave a wistful sigh.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I can probably drag out making a final decision for a few more weeks yet.”

“Of course,” Jimmy said speculatively, another alternative just occurring to him, “you might be able to get your old job back on the paper. Your dad once said they’d welcome you back anytime.”

That idea hadn’t even occurred to me and I was still considering the suggestion when he added, “And it would be good to have you closer to home.”

I turned to look out through the rain-splattered passenger window so he wouldn’t see the little smile his words had plastered on my face.

And that’s when the axis of my world tipped once again and the craziness came back.

“Turn left here!”

Jimmy took his eyes off the road, clearly startled by the urgency in my voice.

“What? Why? That’s the wrong way.”

Something in my face told him to question no further, and in a move that probably deserved the blaring horn from the taxi he cut off, Jimmy swerved from one lane to another and turned left.

“Straight ahead at these lights,” I commanded.

Again he looked at me questioningly, but I just shook my head, and he didn’t probe further. A busy junction approached.

“Which way?” he asked.

“Take a right here and then follow the road down to the end. It bends sharply to the left.”

He never once questioned me, never tried to get me to stop or explain where I was directing him. He never even flinched at the curtly barked-out instructions, except for once commenting softly, “You know, the satnav lady is much more courteous.”

I nearly smiled then, having relaxed a little, which would have been a welcome relief, for my heart was pounding erratically and my stomach felt twisted in knots as we wound our way through countless side streets and back turns. I felt like I was being dragged back by some irresistible and unstoppable force that was drawing me like a magnet to our destination.

Gradually we left behind the more desirable residences and at last arrived in a street of rather shabby shops boasting one of London’s less enviable postcodes.

“Can you pull in over there?” I pointed at a parking space that had just opened up. “Behind that van.”

He did as I asked, parking efficiently and switching off the engine before turning to me.

The panic I had felt during our fifteen-minute detour had begun to abate, but in its place was a familiar dread. What I was about to say was going to ruin everything—was going to have everyone looking at me like I was some sort of lunatic again.

Jimmy took hold of my hands, which were twisting in my lap.

“Which one?”

“Which one what?” I replied, keeping my eyes upon his
large hands, which had gently curled around mine, steadying them.

“Which one is your flat?”

I looked up then, but I couldn’t see him properly through the diamond-jeweled tears that threatened to spill over. I nodded my head slightly to indicate the properties on the other side of the street.

“The one on the end, above the launderette.”

He looked over at the property for a moment or two before unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Come on then.”

I looked up, perplexed.

“We have to check it out.”

He came around to my side of the car and took my arm, firmly tucking it under his. My death-white pallor and stony expression must have worried him, for he tried to defuse the moment with humor.

“By the way, remind me never to go rally driving with you. You’re far too grumpy a navigator.”

We waited to cross the road, which I had crossed a thousand times before when I had lived there. There was a resolve and determination to Jimmy’s stride as he guided me through the traffic. I knew he was probably wondering how to deal with my reaction when I found out that the flat was not, and never had been, mine. But I had an altogether different worry. I turned to him, and hoped my voice sounded steadier than it felt.

“What are we going to do if that flat turns out to be full of my stuff?”

Outside the launderette, and mindless of the captive audience of those waiting in the steamy interior by the machines, he pulled me into his arms and held me closely against him,
as though the strong circle of his embrace could keep out the demons.

“We’ll deal with it. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.” It was a vow, an oath, a promise. It gave me the strength to step out of his hold and lead him slowly toward my other home.

THE ENTRANCE TO
the cluster of flats above the shops was just around the corner. I halted before making the turn, allowing Jimmy to reach the door first.

He looked at me curiously.

“Do you see, there’s a push-button entry panel beside you?”

He glanced to the left-hand side of the front door.

“I do, but most flats have—”

“Winter. Hunt. Webb. Freeman.”

I watched his frown deepen in confusion as I correctly listed the names on the cardboard tags beside each individual buzzer. Names I couldn’t possibly read from where I was standing.

“And the top one is mine. Wiltshire.”

He looked from me, back to the panel, and then at me again.

“Four out of five,” he announced. “The top card is blank.”

I stepped around the corner and saw he was right. The last time I’d seen this device, my name had been clearly printed by the top button. Doubt began to inch into the certainty that had drawn me to this place.

“This flat could belong to a friend of yours. Someone you don’t remember,” he suggested gently. It was a reasonable enough conclusion, except for one thing.

“And do you memorize the names of your friends’ neighbors?”

He had no answer, but I could see his policeman’s mind was already struggling with the evidence.

I pressed the second buzzer on the entrance system. “Mrs. Hunt. She lets everyone in, without asking who they are. It’s a real crime hazard.”