Chapter 2: Remember to Forget

“John Doe”:

I’m dreaming again, I see flashing lights in the otherwise total blackness, nothing but those lights. My head and ribs are hurting. I stumble around like I’m pissed or something. I roll and keep on rolling. Out of control, limp like a doll, I roll and I hit a tree. I look around and it is lighter. There are trees all around me and I have absolutely no idea where I am. I am cold and wet and I hurt all over. I can’t even remember who I am.

I know that something terrible has happened, though, that I want to, need to, shut it out. There are images that I don’t ever want to remember. Bury them, destroy them, everything else that is lost is simply collateral, everything else doesn’t matter, I don’t even matter.

I gave up, remember? I let everything slip away, I was gone, I wanted to go but then she pulled me back. Who’s “She”? I am trying to remember everything, really I am, honest.

Suddenly “John Doe” sits upright.

“I’m Tommy, you know, Tommy Barlow and I was born in 1958, in Nottingham, to Ann and Alan Barlow. I know that I am an engineer, I work a lathe, and I’m happily married to Sally. We’ve no children yet but we are going to be trying for one as soon as we get somewhere permanent to live.”

“All right, Tommy,” soothed the male nurse, Ben, “You just relax now and I’ll fetch the doctor in a moment or two.”

“Yeah, I need a doctor, I can’t open my eyes.”

“Your eyes are covered up for now, Tommy, while they recover. I’ll leave you with Helen here for a minute.”

“Hi Tommy,” said the young woman’s voice, gentle and reassuring, “I am so glad you are awake, we were really worried about you.”

“Was it you I was speaking to earlier?”

“Yes, but you were only awake for a couple of minutes before you dropped off again for twenty minutes or so.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Four days now ... it’s Halloween tonight.”

“Halloween? ... Isn’t that in November?”

“The last night of October.”

The injured man fell silent. Helen considered that face again, images filling her head, ranging from the stricken white, bloodsplattered death mask she first encountered up in the woods, through the passive almost completely bandaged face of the last few days, until the one she had seen this morning after they had removed the breathing tubes and only had the pads over his eyes and the bandage holding his head dressing in place.

His eyes were blue, grey-blue. Helen had seen them very briefly while the paramedics tried to assess how close to consciousness he was. She would like to see them again, to know that he could see and be restored and whole once more. She marvelled, yet again, how wonderfully swift his recovery. She couldn’t believe that he had made it this far. Tommy. He said his name was Tommy. It was a young man’s name. Either Thomas or Tom would suit him better. Those were mature men’s names and Tommy was not a young man any more.

Soon he would be fit again, she thought. Fit! Yes, she smiled to herselfhe was fit, she thought, in every sense of the word, despite being about as old as her Mum. He had a striking handsome face, long and lean, high cheek bones, strong nose, wide generous smiling mouth. She had been watching him for so long she knew every line in his uncovered face. It looked untroubled, his brow relatively unfurrowed, the only lines being creases around his mouth, his smile. Tommy compared very favourably to her own father, who she hardly ever saw nowadays, since he ran off with a woman her age and had another kid three or four years ago. No, Tommy would be a great catch for Sharon, Helen’s Mum, if only Tommy wasn’t married.

Now he was awake, lying silent, but hardly relaxed. His mind, Helen imagined, must be running at 100 miles an hour. What was he thinking?

“I’m Helen, by the way,” she introduced herself.

“Hi, Helen, nice to meet you. Are you a nurse?”

“No, just a visitor, really. The doctors asked me to stay and talk to you,” she said, “I - I found you on a track running through the woods on Sunday.”

“Woods? Where?”

“Birkinshaw Woods.”

“Where’s that?”

“Holymoorside?”

“No idea where that is either, I’m sorry.”

“Chesterfield, in Derbyshire.”

“What am I doing here? Nottingham must be 25 miles or so away. I don’t even have a car to get up here.”

“Maybe you ran all the way,” Helen laughed.

“That’s a nice laugh,” Tommy said, automatically, it was the only nice thing to come into his confused world since he woke up. “Sorry, Miss, I said that thought out loud. I er, didn’t mean to er...”

“That’s alright,” Helen giggled, “I am just so pleased to see that you are not only awake but feeling so much better. I was so worried, when I found you, you were as pale as a ghost. Now you are as red as a tomato!”

“Well, I’m embarrassed, a newly-married man being caught chatting up a pretty woman.”

“If you could see me, you’d know I am not that pretty.” Her voice faded away as that bastard Bruce came to mind again; he had called her pretty once, or at least he made her believe she was, a long time ago, before she dumped him and moved back in with Mum.

“I think you sound lovely. Yes, posh and loverly, er, Helen, was it?”

“Yes, Helen Bister, I was jogging on Sunday morning and took a short cut through the woods. I never usually go through there, I was a bit lost and following more of an animal track than a proper path. I was trying to find a short cut.”

“Are you saying I was lucky I was discovered at all?”

“Well, I don’t know about that ... but you were in an isolated spot and in a pretty bad way.”

“I was a mess then, was I?”

“Yes, you were. I - I didn’t think you would pull through and the paramedics -”

“Who?”

“The paramedics, the ambulance men?” Helen explained, “They were efficient but they clearly looked unhappy. They said all the right positive things they are supposed to say but they didn’t sound that confident you’d pull through.”

“Someone needs to get in touch with my wife,” Tommy said, “Let her know where I am. I think she sent me up the shops for something ... milk, that’s it, a pint of silver top milk and I was out of cigarettes, an’all.”

“You didn’t have a phone on you. What’s your wife’s number, you are not supposed to use phones in here but perhaps I could give her a quick ring?”

“No, we are not on the phone. We rent a small flat, sort of, just the upstairs half of a converted house really. Haven’t been married very long. You know, lots of bills coming in, no savings. Only my wages, and with me stuck in here, I don’t know how we’ll manage. I don’t get no sick pay at Laleham’s.”

Just then the doctor came into the side ward with the nurse, Ben.

“Well, Mr Barlow is it?” asked the doctor.

“Yes?”

“Well, I’m Doctor Harding, you have been of some concern to us for the last few days, Mr Barlow. Let me know how you feel?”

“Well, I can’t see nothing at the moment, Doc. I think you better run down what happened to me, cos, quite frankly, I don’t have a clue where I am and what went on.”

“OK, you are in Chesterfield Royal Hospital. You were admitted on Sunday, with aggravated injuries, and you were in severe shock, having lost a lot of blood from an earlier wound and severely dehydrated. You also have stitches in a head wound and two broken ribs. Your hands were badly bruised and lacerated while you were defending yourself from the beating you received, which is why they are presently wrapped up in bandages. We also kept you heavily sedated, to stop you unconsciously interfering with the breathing and intravenous tubes while you were asleep. Other than a tube lung insertion, to drain off fluids, you have nothing to worry about and should be out of here in the next week or so. I think you could probably start jogging again in about three weeks.”

“Jogging?”

“Yes, you are clearly a regular runner, you came in wearing jogging shorts and top. We had to cut them off you of course, but your socks and trainers should be fine to use, although your trainers, particularly the right shoe, are heavily bloodstained.”

“Everyone keeps talking about me running, Doc. I never run, well, not since games periods at school. Also, I’ve been dying for a fag since I woke up. I doubt I’d have enough puff in me on a good day to catch the bus, even without a hole in my lung.”

“You was wearin’ some pretty fancy trainers, for a guy what don’t run much,” chipped in Ben. “Them trainers must a’ cost a hundred and twenty quid, easy.”

“They can’t be mine then, I don’t take home that much in a month at Laleham’s, I can hardly afford the bus fare to work. It’s too far to run to from home anyway, at least three or four miles.”

There was a silence for a moment. Ben chipped in with “Them Saucony Hurricanes running shoes, they looked pretty well worn, maybe you picked them up from a charity shop?”

“Mr Barlow,” Doctor Harding said, “I assure you that you have the physique of someone who runs regularly, at some distance and regularity indeed. I doubt you have a gram of excess fat on your body. I’d be very surprised if you have been a smoker for many years, certainly nothing came up on the toxicology report for nicotine. So, is there anything else you feel you want to ask me?”

“I’ll think of something Doc, right now, though, I think I need to rest. I’ve got a lot to think about, to be honest, I’m more’n a bit confused.”

“Good idea,” Harding replied, scribbling notes in the patient record at the foot of the bed. “Rest is the best medicine that I can prescribe. However, I believe the police want to speak to you now that you are awake.”

“Oh? What have I done?”

“Nothing you should be ashamed of, I assure you, Mr Barlow. You’ve been on the local news twice this week, to my knowledge. Anyway, I must be on the rest of my rounds. Rest today, Mr Barlow and I’ll see you again in the morning.”

The doctor left the room with Ben in tow, leaving Tommy and Helen alone.

“He’s always as brusque as that, Mr Barlow. Seems to go with the territory. The nurse says he’s the best doctor they have.”

“The nurse?”

“Yes Ben, he is the nurse.”

“But he’s a man, with a thick accent, that sounds a bit odd.”

“Yes, I think he is African, I didn’t ask him where he was from. He’s done a great job of looking after you, he’s very nice, too. And he’s handsome!” Helen giggled, “Did you want a drink? There’s some water here, Mr Barlow.”

“Yes thanks,” Tommy was quieter now. “Please call me Tommy, Helen, you make me sound like a Dad.”