He emerged from a night that had lasted twenty years or more. A long, dark night, packed with nightmares that had seemed so real - but now, bathed in the dawn light that streamed through the window, were just dreams.
'Mr Bicknell?' said somebody to his right. 'Mr Bicknell, are you awake Sir?' James Bicknell turned his head very slowly. There by his bed sat a short man, immaculately dressed, with thick "tortoise" framed glasses that magnified beady eyes. His hair was wispy and receding; and probably held to his head by sheer concentration. James took an instant dislike to him.
The man moved closer, and took a brief conspiratorial glance over his shoulder.
'I brought you your favourite cigars sir. I thought you'd appreciate that. If you like I could stand outside the door and prevent people from entering?'
'I don't smoke.' said James simply. The sound of his voice had a curious effect on the man - who snapped closed his mouth and never uttered another word. James too was surprised; his voice had a throaty growl to it - as if he'd been asleep for a long time.
He rolled back his head and stared up at the ceiling.
'Where am I?' he asked slowly.
The short man turned out to be known as Balentine. He'd seemed a little worried that James didn't know who he was, just as James was a little concerned that this man did more or less anything that was asked of him:
On request Balentine stopped offering James cigars.
On request Balentine informed James of his injuries.
And finally, on request, Balentine left with instructions to find a doctor, and not to return.
During these moments that James was left alone in the room, he examined his surroundings. Nothing looked familiar. Clearly he was in a hospital, but it struck him as odd that he had an entire room to himself and he'd never seen such... the only word that came to mind was "immaculate"; it was unlike any other hospital that James had ever been in. Like the time he'd had his tonsils out; the walls had been painted green and the air had been heavy with the smell of antiseptic, but these walls were papered, and all he could smell were the flowers by his bedside..
The car hadn't been moving particularly quickly, James had just stepped out into the road, into it's path and for a moment stood face to face with the vehicle, rooted to the spot, as the distance between them rapidly diminished.
In those seconds he absorbed an extraordinary amount of information: An electric blue Ford Cortina; the terrified expression of the driver; his wife; her hands in front of her face - he could even recall the last part of the registration ...683L.
At the moment of impact his palms slapped against the bonnet, followed by his chest and face - before he was flung backwards onto the road; the back of his head cracking sharply against the tarmac.
'Mr Bicknell,' said the Doctor (a young black woman, attractive too, James estimated that she must be about ten years his senior), 'I do apologize for not being here sooner - to be honest we weren't expecting you to come round for some time.'
'Where are my parents?' he asked.
'Your parents, Mr Bicknell?'
'Why aren't my parents here yetÿ20?'
'Well, we haven't actually contacted them.' The Doctor shuffled uneasily.
'Why not?' Asked James.
'Well, we thought it would probably be better to contact your wife first.' The words floated through James's head whilst he tried to get a grasp on what she was saying to him.
'My wife?' he exclaimed. 'But.. I'm not married.'
'I do apologize, Mr Bicknell, obviously I meant your ex-wife.'
'ex!?'
'Do I take it you would prefer me to contact your parents Mr Bicknell?' James lay for a moment and tried to focus his thoughts.
'Will Mr Balentine have a number I can contact your parents on, Mr Bicknell?'
'Before today,' explained James slowly, 'I'd never met "Mr Balentine".'
'Your secretary perhaps?'
'Secretary?!' exclaimed James, 'I haven't got a secretary! I haven't got a wife, I haven't even got an ex wife.. I just want to know what's going on here and where are my parents.. '
'Mr Bicknell..'
'My father's the chairman of "Careerers".. the cigarette people? You can call him on.. ' James paused whilst he tried to recall the number. The Doctor seemed to become distressed.
'Mr Bicknell..' she said slowly. 'What exactly do you remember prior to the.. accident?' Their eyes made contact, and in those few seconds they rapidly exchanged tiny telepathic messages that confirmed things weren't quite as they should be.
'Where am I?' asked James slowly, resorting to the same tone that had commanded so much respect in Balentine.
'You're in a hospital..' replied the Doctor.
'I know that,' he interrupted, '..where?' The Doctor hesitated, it was clear she felt she should be cautious with her answers. 'Where?' he asked again.
'You're in the private wing of St Mary's, Paddington.'
As he'd expected, the name was meaningless, except to confirm that something terrible had happened.
He panicked.
One stab of a big red button embedded in the wall and thirty seconds later, James was losing the battle to stay conscious against a cocktail of chemicals that had been jabbed into his arm.
She was everything he'd ever wanted.
Wild chestnut hair that she brushed from her face as they walked in the wind, and big brown eyes that she'd hide from almost everybody but him. She had such a serious face, and she'd tell him that he had his head in the clouds; fairy tales - that's all he ever talked about. But he knew that she listened.
'Tell me,' she said.
He traced the outline of her lips with his finger and pretended not to hear.
'- Jamie.'
'Do I have to?' He answered, '- ruin the moment?' A cold wind blew softly that made her shiver slightly and hold him tighter. James smiled and silently thanked that wind. But Alison would not be put off and she looked up into his face and regained eye contact.
'I want to know what the argument was about.'
'The usual,' he replied. 'The usual rubbish about not pursuing a proper career and how much better off I'd be if I went to work for him .'
'But did you tell him?' she asked. He let go of her. Jamie - did you tell him about art college? Did you tell him they've accepted you.'
'Well of course I did,' he said walking aimlessly away from her. 'That's what sparked off the row, after that I couldn't get a word in edge-ways.'
'So what about us? Didn't you tell him about us?'
There was a nasty silence. Even out here, in the darkness, under the stars, leaning against the gate to a field - the romantic atmosphere was shattered by talk of his father.
'You didn't, did you? I knew it - I knew you wouldn't!'
'Well look,' he said, trying desperately to think of something he could say to her, 'when Dad gets into a rage about something there's no point.'
'No point in what!'
'No point in telling him about anything else that he's not going to like.'
'Don't you want to marry me?' The words hit him hard.
'Of course I do,' he said sadly, desperately, 'I love you.'
'Well you've got a funny way of showing it.' she said unkindly, and turned her back on him for effect.
'Alison, that's not true and you know it - I would do anything for you.'
‘Oh Sure,' she said sarcastically, 'if I never spoke to you again you'd forget I even existed.'
He drove her home in silence, longing to know what to say, but he was too hurt and she was too sulky.
As he drove away from her house he decided he'd leave her to cool down for a day or two. Then he'd call, or better still he'd go round - armed with flowers. And then he'd apologize. That's it, he'd apologize and then he really would stand up to his father, tell him just the way it was going to be - and blow the consequences.
'Where are my parents?' asked James as he came round. By the side of his bed sat a nurse, reading. She turned to him.
'Now, now,' she said.
'Where are my parents!?' he asked again.
'They're coming,' she replied.
'Really!?' he asked.
'Yes.' She said. 'Really.'
James let himself relax.
Through the frosted glass of the door he saw her, and even though she had her back turned to him, he knew it was his mother. He could hear soft murmurings as she spoke to the young black doctor.
'Mum!' he called out.
The murmuring stopped and slowly the door opened. The woman who walked through the door was certainly his mother, but she looked different somehow. She came and sat down by the side of his bed, the doctor followed her in along with a taller, older man. They stood by the door and said nothing.
'Mother, where have you been?'
'I came as soon as I could,' she replied.
She seemed highly stressed - he was aware that all eyes were on him, those of the doctors and the nurse, waiting, watching to see what he would say and do.
'How do you feel?' asked his mother brightly, as if she'd just popped in for a cup of tea.
'I've broken both my legs, my right arm, as well as a few ribs, but apart from that, I feel fine,' he said. 'Absolutely fine.' But from the expressions that stared at him from various corners of the room he could see that everything was far from fine.
'Mum?' he asked cheerfully.
'Yes dear.'
'Where's Dad?' He watched closely for the reaction, and there it was.
'O James,' she said, searching rapidly for a tissue amongst the contents of her handbag, 'how can this be happening again.'
'What? What's "happening again"?' he asked quickly. There was a rapid exchange of glances between the Doctor and the nurse.
'I think it's time for you to go, Mrs Bicknell,' said the nurse, getting up and moving quickly towards James's mother.
'No!' he said.
'Come along now, we don't want to upset the patient anymore than necessary.'
'I'm not getting upset!' shouted James as she escorted his mother from the room. The Doctor was already re-loading a syringe - James spotted it. 'No way! Keep that stuff away from me.'
'Mr Bicknell, please.. give me your arm.'
'No way! Get away from me! There's nothing wrong with me I just want somebody to tell me what the hell's going on here!'
'I believe I might be able to answer your questions Mr Bicknell,' said the tall man. 'Doctor,' he said turning to the aggressor, 'I don't think that will be necessary. Would you leave myself and Mr Bicknell alone for a moment.'
'But..' said the Doctor, and then bowing to the man's obvious superiority, left the room.
The tall man moved a chair slightly so that he could sit and look straight at James. James examined him with suspicion. He was quite old, James put him in his early sixties, and obviously not your average Doctor, a psychologist maybe?
The doctor sat down and made himself more comfortable. He crossed his legs and placed the clipboard he was carrying on his knee.
'Mr Bicknell,' he said, gaining eye contact, 'my name is Doctor Chad.'
James said nothing.
'Tell me, James, do you recognize me?'
'No.' replied James after a while.
'We have met before. Several times.'
'I'm sorry..' said James, 'I'm sure I would've remembered.'
'Mr Bicknell,' said Chad, 'it is my belief that you are suffering from amnesia,' he paused, 'how do you feel about that?'
James felt unnerved by the Doctor's question; what a peculiar thing to ask, how would anybody feel?
'Rubbish!' he declared.
'Do you know what's happened to you?'
'I know that I've broken several bones and suffered a large bang to my head, but there's nothing wrong with my memory, Doctor! I can remember everything.'
'Then you won't mind if I ask you a few questions?' said Chad taking a pen from his front pocket and preparing to write on the clipboard.
'Look, I just want to see my mother again and get out of here.'
'What is your full name?'
'Doctor Chad, really..' started James, then their eyes met again. 'James Bicknell,' he answered.
'And when were you born, James?'
'7th October 1954'
'Any brothers and sisters?'
'A brother and a sister.'
'Names?'
'Derek and Wendy.'
The questions came quickly.
'When was the last time you saw them?'
'Yesterday,' said James, and then he realized that he wasn't actually sure how long he'd been in this hospital. 'What day is it?' he asked.
'Thursday,' answered Chad.
James frowned, but said nothing.
'What do you do for a living, James?' said Chad brightly, not referring to the clipboard. It could've been a genuine question of interest - but James doubted it.
'Nothing,' replied James slowly. 'I'm going to college.'
'College?'
'Art College.'
'Really?' replied Doctor Chad, 'Your father always told me that you wanted to take over the family business.'
'Ah yes,' replied James bitterly, 'that's what he would like me to do; to follow in his footsteps at Careerers, but I have other plans - we have other plans; me and Alison are going to get married.'
'Alison?' asked the Doctor.
'My girlfriend - I don't suppose my father's told you about her either.'
'No,' replied Chad sadly, 'he never did.'
'"Did"?' said James.
'Let me ask you one final question,' said Chad quickly, 'and then you can quiz me as much as you like.' James nodded. 'How old are you?'
He opened his mouth to answer, but somehow he felt he was being tricked; whatever he might say, though he knew it to be the truth would be thrown back at him and he would be made to look foolish.
'Nineteen,' he said eventually.
Doctor Chad opened the cupboard next to the bed and removed a small mirror and handed it to him.
James held it up. There in the reflection stared back a face that was familiar but not his own. The eyes were still the same shade of blue, but his hair had receded. His hippy locks had long since been cut off. His brow was furrowed with worry lines. This had to be some kind of trick, he knew he was nineteen but the man who stared back was in his forties.
'Many years ago,' said Chad, 'a young man was brought to me. He too had been hit by a car. And although, miraculously, he hadn't broken anything, he too was suffering from amnesia. However,' continued Doctor Chad,' - that would imply that eventually his memory returned, but it never did. This young lad lost his memory for good; nineteen years of his life wiped completely from his mind.'
'And what happened to him?' asked James softly.
'We had to start all over again: We had to re-educate him as to who he was and who his family were. It was a painful experience,' recalled the Doctor. 'He even considered changing his name, to rid himself of a past he couldn't remember.
He went to work in his father's company, where he works still. Five years ago he became Chairman when his father died, and today he's one of the most influential business men in the country.'
'Go on..' urged James, the truth dawning slowly, and painfully.
'He was submitted to this hospital two days ago,' continued Chad, 'unconscious, and badly hurt from a second car accident. Once again he's received a blow to the head, once again his memory had been affected.. but,' said Chad, more to himself than his patient, 'in the most peculiar way.'
There was a moment of silence. James felt tears begin to sting his eyes. It was the first time he'd cried in twenty years.
'Did he ever marry?'
'Yes.'
'And then.. he got divorced?'
'Yes.'
'Did he marry Alison?'
Doctor Chad paused.
'No,' he replied.
James couldn't say how long he lay there going over and over what the Doctor had told him. Forty nine or not, Chairman of his father's company or not, no matter who he could see in the mirror, in his head he was still nineteen, but during the night someone had added an extra twenty extra years to his life; Twenty event-packed years that he didn't want, and couldn't remember.
By Peter Jones (c) Copyright 1993
Original Draft: May 8, 1993
Redraft: July 2006