Coming Home. Melanie Rose
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came in carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and what smelled like freshly baked bread wrapped in a cloth. ‘Here you are.’ She laid the tray across my lap. ‘I thought you’d better eat in here by the fire until you’ve thawed out properly.’ She held out a hand to the child. ‘Come on, Jadie, let’s go and have ours in the kitchen. I’ll give your father a shout.’
She paused as if sensing something was up; looked from Jadie to me with a puzzled half-smile. ‘Am I missing something here?’
‘I was just asking her where Amber was, that’s all.’
Tara’s mouth dropped open and her face paled. I thought for an awful moment she was going to faint, and then she squared her shoulders, grabbed hold of Jadie and marched her out of the room. A door slammed somewhere nearby and a moment later Tara returned alone and deposited herself between me and the fire. She gave me a hostile glare. ‘What’s your game?’ She had planted her hands on her hips, staring at me as if I had sprouted horns. ‘Who the hell are you, anyway?’
I wanted to say that I didn’t know who the hell I was, but this didn’t seem quite the right time to mention my lack of memory. ‘Jadie informed me her sister knew I was coming, that’s all. Amber told her the cat was going to be all right.’
Tara continued to stare at me as if I were some sort of rabid monster. An awkward silence yawned between us.
‘Amber was Jadie’s sister.’ She took her hands from her hips and crossed them tightly in front of her chest as if to protect herself from the pain of what she was going to say. ‘Amber passed away two years ago. Jadie’s mother couldn’t cope with the grief and walked out on them a few months later. Amber’s name hasn’t been mentioned since her mother left, and Jadie hasn’t uttered a single word since then. She’s what they call an elective mute; no one has been able to make her talk, not her teachers nor doctors or several different psychologists.’ Tara narrowed her eyes suspiciously at me. ‘So like I said: who the hell are you and what the devil do you think you’re playing at?’
Tara’s eyes bored into me. I felt as if I’d been invited to participate in some gruesome game where everyone else knew the rules but me. I didn’t even know my own name. In the last few hours I had woken on a snow-filled roadside without any idea how I’d got there, nearly died from exposure and hypothermia, been rescued by a man with whom I’d felt a weird affinity, abandoned someone’s cat in a snow-covered field and gate-crashed a household where a supposedly mute child had informed me her long-dead sister had been expecting my arrival.
My hand went to the sticking plaster on my temple. I felt as if I had been sucked into that warm, beckoning tunnel I’d seen as I’d teetered on the brink and, like some sort of worm-hole meandering through space, it had coughed me out in an alternative universe. Tara’s question was fair enough, but it was annoying all the same.
I fought a desire to throw back the blankets, struggle to my feet and run crazily through the snow, back to my own life, whatever and wherever that was. I suddenly felt very lost and alone; as uncomfortable with throwing myself on the mercy of this stranger as she seemed discomfited by my presence. It was odd; I knew how to speak and how to act in a given circumstance. I felt sure I could still read and write and perform the normal functions of living, I just couldn’t remember who I was or how I’d got here. Resisting the temptation to thump my fists and scream, I decided instead to adhere to the time-honoured social conventions that prevented me from knocking the dinner tray to the floor, pushing past this angry sentinel and making a bolt for the door.
‘I don’t know why Jadie spoke to me.’ I summoned as much calm as I could muster. ‘I didn’t know she couldn’t.’
Tara continued to regard me with suspicion. I returned her scrutiny with what I hoped was an apologetic gaze and then, for want of a better idea, and because I was actually pretty damn hungry, I picked up the soup spoon and scooped up some of the delicious-smelling soup.
‘This looks lovely. I really am very grateful to you for bringing me into your home like this.’ It was true, I was grateful.
‘It’s not my home, I just work here.’ She stuck out her chin but the familiarity of the action had broken the spell of hostility; I was a guest again. ‘We’ll be in the kitchen; if you want anything just call.’
Tossing her head she retreated from my line of vision.
When she had gone I dropped the spoon onto the tray and lay back exhausted, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment. If the worm-hole theory wasn’t a realistic possibility, I thought with the stirrings of hysteria, then maybe I’d arrived in a madhouse—or perhaps I’d died out there in the blizzard after all and been brought to some strange testing place where my suitability for the world beyond was being measured. Neither possibility brought much comfort.
The awkward weight of the tray on my lap and the tantalising scent of the thick and hearty leek and potato soup suggested something much more down to earth. I picked up the spoon and raised it to my lips, sniffing the warm aroma appreciatively. The soup tasted as good as it smelled and I was soon wiping the bowl round with the bread. I hadn’t realised quite how hungry I was until I’d started eating. After popping the last hunk of bread into my mouth, I sensed someone standing behind me. The couch was facing the fireplace, with the heavy oak front door set back behind a curtain to one side of it and the rest of the room behind me. I craned my head round, still chewing, and found myself staring into a pair of blue eyes that left me in no doubt that this was Jadie’s father.
He was a handsome man in his early thirties. His features were nicely symmetrical; short blond hair framed a cleanshaven face with a small cleft in the centre of his chin. The stiff way in which he held himself brought to mind a Roman centurion—I decided he’d look pretty good in a short-skirted leather uniform—but I wished I didn’t have a mouth full of bread, because I was fairly sure it was about to choke me.
I chewed with a dry mouth and swallowed with difficulty as he walked directly into my line of vision. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a blue checked shirt over a white T-shirt, which on anyone else might have looked casual, but there was nothing casual about his demeanour; he seemed almost more ill at ease in his own house than I felt as a visitor. He came round to perch on the arm of the nearest chair and offered an embarrassed half-smile. I watched as he knotted his hands in his lap and leaned forward, his expression neutral.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘I’m much better now, thank you.’ I ignored the dull throbbing in the tips of my fingers and toes, and the ache in my head. ‘I can’t thank you enough for bringing me into your home like this. I hadn’t realised the weather was going to get so bad.’
He nodded, apparently reassured by my answer, but I noticed he avoided making direct eye contact with me. ‘I’m glad you don’t need to go to hospital because I don’t think we could have got you out. We’re completely snowed in and, according to the weather forecast, there’s more to come.’
‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.’ Picking up the empty tray I leaned forward to try to deposit it on a nearby coffee table. I succeeded in sliding the tray onto the polished surface of the low table and sat back. Realising the blankets weren’t quite covering me, I gathered them quickly round me.
He seemed not to notice. ‘I’m Vincent James.’ He half rose out of the chair towards me, his hand outstretched to shake mine.
I kept my hand knotted tightly round the top of the blanket, whilst eyeing his nervously. What was I going to say? Should I confess I hadn’t the faintest idea who I was or what I was doing out there in the snow? Would he think I was a crazy woman and throw me back outside to take my chances in the blizzard?
He frowned at my hesitation and I realised I had no choice but to tell the truth. Taking a deep breath, I took the plunge.
‘I’m