I wandered into the kitchen the following morning, hair still dripping from my shower, wearing an old dressing gown that was several sizes too small. Dad was busily piling a small yellow mountain of rubbery scrambled eggs on a plate. Suddenly the hospital food was starting to look pretty good.
‘Dad, you shouldn’t have. Toast is all I can usually manage.’
‘Nonsense,’ he replied firmly, and I could see here the makings of a campaign. ‘We’re not going to build you back up to strength with just a dry old bit of crust for breakfast.’
I was on the point of explaining that possibly my problems might require more than just a cooked breakfast to fix, when I was spared by the ringing of the doorbell.
‘Get that, will you, while I dish up?’
I went to the front door, still squeezing out droplets of water from my sodden hair. Behind the frosted panel was a tall dark shape. My heart gave a small leap in my chest as I opened the latch to greet the visitor. There’s nothing like a visit from a dead friend to truly take away your appetite.
Jimmy followed me down the hall to the kitchen, bringing with him a huge cardboard box.
‘Good morning, lad. You’re just in time for breakfast, care to join us?’
Jimmy eyed the yellow concoction with the same enthusiasm as I had.
‘Sorry, Tony, I’ve already eaten. I only popped in for a moment to say hello.’
I knew he was lying about the breakfast even before his eyes met mine. We had always been able to read each other like a book. Or maybe we hadn’t. Absurdly I felt a warm pink blush flush my cheeks and was all at once aware of how inadequately covered I was, in the tiny dressing gown, to be receiving visitors.
‘So what’s in the box?’ It was just as well my father had asked; I was so preoccupied with the strangeness of sitting in my old kitchen with my long-dead friend that it probably wouldn’t have occurred to me to ask even if he’d have walked into the room with an elephant in tow.
‘It’s not from me,’ Jimmy explained. ‘A delivery van was just dropping it off and I offered to carry it in. It’s for Rachel.’
I looked up from where I had been desperately trying to stretch unstretchable towelling edges more closely together.
‘For me? What is it?’
My dad looked over my shoulder. ‘Oh that must be the box with some more of your clothes. Matt said he’d have it sent down for you. He knew you wouldn’t have much to wear.’
‘He’s right there,’ I agreed. ‘That was really thoughtful of him to go and sort that out for me.’
There was a small humphing sound from Jimmy’s direction. ‘Most likely he got his secretary to do it.’
The snipe had come as a reflex and just as swiftly I thrust back in Matt’s defence. ‘He’s very busy, you know. He had to fly to Hamburg last night.’
A speculative look crossed Jimmy’s familiar features but he knew better than to offer another criticism. My dad, who seemed completely oblivious to the verbal sparring going on, added, ‘By the way, Rachel, I completely forgot to tell you, Matt also wanted you to know that he contacted the magazine on Monday and told them what had happened.’
Baffled, I shifted in my kitchen chair to look at my father.
‘Magazine? What magazine?’
‘The one where you work.’
I felt the familiar flipping sensation in my stomach as yet another bombshell got dropped.
‘I don’t work at a magazine.’
Here we go again. The look the two men exchanged was so blatant they might as well have shouted out the words. Poor Rachel, still suffering with that old amnesia.
Suddenly I was angry and got up so hurriedly the wooden chair almost toppled over behind me.
‘No, don’t you both look at me like that! Like “Oh-oh, Rachel’s gone crazy. It’s kid gloves time again.” Don’t you think I’d know something as basic as where I work?’
‘You haven’t been there long, you probably remember working on the paper better. You were there much longer.’
‘I worked on a newspaper? I’m a journalist?’ There was wonder in my voice at achieving my own goals before I shook my head angrily to dispel the fantasy. ‘I don’t work there. I think I would have remembered if I did, don’t you?’
‘Seems like you’ve forgotten a whole lot more than just that,’ mumbled my father, and it was the first time I heard in his voice that he was beginning to lose patience.
Jimmy, as calm and collected as ever, reached over and took my hand. ‘Sit down, Rachel, please.’ And when I didn’t comply, he gently tugged on my arm, forcing me back down to the table. Angling his chair towards me and speaking without any agitation, he asked slowly and clearly, ‘Where do you work, Rachel?’