spent far too many weeks inhabiting other people’s spaces.
He’d not had a proper check of how the allotment was faring. It was too dark outside to see anything without using the torch and he didn’t want to highlight the fact he was here any more than he’d already done. One of the neighbours (there was a whole row of houses that faced the green space) would probably report him for thieving vegetables. It was a sad fact that it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence and his being the first space, it was often the one to be ransacked. He’d never forget the year some cheeky blighter had stolen all but one of his pumpkins just before Halloween.
‘It’s no good. This chair is far too comfy.’ It sounded like a line from ‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears’, but it was an attempt to wake himself up. The last thing he needed was to fall asleep. What he needed to do was remember.
This place reminded him of lots of things: of the seeds he would normally be planning to plant now it was spring, of the crops that he should be harvesting but had been neglected and were going to seed, of the decluttering he needed to do but never got round to – but none of that was what he was looking for. What had happened here? And why did he write that note? Was it even significant?
Realising if he stayed still for too long his legs might seize up and he’d never make the return journey, Clive decided to have the remains of his doughnut and some more water in the hope it would prepare him. He couldn’t help being annoyed at the wasted journey, with no memories whipping themselves up to help him. However nice it was to enjoy some time in his own space, he hadn’t got what he’d come for. If only he knew what that was.
Everything was as it should be. Everything in his shed was as he remembered. Apart from the name ‘Nancy’ lingering in his thoughts and an odd, unhelpful note, there was nothing concrete.
Clive decided it was time to go. Being here was only causing him more confusion.
It was dim outside, with only a couple of nearby street lights casting fractured shards of illumination across the plot. It was hard to tell if anything was any different. There were no arrows pointing in the direction of what would unlock what he was unable to remember.
Setting off for the return journey, Clive was feeling decidedly worn out. He was beginning to question whether he was losing his marbles. He’d tried not to let on about these fleeting thoughts about Nancy, but the more they cropped up, the more he worried. The diagnosis of temporary delirium was beginning to look more and more unlikely. Because to him she was real.
It was a low point, knowing there were no answers at his allotment like he’d hoped.
25
Keisha
For all of my looking after Clive, I realise I’ve been neglecting myself. This is particularly evident as I peer down at my evening meal and wonder when I last had such paltry offerings. My noodles are gelatinous and aren’t tempting in the slightest. Sitting on the sofa, I stare at the wall feeling somewhat broken. I know I need to work at getting everything back to normal. But that seems impossible with Lucy still unwell and with no plans in place for Clive.
‘How are things?’ I ask Rob when he returns. I’m still in my staring position.
Rob is like a shadow in the house now. He’s become much like Hiro, our resident hermit, who comes and goes without a trace. Every day Rob returns with a bag full of any washing he needs to do for Lucy and a pre-packaged sandwich. He’s given up on cooking, returning only to the house to sleep. What with making sure Clive is okay, I’ve not seen him for a few days.
‘They’re planning to do a scope tomorrow. Once that is done, hopefully she’ll be one step closer to discharge. She’s still on a liquid diet to try and calm any inflammation down.’
‘That sounds more like good news.’ Guilt pricks at me and my instinct makes me reach two fingers to my radial pulse. I’ve been too busy and tired to consider another visit to Lucy. I’ll be so happy when she’s able to return home. Seeing Rob’s exhaustion reminds me that we’re all under pressure.