when he realised, suddenly, he’d come to the wrong place. Any memories he had wouldn’t be here. They’d be back home. It was finally time to go back.
It was only a five-minute journey without the wheelbarrow. Guildford Gardens were just opposite, but it was one of those roads that looped around and he needed to turn the corner before his home would be in sight.
For a hopeless moment he was filled with optimism. Was it too much to believe she might be standing there waiting for him?
But as the house came into view, she wasn’t there. Not at the garden gate or the front door. The optimism left him like a wave that had found its way out of his empty chest and he wondered if there would be any heartbeat at all given how he was feeling.
There were two routes into Clive’s house: the front door or the side entrance. He had a key to both; he’d been carrying them round all the time like the intention had always been to come back here despite him being afraid to do so. He opted for the front door, too afraid that using the side entrance would spark off flashbacks of the horrific event that had seemed so real.
For a moment, Clive forgot that Keisha and George had been busy clearing out the place. Over the years the house had started to get a little cramped with all the trinkets he had purchased. He was a bit of a hoarder at heart and if something spoke to him, generally it came home with him. The place was bare now, stripped back to what it originally was like. His parents hadn’t had the same fascination that Clive had and the collection was entirely his. The carpets and the furniture were still there though, much of it original to the time his mother and father had been alive.
Even the thoughts about his parents, especially his mum, made him realise… He remembered.
Not everything. Nowhere near everything. But enough. The years that he often referred to as the grieving years were coming back to him piece by piece.
What he needed to do now was go to the spot that had haunted him. The place by the kitchen counter where he thought he’d found Nancy bleeding. Having seen her alive and well would hopefully stop that nightmare from taking over.
The first thing he noticed was the carpet was different. Not from the last time he’d been here, but from the memory in his head.
And it was a memory, he realised, all of a sudden. But not one that involved Nancy. Instead, it was him…
It had been Clive there bleeding, nearly dying from the injuries to his skull and the wound on his arm. The scar that he only made up stories for, the true recollection lost.
But this… This was a truth hidden amongst a lifetime of confusion.
Standing there in the kitchen, he had the flashback he’d been afraid of, but not the one he thought he would have.
Clive held his head as he remembered being hit there. There were three of them, and every one of them was happy to beat him to a place close to death. The cut on his arm was caused by his fall to the ground. He’d sliced it along some railings with the force of falling and the skin was lacerated as if someone had taken a knife to him. It had been followed by kicks and punches before being left for someone else to discover.
Only he hadn’t remained there like someone more orientated would have done. He’d risen and stumbled his way home. It wasn’t a feat someone barely conscious should have been able to manage, and yet in his injured state, he’d made it home.
His recent delirium was no such thing. It was a fifty-five-year-old memory. It hadn’t been Nancy lying there dying, it had been him. It was the day his world had faded to black. It was only today that he was remembering it had once held colour… Violet eyes he was afraid he’d never get to see again.
51
Keisha
The fact that George is a nurse and has seen many people broken is a comfort. I can’t get a hold of myself and I’m not sure I ever will at this moment.
It’s not helping that my upset is affecting my rational thought process. I’m not sure what to do now that locating Clive hasn’t been as simple as walking up and down a few streets. I’ve even