Forget Me Not

Chapter One

A blast of heavy metal music ripped through the air, waking him with a jolt.

The man opened his eyes and saw a big black car passing by, a feminine arm hanging out the passenger side window, long bleached hair shaking as the woman nodded her head to the rhythm of the car stereo. The drums from the music were so loud he could feel the reverberations in his chest, the guitar solo so shrill that it grated. He just wanted it to go away.

He was hit by a whiff of exhaust fumes, and there was a roar from the V8 as the car sped off, thankfully taking the horrible music with it.

He was lying down—he’d worked out that much—on something hard that turned out to be the wooden slats of a bench. He levered himself up until he was sitting. Leaving one hand on the backpack he’d been using as a pillow, he began rubbing the back of his neck. He felt stiff all over, and his head ached. Looking down, he saw he was wearing dark jeans and a white shirt that was crumpled but clean.

He wasn’t surprised that he felt lousy, given that he’d fallen asleep on a bench out in the open and in the middle of the day. But why would he have done that? And how had he got here, wherever ‘here’ was?

Eyes narrowing, he scanned the street. As far as he could make out, he seemed to be sitting near a busy city strip. Cars steadily streamed past in front of the cafes, stores and other businesses, and people were out and about. They were comprised mostly of elderly ethnic couples and young people covered in tattoos and multiple piercings.

On the other side of the road, a skinny guy outside a gelati shop was lifting a brightly coloured A-board onto the pavement, while another man laid plastic chairs out by the front window. Their movements were slow and practiced, and it must be opening time.

Not far from there, three schoolgirls walked with heavy bags slung over their shoulders. Their navy skirts were hiked up, and their pale blue shirts were untucked to make their uniforms look sloppy. Chatting and pointing, they ogled the ice creams or the young men, or perhaps both.

A hotel further along the street had opened its doors but showed no other signs of life. Layers of band posters were peeling off the wall outside. A hotel on the opposite corner, which looked more up-market with its large stained glass windows, held a sign proclaiming it as the Sail and Ale. None of these landmarks, however, gave him an indication of where he was.

Leaning forward, he covered his mouth with one hand. He should get home. He should know where that was. He should know his name, where he lived, his phone number … but he didn’t.

This was bad.

His stomach dropping and heads in his hands, he tried to piece together what the hell was going on. He felt his pulse slowly rise until his heart was thumping against his chest wall. Sucking in deep breaths, he waited a few minutes until he’d calmed down.

He must have a name—everyone did. He must live somewhere and have a job. But he remembered nothing.

I don’t know who I am.

This was madness.

He stood up and checked his pockets. He’d hoped to find a wallet or some other form of identification, but except for a few coins, they were empty. Sitting back down, he began to rummage through the backpack. He found a handful of receipts—there were some from supermarkets, some from newsagents, and even one from a gift shop. Yet none held his name or even a credit card number.

What had he been doing walking around with no wallet? Maybe he’d left it at home—wherever that was—or perhaps someone had stolen it?

If only he could remember what had happened. Maybe someone could help him

He spied an overweight woman walking nearby. She wore black bike pants and a loose tee-shirt, and she was holding the hand of a small child dressed in pink.

He stood up. ‘Excuse me,’ he said to the woman, ‘but I’m lost. Can you tell me where we are?’

‘Newtown,’ she said.

‘And where’s that?’

She screwed up her nose. ‘What do mean where’s that?’

‘Where’s Newtown?’

‘In Sydney.’ Glancing down at her little girl, she turned away from him, saying, ‘This way, honey, quickly.’ Walking between the parked cars, she looked both ways and then crossed the road.

He shook his head in disbelief—she’d thought he was a weirdo. Did he look that bad? Surely not, and at least he wasn’t wearing tight Lycra pants. Nevertheless, he raked his fingers through his hair to tidy it and smoothed down the front of his shirt before dropping back onto the bench.

A young couple approached. The woman walked with a cheerful bounce, chatting as she strolled, and the guy had a smile on his face and was clearly comfortable in her presence. They looked friendly enough.

‘Excuse me.’ He grabbed his backpack as he stood. ‘Can you please tell me how to get to the nearest police station?’

‘Sure,’ the man said. ‘Head straight down King Street …’

King Street? Was that name supposed to mean something to him? The rest of the directions disappeared into a blur.

‘We’re going that way,’ the young woman said with a chirpy voice. ‘We can take you.’ Turning to her partner, she added, ‘He can stay with us as far as the park. You can see the police station from there.’

He nodded at the two. ‘Thank you.’

‘Are you from the States?’ the woman asked as they walked.

‘Yes … No … It’s a long story.’

Was he from America? That was a good question. Maybe that information would help the police work out who he was. This was something; things were moving forward. He was having a normal conversation with pleasant people. Things had to get better from here on in.

They sure as hell couldn’t get any worse.

Chapter Two

Whether he liked it or not, Stefan needed her. And there was nothing either of them could do to change that.

Claire Simons followed the nurse as she walked down the hallway. She wished the woman would talk to her—say something, anything—but the only noise was the soft thud of their footsteps on the threadbare carpet and the faint clink of crockery in the distance.

The hallway walls were painted a pale gray that matched the carpet. The muted prints on the walls failed to brighten the place up even slightly. She felt like she was down a tunnel.

Stopping outside a closed door, the nurse knocked and then pushed it open without waiting for a reply.

Her heart racing, she wanted to yell. She needed more time, she wasn’t ready, and she supposed she never would be. One look at her and Stefan would remember everything, and they’d be back where they started—or finished. That would be more than she could handle.

She’d already come this far, though. Taking a deep breath to steel her herself, Claire followed the woman into the room.

‘Mr Porter?’

He sat on a chair looking out of the window, his back to them. Stefan’s shoulders were broad in a crisp white shirt, his figure imposing. Even in the bland surrounds of a hospital room, he had a certain presence that was almost palpable.

It was strange to see Stefan so still. He was normally so busy, so active, never stopping for even a moment. Whether he was working on a case, working out to an exercise program, or ordering people around—as he often liked to do—Stefan was always on the go.

‘Stefan,’ the nurse said more loudly.

He turned his head. ‘Yes?’

‘Your wife is here.’

He shifted his gaze to Claire, who was standing by the bed. ‘I guess I should say hello.’

Claire was glad to hear his voice again. Stefan had a distinctive American accent that had been tempered by years of living in Australia and was now a voice wholly his own. It was so familiar, so reassuring.

Claire looked him up and down. He had the same dark brown hair, though longer now, and the same blue eyes and chiselled features. Only the neatly trimmed goatee was new and added a funky edge which softened his features. But something was different. The Stefan she’d known seemed to missing. Eyes that had always been striking—pale irises ringed in dark blue, lined with thick lashes—now seemed dull and empty.

That was it. In his eyes there was … nothing.

‘Hello, Stefan,’ she said.

Claire stretched out a hand to him but jerked it back at the last moment, using it instead to push her blond hair behind her ears. Shaking hands was appropriate for first introductions but here that didn’t feel right—a wife wouldn’t shake hands with her husband.

Stefan hadn’t wanted to touch her the last time she’d seen him.

She watched his lips curl into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. At least he was trying.

After a short silence, the nurse said, ‘I’ll leave you to it for a few minutes.’ She brushed past Claire, closing the door behind her.

Stefan raised his eyebrows. ‘So you’re my wife?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

He opened his mouth to speak. Instead, his face clouded over and he turned away. Memories of Stefan shutting down completely after their arguments came flooding back.

Claire knew better than most people that there was one thing worse than shouted insults—silence. But she’d become hardened to his ways and wasn’t going to let Stefan hide behind his illness. If his memory had come back to him and he had anything to say, he could say it to her face. She wanted this over with.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Nothing.’

He still couldn’t bear to look at her. That spurred her on. ‘You were going to say something.’

‘I don’t know what I was going to say.’ Stefan lifted his gaze to meet hers, and this time she saw a glimmer of despair in those blank eyes. ‘I thought seeing you would trigger my memory, and that it’d all come rushing back to me. It hasn’t. It’s not your fault, though, I’m just disappointed.’

Claire felt sorry for him. After all that had happened, after everything he’d said to her and everything he’d done since, Stefan still had the power to tug at her heartstrings.

She let out a deep breath that she hadn’t realised she’d been holding in. ‘I know. I thought it’d all come back to you, too.’

‘Take a seat.’ He waved one hand at the bed and then stood. ‘Or perhaps you’d prefer the chair.’

‘The bed is fine.’

Edging her bottom onto the mattress, she sat down. She slid her leather bag off her shoulder and onto the bed, remembering how carefully she’d chosen her outfit that morning. She’d chosen a flared burgundy skirt in a crinkled fabric and a simple rust-coloured knit top worn with a chunky bronze belt. What a waste of time.

She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand being there. At best, you could say that the room was clean. The carpet, thicker than that in the hallway, still bore the tracks of a vacuum cleaner. A faint smell of disinfectant wafted across from the tiny bathroom in the corner. The décor was just as drab as that in the hall.

This is where Stefan had spent the last week.

Turning his chair to face her, Stefan sat back down and rested his arms on his thighs. He stared anxiously at his intertwined fingers. ‘There are a lot of things I want to ask you. How long have we been married?’

‘Seven years, but we were seeing each other for three years before that.’

He lifted his gaze. ‘So we were living together before we got married?’

‘No, just going out.’

Before they’d married, Claire hadn’t wanted to move in with him. Towards the end, that had become just one more thing he had held against her. She’d had her reasons. Then, after the arguments started, Stefan had said she’d tricked him into an early marriage by refusing to move in with him. As if anyone could pull one over Stefan Porter. As if anyone could force the man to do anything he didn’t want to do.

But Claire didn’t need to think about that right now.

His brow furrowed. ‘The doctor told me I’m thirty-four, so we must have gotten married when we were twenty-seven.’

‘No, you were twenty-seven. I’m two years younger.’

‘That’s a long time together. And we don’t have any kids?’

‘No.’

‘It’s just as well, because I wouldn’t be any good to anyone as a father right now. I can’t even take care of myself.’

Claire forced a smile to her lips, hoping he wouldn’t see through her. ‘Yes, just as well.’

She reminded herself that if this was hard for her, it would be harder for him. She had so much going for her—her health, a satisfying job, enough money to get by. She had a family who loved her and friends who cared. There was nothing to complain about, nothing that couldn’t be fixed.

Well, there was one thing, but she’d moved on from that.

Stefan wouldn’t know his oldest friends if they’d walked through the door, wouldn’t even recognise his own parents. What must that be like for him?

All those years at university, all that time he’d spent reading books and journals—what had happened to it all? Was it now gone? There were thousands—no, millions—of little things that Claire and everyone else took for granted. Stefan would have to learn them all over again.

‘We live here in Sydney at a place Elizabeth Bay.’ Halfway between a statement and a question, Stefan sounded like he was just repeating information the doctors had told him.

‘Yes,’ Claire said. ‘It’s a lovely inner-city suburb. We’re living both there.’

‘Both there?’

‘I’m in our old apartment. You took a smaller place.’

His eyebrows shot up in the middle. Finally, he was showing some expression. ‘Why did I do that?’

‘Didn’t the doctors tell you?’

‘Tell me what?’

Claire couldn’t believe this was happening. She had assumed they would explain the situation to him before she arrived. This wasn’t some unimportant snippet of information but a highly significant fact, and she’d been very clear about that over the phone with Doctor Patroni. There must be procedures for this kind of thing, or formal channels of communication to relay such information, especially in a place like this. Surely the hospital staff couldn’t have forgotten to mention it to him.

By the blankness of his expression, Claire could see that they had.

She folded her hands into her lap, wishing her shoulders weren’t so tense. ‘We’re separated.’

‘Separated? But they told me we were married.’

‘We are. Technically, I’m still your wife, but we don’t live together and haven’t done for the last six months. I’m sorry, Stefan. I thought you knew.’

His expression grew puzzled, and no wonder. Stefan didn’t know who he was, and the one solid fact he’d known had about his life was being ripped out from under him.

He needed someone to fill him in on the missing years and help him get set up for this new life. He needed someone to take care of him. If she wasn’t his wife anymore, where did that leave him?

‘Why did you come here if we’re not still married?’ His head tilted with the question, but there was no accusation in his voice.

He was as sharp as always. He’d always been a quick thinker, never missing a beat. Claire had a sharp mind too. In the past he’d said she was too emotional and had accused her of not properly thinking things through, but it wasn’t a crime to have a heart.

‘I’m here because you need me,’ she said. ‘Because someone has to take care of you. I couldn’t abandon you.’

Stefan looked her in the eye. ‘You could have said no.’

‘No, I couldn’t have. I’d never do that.’

His shoulders relaxed, and he leaned back into his chair, knees apart. Though his eyes still seemed empty, the furrow had disappeared from his brow, and his lips had curled into the hint of a smile.

That smile reminded her of the good times they’d had, and the simple things she missed the most—the way Stefan had laughed at her jokes, even when they weren’t very funny; the way he’d hugged Claire when she was feeling down; and, the way he’d surprise her with a kiss when she’d least expected it.

She wasn’t about to walk past him now and pretend this wasn’t her problem. No way.

Stefan nodded thoughtfully, his eyes still lingering on her. ‘You seem like a nice person.’ His gaze turned earnest, much like when he was examining a legal brief or was negotiating with clients. He had an excellent poker face, yet Claire knew that behind the mask Stefan’s mind was constantly ticking over, reading and interpreting people, and weighing the ramifications of his decisions.

The situation struck Claire as so ridiculous that she burst into laughter. This man had the sharpest mind of anyone she knew and had challenged her intellectually like no other. ‘What’s so funny?’ Stefan asked.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on?’

Claire calmed herself. ‘We were married for a long time, and we knew each other so well that it seems odd