Memory of Love
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- 7 -
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Ben had left for New York on Sunday morning. On Wednesday afternoon, Leanne received a phone call.
“It’s Ben.” Ben’s voice had come tersely down the line. “I’m at the airport. Would you mind picking me up?”
“Er… yes, of course, no problem.” Leanne frowned at his tone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thank you.” Ben had hung up.
Leanne got into her car and drove to the airport, wondering how the trip had gone. He certainly hadn’t sounded overly happy on the phone.
She arrived at the airport, parked her car, and went in search of Ben. She found him waiting for her in the arrivals building, sitting on his upturned suitcase. He was wearing sunglasses, probably to avoid recognition. With the success of the t.v. show, he was recognised in public a lot more these days. He stood up, as he saw her approach, and bent to pick up his suitcase.
“Hi.” Leanne smiled. Ben didn’t.
“Hi.”
He followed her outside to the car park, where they stowed his suitcase in the boot of her car before Ben squeezed himself into the passenger seat and sat staring out of the front window, his face set, his body rigid, warning off any attempt at communication.
Leanne started the car and backed out of the parking bay, not daring to ask what had happened on the trip. They drove to Ben’s in a strained silence.
Once outside the house, Leanne stopped the car, and turned off the engine, but made no attempt to get out and retrieve Ben’s suitcase from the boot.
Ben had opened the door and put one foot out before he realised that Leanne hadn’t made any attempt to move. He looked over his shoulder at her.
“Would you get my bag?”
Leanne ignored the question, turning to look intently at him. She wished he would take off the sunglasses so that she could read his eyes.
“What happened, Ben?” she asked softly, deciding to push the issue now, before he had a chance to run away.
Ben looked at her for several moments before putting his foot back inside the car and closing the door. He slumped down in the seat and bowed his head, nervously twiddling his fingers.
“Did you… find her?” Leanne asked, quietly.
Ben gave a vague nod.
“And?” prompted Leanne.
Ben gave a deep sigh. Leanne waited for him to speak.
“Carson was right.” he said presently. “She is living with a man… Her fiancé.”
“Fiancé?” echoed Leanne, a puzzled frown on her face.
Ben nodded. “It seems they’ve been engaged for over a year.”
Leanne’s eyes widened in surprise. “What did he do when he found out she’d been seeing you.”
“Ha!” Ben gave a cynical laugh. “That’s the good part! He knew all about it.” he said, in a bitter voice.
“I don’t understand.” said Leanne.
“She claims the baby is his.” Ben gave a tremulous sigh. “He’s an out of work actor. They don’t have a huge amount of money. She says that, when she found out she was pregnant, they decided, between them, to con me into thinking the baby was mine, to see how much they could make out of it.”
Leanne nodded, thoughtfully. It was beginning to make sense now,
“So, she changed her mind about going out with you, and kept the pregnancy a secret until she was sure you could conceivably be the father.” she muttered.
Ben nodded. “But I spoiled their plans.” He continued. “They had hoped that I would agree to her having an abortion, so that she could continue with her career, and give her the money to have it done privately – to avoid any ‘unnecessary publicity’” he added in a sarcastic tone “- and then she was going to break up with me, and then go home and use my money to buy what they needed for the birth. When I was so against the idea of an abortion, she was going to give up the idea, but then decided to play it out for whatever else she could get, by agreeing to marry me and getting me to pay for all the baby stuff and her maternity clothes. When I went home, she had the perfect opportunity to sneak away, hoping I wouldn’t be able to find her until after the baby was born.
​
He sighed. “It was so humiliating. They thought it was all a big joke. She didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed.” he shook his head. “She took me in hook, line and sinker.” he said, his voice anguished. He turned to look at Leanne, and even though she couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, she could imagine the look of pain in them.
“Do you know the worst thing?” he asked. “Even after everything she’s done… I still care…” he bowed his head once more. “Stupid, huh?”
“No. You can’t just turn your feelings off overnight.” Leanne said quietly, remembering her own reluctance to acknowledge that Tony had been two-timing her.
Ben didn’t reply.
“Do you believe the baby is his?” Leanne asked presently.
Ben sighed. “I don’t know what to believe.” he said, sounding suddenly tired. “She could be telling the truth. Then again, the baby might be mine and she might be biding her time, planning to use it against me later, somehow, when it suits her.” He shrugged. “I’ve driven myself crazy this last couple of days, going over all the possibilities. My mind’s in a whirl. I don’t know what to believe, what to do.”
“The first thing to do is get a good night’s sleep.” Leanne told him. “Things’ll seem clearer when you’ve had a rest, distanced yourself from it for a while.
Ben sighed. “I guess.”
“I’ll get your case.” said Leanne, climbing out of the car and unlocking the boot.
“What have you done to your hand?” she asked, when, as Ben reached in to pick up the case, she noticed his hand cut and bruised.
“Mmm?” Ben looked blank for a moment. Then “Oh, that. I’m afraid I lost my temper and slugged the guy” he told her. “He was so supercilious, I just couldn’t help myself.”
Leanne gave him a gentle smile. “He should be thankful that’s all he got. I think you showed remarkable restraint under the circumstances.”
Ben gave her a watery smile, before turning to go into the house.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Leanne called after him. “If you need anything, give me a call” she added.
Ben nodded, before opening the door and disappearing inside.
After brooding on it for a couple of days, Ben decided to re-hire the private investigator to keep a check on Petra and let him know when the baby was born, at which point he intended to have blood tests done to ascertain if he was the father or not.
​
​
The baby was born in the middle of July. Carson, the investigator, wired to say that it was a boy, weighing in at 7lbs 14 ozs. He had been unable to ascertain who Petra had named as the father, but advised that mother and baby were doing fine.
It was three months before Ben finally managed to get the blood tests done. Petra had refused to allow them, and Ben had had to force the issue through the courts. Petra’s attitude reinforced Ben’s view that the baby was probably his. He couldn’t see why she was reluctant to prove parentage, otherwise, if she was sure it was her fiancé s child. It occurred to him that Petra might have become pregnant by him accidentally and, afraid of her fiancé finding out about their affair, had told him she was expecting his child and conjured up the ‘plan’ to pretend the baby was Ben's to cover her tracks as well as make money. That being the case, proof that the baby was in fact Ben’s would more than likely result in her fiancé throwing her out and Ben was worried what would happen to the child then.
On the first of November, the blood tests were finally carried out and Ben was on tenterhooks while he waited for the results, up one minute, and down the next as he contemplated the various outcomes.
If the baby proved to be his, Ben was intending to fight Petra for custody of him. He knew it would be difficult to get the courts to rule against the mother, but he was determined to find a way. Petra’s callous and underhanded behaviour had made him dubious about her ability to raise the child in a decent manner and, if the baby was his, Ben wanted a better life for his son than the one he suspected he would have with her and her fiancé.
Eventually, the envelope, containing the results, arrived.
Leanne carried it into the lounge with the rest of the mail she’d picked up from the letter box on her way in.
“Here.” she said, handing the distinctively marked beige envelope to him.
Ben stared at it, uncertainly, for several moments before finally taking it from her, tearing it open and extracting the contents, crossing to sit on the sofa as he unfolded the papers and began to read them.
Leanne watched, with baited breath, as he read the first sheet before turning to the second.
Suddenly, the colour drained from his face and he let go of the papers, which fluttered to the floor, and covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking as he began to weep, silently, into them.
Biting her lip, Leanne crossed the room and picked up the sheets of paper from the floor, scanning through to the part where the results were listed. The final sentence read “There is no possibility that this person could have fathered the child in question.”
Leanne sat down on the sofa, at Ben’s side. She knew his tears weren’t only because of the news about the baby, although they had acted as the trigger. They were a release of all the emotions he had held in check for the past year.
Already hurt by Petra walking out on him in the first place, he had been further hurt, and humiliated, at realising how he had been taken in by her and taken for a large sum of money in buying maternity wear, items for the baby, and other expenses. On top of that had been the stress of having to go to court to get the blood tests done and what the outcome would be. Leanne knew that, psychologically, Ben had convinced himself that the baby was his, probably in an attempt to justify everything that had happened and, maybe, in the hope of holding onto something of their relationship, some remnant of the love that he at least had felt, even though Petra hadn’t reciprocated, and to find out now that the baby he’d wanted so much, planned a future for, wasn’t his after all, was the final straw.
The baby had been his final link with Petra and, now it was broken, Ben had nothing left. That one, impersonal, sentence on the test results had effectively nullified the last year of his life and he could no longer contain the grief he felt at losing first Petra, and now the baby.
“I’m sorry, Ben.” Leanne reached out to touch his shoulder but, as she did so, Ben got abruptly to his feet and strode out of the room. A moment later, she heard the study door slam shut.
It was two hours before he emerged, coming into the lounge, where Leanne was folding freshly laundered sheets for storage in the linen cupboard, his expression so anguished that Leanne felt a stab of physical pain as she looked at him, his face drawn, his eyes puffy and full of turmoil.
He crossed to the kitchen and filled the kettle, plugging it in and reaching into a cupboard for a cup, into which he spooned some coffee.
“Would you like one?” he asked, gruffly, giving Leanne a brief glance over his shoulder.
“No, thanks. I’m leaving as soon as I’ve put this laundry away.”
Ben nodded, turning back to the kettle and pouring the now boiling water into the cup, adding milk and sugar before crossing to the sofa and sitting down on the edge, staring pensively into the dark liquid.
“I really thought it was mine.” he said suddenly, causing Leanne to give him a startled glance.
“I thought she’d got pregnant by me accidentally and was afraid to tell her fiancé.” He took a sip of the coffee. “I wish it had been mine.” he continued, hoarsely. “They’re not fit people to raise a child.” He took another sip of the coffee, gazing out of the window with haunted eyes.
Leanne hadn’t been able to offer any words of comfort and so, after putting away the laundry, she had bid Ben farewell and left.
Ben had sunk into a depression as he struggled to come to terms with everything that had happened.
Without the fight for custody of the baby to keep his mind occupied, he could no longer push aside his emotions and relived them with renewed intensity now that he knew the final outcome, now that he’d lost not only Petra, although he knew deep down that he’d never really had her in the first place, but also the baby and the future he’d planned for it, for both of them.
Just when Leanne thought things couldn’t possible get any worse, an article appeared in one of the daily tabloids. Somehow, the press had heard about the baby and gone in search of a ‘story’.
Petra, obviously keen to make some money but not wanting any adverse publicity that might damage her career, had been only too willing to talk to the press and make Ben out to be the villain of the situation, claiming that, when she had found out she was pregnant, she had told him that she would have to end their relationship because she wanted to marry the child’s father with whom she had parted before realising she was pregnant. Ben, she claimed, had become obsessed with the idea that the child was his, even though she had tried repeatedly to convince him that it wasn’t, and had refused to let her go back to the child’s real father and had insisted on buying things for the baby. She claimed he had practically kept her a prisoner, withholding her passport to prevent her from going back to her fiancé in New York, and that she had only managed to ‘escape’ when Ben had gone on a trip to America, but that Ben had then hired a private investigator to find her and had then turned up on her doorstep demanding she come back to England with him and physically attacking her fiancé.
She also claimed that when she had told Ben she was ending their relationship he had “gone crazy”, that he wouldn’t leave her alone and, fearing his wrath if she rejected him, had pretended to go along with his marriage plans until her chance for escape came along.
The article showed Ben in a very bad light, especially as Petra had stuck to the basic facts, which could easily be confirmed, lending plausibility to her story, but twisting them around to make herself look like the innocent victim and not Ben.
Leanne had been angry when she’d read it, but Ben had been absolutely furious.
Leanne went early to Ben’s that morning, hoping to hide the newspaper before he saw the article, but he was already sitting at the breakfast bar, with a cup of coffee, reading the paper, as she arrived.
“Bitch!” He had hissed, as he read the article, his breathing quickening as he shook his head in disbelief.
“Lying little bitch!” He banged his fist on the worktop, his cheeks flushed with anger. Leanne felt sure that if Petra had been there at that moment, Ben would have throttled her.
When he finished reading the article, he screwed up the paper and hurled it across the room, pacing around, hands on hips, cursing Petra to hell.
“What is she trying to do to me?” he shouted, clenching his fits. “Hasn’t she done enough?” He lifted his hands to press his fingers against his temples, physically shaking with anger, before turning and slamming his fist into the lounge door.
“She’s already made me look a complete fool. Now she’s making me look like some raving lunatic.” He was almost screaming now, a note of hysteria in his voice, and Leanne realised that this final humiliation, coming on top of all of the other emotional pressures he had suffered, was close to pushing him to a complete breakdown.
With a groan of frustration, he picked up the now empty coffee cup and hurled it across the room to smash into the wall. Leanne jumped. She’d never seen Ben so angry.
He opened his mouth, as though to continue with his tirade, but then closed it again, shaking his head, unable to think of any words adequate to describe his feelings.
Turning on his heel, he strode out of the room and, a moment later, Leanne heard the front door slam.
She stood, staring at the door for several moments, stunned by the violence of his reaction. She’d known he would be angry, but she’d never seen him behave like this.
Presently, she moved to pick up the pieces of the broken cup and wipe off the marks that the dregs of coffee that had been in it had made on the wall.
Ben had walked the streets for two hours, while he tried to get control of his emotions, coming back weary, and cold having gone out into a bitter November chill with no coat, wearing only jeans and a sweatshirt.
Leanne, who hadn’t dared leave until he returned, made him a cup of tea to which she added a drop of scotch, to warm him, carrying it over to where he had slumped onto the sofa and was now gazing vacantly into the fire.
“Drink this.” she ordered, pressing the cup into his hands. “You’ll catch your death wandering around half dressed in this weather.”
Ben shrugged, as though he couldn’t care less, muttering his thanks as he accepted the cup.
During the weeks leading up to Christmas, virtually all of the daily newspapers had run their own version of the story, bringing Ben to the edge of despair.
Already worried about what effect it would have on his peers, he had been mortified, when people in the street had come up to him and called him names, and hurt, when one or two people he had previously thought of as friends had turned away from him. Wherever he went it seemed people stared warily at him, as though expecting him to pounce on them at any second. He had contemplated doing an interview of his own, to refute Petra’s allegations, but decided it was a waste of time. Petra had used enough of the basic facts in her story that it was impossible to disprove her version of events. The best he could hope for was that the story was a ‘seven day wonder’ and would soon be forgotten.
Leanne had gone home, to Birmingham, for Christmas, but hadn’t enjoyed herself very much, her thoughts full of Ben, at home, alone and depressed, worried that he might suddenly snap, like Lui had, and do something stupid. She contemplated ringing him, but decided against it. He had been very snappy in the days before she’d left, almost biting her head off with a harsh “Yes” when she’d asked him if he would be alright while she was away, and she knew, if she called him, she would get the same treatment on the phone, so she went off to a New Year’s Eve party at an old school friend’s house, praying that the coming year would bring a change in Ben’s luck and, hopefully, in her own fortune. Having to behave merely as a friend to Ben, when she longed to take him in her arms and comfort him, was as depressing to Leanne as what Petra had done was to Ben.
Once into the New Year, the stories had faded from the newspapers, as more juicy gossip came along. Their effect on Ben, however, was far more enduring.
Over the next few months he had been quiet and withdrawn, his normally expressive dark eyes bleak and haunted. He went out only occasionally, and then only with male friends, his disastrous relationship with Petra having put him off any involvement with women, preferring to stay at home and watch t.v, or listen to music, rather than risk going out and being stared at, or verbally abused, by a few people who still remembered, and believed, what the press had written about him and Petra.
In April, they had begun work on a third series of the show. Ben had been apprehensive, wondering what they would all have to say about what had happened, but everyone had been very nice, reassuring him that they didn’t believe the stories, most of them having witnessed what had happened with Petra and seen the emotional state it had left Ben in. Some confided to him that they hadn’t trusted Petra and hadn’t been surprised by what she had done. Others expressed their sympathy for the callous way she had treated him and, slowly, Ben had begun to pull himself together and regain his self respect and his confidence.
He began going out again and even dating occasionally, which had both pleased and, at the same time, saddened Leanne.
​
​
Leanne came back to the present as she thought of Joanna-Marie Richardson. She was only the third girl Ben had dated since the fiasco with Petra and Leanne wondered what effect her death would have on him.
The sudden ringing of the telephone made Leanne jump. She scrambled off the sofa and hurried to answer it, wondering if it might be the hospital. Maybe Ben had regained consciousness? Or, maybe he’d taken a turn for the worse. She repressed a shudder at the thought.
“Yes?” she said breathlessly.
“Lea? It’s Rowena.”
“Oh, hello Row.” Leanne didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
“I’ve been trying to get you all day. I read about Ben’s accident. How is he?”
“Oh, Row…” began Leanne, her eyes filling with sudden tears. “He’s still unconscious. He has a fractured skull, and a broken arm and leg, and they’ve got all these tubes and things in him, and he looks awful, and the studio people don’t care…” The words tumbled from her as tears trickled down her cheeks. “I’m scared, Row. He just lies there… so still, so pale…” she swallowed, hard.
“What do the hospital say?” asked Rowena.
Leanne sighed. “They say he’s stable. They can’t say much more until, if, he comes round.”
“He’s in good hands.” said Rowena. “You mustn’t worry.”
“I can’t help it.” said Leanne. “I’ve been at the hospital all day, just in case. I didn’t want him to come round and not have anyone there he knew.” A thought suddenly struck her. “You say you read about it?”
“Yes. It’s in all the papers. Haven’t you seen it?”
“No. I haven’t seen a paper or a news bulletin. I’ve been at the hospital all of today and yesterday.”
“They say that… he was with a girl,” said Rowena, “and that she was killed?”
“Yes.” muttered Leanne. “I was just thinking about her when you phoned. I don’t know how he’s going to take the news. He’s only just got himself together after Petra. I don’t know if he can handle any more stress.”
“He’s certainly had his share of bad luck lately.” agreed Rowena.
They were both silent for a moment before Rowena said, “Well, if you need anything, just call me, and I’ll see you soon. O.K?”
“Yes.” croaked Leanne. “Thanks.”
The next day, there was still no change in Ben’s condition and Leanne was beginning to worry.
“How long do you think he’ll unconscious?” she asked Sandra.
“It’s not uncommon.” Sandra replied, in a soothing voice. “It could be some time. You mustn’t worry.”
“But I do worry. What if…” she trailed off, turning wide, sad eyes to Sandra’s.
“You mustn’t think like that.” Sandra told her. “There was no evidence of brain damage on the tests they did.”
“That doesn’t mean there isn’t any though, does it?”
“You have to be positive.” Sandra told her. “All the signs are that he’ll be fine.”
That afternoon, Rowena came to visit Ben. At first, the nurse was unwilling to allow her in, not being a relative, or a close friend, but when she told Leanne who it was, Leanne said it was alright for her to come in.
“Row.” Leanne went to the door to meet her.
“I thought I’d come by and see how you’re both doing. It’s alright, isn’t it?”
“Of course. Come in.” She led Rowena over to the bed and sat down once more on the chair at its side.
“No change?” asked Rowena, looking down at Ben’s cut and bruised face, barely visible beneath all the tubes attached to him and the large dressing on his head. He certainly looked bad. She could understand Leanne’s concern, but thought she was overdoing it by spending all day, every day, at the hospital.
Leanne shook her head.
“Why don’t you come over to my place, for supper, tonight?” Rowena suggested, hoping to tempt her away.
“Thanks, Row, but I don’t think so.”
“It’s not going to do you, or him, any good you sitting here all day, every day. You have your own life to live too.”
Leanne sighed. “I know. “ Little did Rowena know just how much Leanne wished her life could be entwined with Ben’s. “But I wouldn’t enjoy it. Maybe some other time?”
Rowena sighed. “O.K.”
They chatted for a little while longer, before Rowena stood up to leave.
“Take care.” she told Leanne.
Leanne nodded, not really listening, her gaze fixed on Ben’s pale face. With a sigh, Rowena left.
Later that afternoon, two police officers arrived to advise that they had located some film from a CCTV camera belonging to a factory near to where the accident had taken place and that, after viewing the footage, there were no charges to be brought against Ben for the accident and Joanna-Marie Richardson’s death.
“Neither person was over the drink-driving limit, no other vehicles were involved and the vehicle wasn’t speeding.” said one of the officers. “It was just an unlucky accident. Miss Richardson’s lack of familiarity with the car may have been a contributory factor, but it could just as easily have happened if Mr Gallagher had been driving, with the weather conditions at the time, in which case both of them could have been killed.”
Leanne was glad that the matter was legally closed. It was one less thing for Ben to have to worry about when he regained consciousness, if he ever did, although Leanne knew he would still be devastated when he found out that Joanna had died.
​
​
The days passed, and Ben’s condition remained unchanged. On the advice of the hospital, Leanne began visiting only a couple of hours a day. It was too upsetting for her to be there all the time, and wasn’t achieving anything, so she forced herself to try and lead a normal life - as normal as was possible under circumstances. She went to Ben’s each morning, to clean, as usual. After four days, she had begun to open his now mounting pile of mail and dealing with whatever she could, writing to others to explain that Ben was ill and would contact them himself when he recovered.
In the afternoons she shopped, did her own housework, called friends on the phone, took in a bit of typing, at home, just to keep her mind occupied, and would visit Ben between five and eight in the evenings.
The doctors had suggested she talk to Ben, in the hope that his subconscious would hear her and react. Leanne felt a little foolish at first. It was like talking to herself, and she couldn’t think of anything to talk to him about. She didn’t want to talk about all the bad things that had happened, and that didn’t leave a lot else, from what she knew about him, so she just chatted about everyday things as she would to her Mother, or Rowena.
She went home each evening emotionally drained, more often than not falling straight into bed.
In ten days, she lost seven pounds in weight, and when Rowena called to see her one evening, almost two weeks after the accident, she was shocked at her friend’s appearance.
“My God, Lea, what have you done to yourself?” she exclaimed as she followed her into the lounge.
“I’m O.K” Leanne forced a smile.
“Like hell you are. I’ve heard of pining for people, but this is ridiculous.”
Leanne sank into an armchair. “I’m just so worried about Ben. I’m all churned up inside. I can’t eat.”
“This is taking employee loyalty a bit far, isn’t it?” Rowena raised an eyebrow.
“He’s a friend Row, and right now, I’m the only friend he has. Those bastards from the t.v. company haven’t been back once to see him. They call every now and again to ask if he’s come round yet, but that’s all, and he has no close relatives since his parents were killed.”
Rowena suspected there was more to it than that, but she tactfully refrained from comment.
“O.K, but you have to be rational about this.” she told her.
“I know. Sandra keeps telling me that.”
“Sandra?”
“One of the nurses at the hospital.”
“Listen to her. She knows what she’s talking about.”
Leanne smiled. “I’ll try.”
“I want you to promise me you’ll have breakfast and dinner, every day.” said Rowena.
“I’ll try.”
“Promise! Unless you want me to come round every day and do it for you, and you know what my cooking’s like!”
“O.K. I promise.” smiled Leanne.
“That’s better. So, how is he?”
“Still the same. They keep saying he’ll be O.K, but I don’t know. Mr. Jackson said the longer he was unconscious, the more risk there was of him suffering permanent damage.”
“Hang in there, kiddo.” Rowena winked, encouragingly. “Remember, I told you he’s one of life’s survivors. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
Three days later, as Leanne walked along the corridor to Ben’s room, one of the nurses approached her and told her that Mr. Jackson wanted to see her as son as she arrived.
She escorted her to Mr. Jackson’s office and ushered her inside.
“Thank you.” Leanne hurried into the room, her heart pounding. Oh, God, please don’t let it be bad news, she prayed.
“You wanted to see me?” she asked, anxiously.
“Ah, Miss Hamilton, yes.” Mr. Jackson smiled, rising to his feet and indicating a chair in front of his desk. “Do sit down.”
Leanne sat. “Is something wrong?” she asked, her eyes huge in her face as she looked at him.
“Not in the way you think, no.” Mr. Jackson replied. “Mr. Gallagher has regained consciousness.”
“Thank God.” croaked Leanne, her eyes bright with tears of relief and happiness. It had been fifteen days. Now she would be able to tell him how she felt about him. But then she became aware that Mr. Jackson didn’t look as happy as she would have expected.
“He is alright, isn’t he?” she asked, the smile fading from her lips.
“Physically, he’s doing fine, but I’m afraid he’s suffering from amnesia.”
“Amnesia? You mean he’s lost his memory?”
Mr. Jackson nodded. “Yes. Totally. At the moment, he doesn’t remember anything. Not even his own name.”
“Oh, no.” gasped Leanne. “Will it come back.”
“It is normal to have some memory loss immediately after an accident, or trauma. The victim might not remember perhaps a day or two before or after the event, although they can lose large chunks of memory from other parts of their life, and, sometimes, as in Mr Gallagher’s case, it can be total. We can only assume that his head injury, combined with the length of time he’s been unconscious, has caused this complete memory loss. I can’t honestly say how long it will be before he remembers anything, or even if he will.”
Leanne shook her head. “Poor Ben.”
Mr. Jackson nodded, sympathetically. “We’ve talked to him, told him what happened, who he is, and what he does but, so far, none of it means anything to him.”
Tears welled up in Leanne’s eyes. “I should have been here.” she muttered.
“I doubt if it would have helped. You’d have been as much a stranger to him as the rest of us.”
Leanne nodded, her mind on Ben.
“It’s rare,” Mr. Jackson continued in a reassuring tone, “for total amnesia to be permanent. It’s likely he’ll recover most, if not all of his memory eventually, although it’s impossible to say how long that will take.”
Leanne gazed pensively at the floor. She couldn’t possibly tell him of her feelings now. It would be like telling a total stranger and, if Ben couldn’t remember her, or how their relationship had been, it might be misleading to him. He might think they were lovers and then, if he did recover his memory, and didn’t care for her at all, he would be upset, and probably very angry to think that she had used his affliction for her own ends. No, she would just have to carry on being his friend until, if, he recovered his memory.
“Can I see him now?” she asked.
“Yes. It should be alright, just for a few minutes.” Mr. Jackson nodded. “When he realized he couldn’t remember anything, he became very distressed. We had to give him a sedative to calm him down, so he may be a bit drowsy.” he told her. “We’ve explained to him who you are, and what you do for him. We told him you’re his friend and that you would be here to see him soon. We’ve told him he was in a car accident, but we haven’t mentioned about… the young lady. He may never remember the details of the accident, so the less said about it the better for now. We don’t want him any more upset than he is already.”
Leanne nodded. “No, of course not.” she muttered.
Mr. Jackson got up and opened his office door. “Come on, lets go and introduce you.” he smiled.
Leanne got up and followed him numbly along the corridor, trying to imagine what Ben was going through. She remembered, once or twice, forgetting where she’d parked her car when she’d been out shopping and the feeling of panic that washed over her as she had tried frantically to remember where it was. Ben must be feeling like that now, but ten times worse.
Mr. Jackson opened the door to Ben’s room and entered, holding the door open for Leanne to follow. He crossed to the bed, smiling at the attendant nurse.
“And how are we now?” he asked, as much to the nurse as Ben.
The nurse muttered something that Leanne couldn’t hear, as she hovered by the door her feet seeming glued to the floor. Now that she was here, she didn’t know what to say to him.
“Well, Mr. Gallagher, Miss Hamilton is here to see you. Remember, we told you all about her?”
Leanne could see Ben nod vaguely as she approached the bed, forcing a smile onto her face.
“Hello Ben. It’s nice to have you back with us.” she said, gazing down at him. All the drips and tubes had been removed now and he looked a little more like the Ben Gallagher she knew.
Ben gazed apprehensively up at her, his eyes searching her face, obviously trying, without success, to recall her. Leanne felt a pang of disappointment. Deep down, she had hoped that seeing her might jog his memory, but it was obvious that she was a complete stranger to him.
“Leanne?” Ben whispered, the name sounding as though he’d never uttered it before.
Leanne nodded. “That’s right.”
“They tell me… you work for me?” said Ben, his speech sounding slightly slurred from the effects of the sedative.
“Yes. That’s right. I look after your house. We’re good friends.”
Ben put a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry… I… can’t…”
“That’s alright.” Leanne cut in, patting his forearm gently. “You’ll remember soon. Don’t worry about it.”
Ben took her hand tightly in his.
“How long have we known each other?” he asked.
Leanne glanced at Mr. Jackson, not sure what to say. If she told him how many years it was he might get upset knowing how much was missing from his memory.
“Oh, quite a while.” she replied finally. “Now, you get some rest and I’ll come and see you again tomorrow and we can talk some more then.”
“No.” Ben cut in. Although he didn’t know Leanne from Adam, she was the first person he’d seen today who actually knew him and he felt strangely drawn to her and didn’t want her to leave.
“Don’t go. Stay and talk to me.” he pleaded.
Leanne looked at Mr. Jackson, who shook his head.
“Not now, Ben. You need to rest. We’ll talk later, when you’re feeling stronger.”
“No.” Ben clung to her hand. “Please stay.” He pleaded, staring up at her with frightened eyes.
Leanne looked back at Mr Jackson, who answered for her.
“Alright. Miss Hamilton can stay just until you go to sleep, but no talking, or she’ll have to leave, alright? There’ll be plenty of time to talk tomorrow.”
Ben sighed, giving a small nod.
Mr. Jackson and the nurse left the room and Leanne sat down by the bed, Ben still holding onto her hand. They hadn’t long administered another sedative and it was beginning to take effect. She sat quietly with him, telling him not to worry, that everything would be fine. Slowly, his eyelids drooped and his grip on her hand relaxed as he sank into a deep sleep. He looked so lost and vulnerable, lying there, Leanne ached for him.
The bruising had gone from his face now, but the injury to his head had left a 3” long scar, which started just above his temple and disappeared under his hairline, just above his left ear.
She sat gazing at him for some time, until the nurse returned to see if he was asleep at which point Leanne got to her feet and, stroking back his hair, bent to kiss his forehead.
“Goodnight, love.” she whispered, softly, before straightening up and turning to the nurse.
“Tell him I’ll be back tomorrow.” she said.
The nurse nodded, smiling. “I will.”
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