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‘How old is she?’
Questions missiled at Marielle and she had to hold up her hands to stem the flow.
‘She’s about thirty-five and no, I don’t know what will happen if she doesn’t get her memory back. We’ll have to cross that bridge if we get to it. Yes, I know I said I wouldn’t do this again but she’s different to the others. Yes, I’ll make sure I’m on my guard but I know that I’m doing the right thing, there’s not a doubt in my head. Yes, it took a bit of jiggery-pokery to get her out of hospital because they weren’t happy about her wanting to discharge herself against all their recommendations and safety orders, but they could hardly stop her if that’s what she wanted to do.’
‘Be careful, darling,’ said Diana, not wanting to be toojudgemental. Her friend had a heart of gold and none of them wanted to see her good intentions blow back in her face.
‘I hope we’re going to meet her,’ said Jackie, by which she meant she insisted they did so they could suss her out.
‘Hang on, you used the past tense,’ said Sylvie. ‘You said, ittooka bit of jiggery-pokery.’ She raised her eyebrows in question.
‘I did,’ replied Marielle. ‘I brought Sabrina home this afternoon. She’s making herself comfortable in the flat as I speak.’
Chapter 21
Sabrina stood by the large picture window in the small flat adjoining Marielle’s house looking out to the sea in the near distance. There was something about this view that was acting like aloe vera on her soul. It made her think that the sight of the sea was connected with happy thoughts and that’s why she had come to it. She had little to go on other than feelings at this present time. She knew she hadn’t just materialised at… thirty-five, she was pretty sure she was that age, but she couldn’t remember anything of importance before waking up in the hospital, just faint flotsam and jetsam, and then being asked if she wanted chicken supreme or a baked potato for her tea. As one stunted sense makes the others more powerful, her intuitions and sensitivities seemed sharpened by the loss of her memory and she had little choice but to trust them.
There was an adjoining door to Marielle’s house and her temporary landlord had been really apologetic about keeping it locked, then she explained why. Sabrina wasn’t in the slightest offended and agreed that it was wise for her peace of mind; there was nothing for Marielle to feel guilty about.Trust should be earned; it was too valuable to be given away flippantly. She felt that too.
What a kind woman she was, thought Sabrina. She’d bought her clothes and magazines and helped engineer to get her out of hospital and into this pretty flat, the home environment she was convinced would speed her recovery. It was cosy-tiny with an all-in-one lounge and kitchen, a bathroom with a corner shower and a bedroom with a single bed that Marielle had dressed for her with some clean, flowery sheets and a cloud-soft duvet.
Marielle had also brought her a box full of food: a large bar of Galaxy, butter, bread, milk, coffee, cheese and other staples. She’d left her in Little Moon to familiarise herself with her new surroundings, relax, watch the TV, whatever she wanted to do while she went out to meet with friends. The main house was called Big Moon and Marielle told her she’d named it so because on the first night she spent in here, framed in her sitting room window, like the most beautiful picture, there had been a huge, bright supermoon in the sky. She’d never seen a moon so large before or since and she’d stood just staring at it for ages in wonder.
It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet but Sabrina changed into one of the flannelette nighties, waffle robe and fluffy slippers that Marielle had bought for her. When normal service was resumed Sabrina would pay her back and more for her generosity, touch wood, because psychological memory loss was an unknown quantity, apparently, and there were no guarantees. Luckily, weighing in at the other end of the scale was Marielle’s success story about the young Italian lady. Sabrina had to hope that her brain would eventually let go of its secrets because if it didn’t – what then?
She made herself a drink and switched on the television,flicking through the channels until she came to a film she instantly recognised:Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She knew she’d seen it at least five times and what the story was and who starred in it. Why was her mind holding some things back and not others? She tried to stop thinking and just let the lovely story wash over her. Then at the end of it, the TV announcer said:
‘Following on with our Audrey Hepburn evening we haveSabrinawith William Holden and Humphrey Bogart.’
She hadn’t heard of that film. How strange it was her name. Then what popped into her memory, like a little bubble carrying a treasure, was that she was named after her late mother Rina. She knew she had died only a few years ago but in her mind’s eye she was petite with golden hair, young, not old. That didn’t matter though, what did was that something had slipped through the barbed-wire fence in her head and it meant that more was sure to follow. She smiled with relief and caught sight of herself in the mirror hanging on the wall. She felt that the woman staring back at her hadn’t smiled for quite some time.
When Marielle returned, she knocked on the adjoining door, gently in case Sabrina should be asleep. She wasn’t, and called ‘Hello’ in response.
‘Is it okay to come in?’ asked Marielle.
‘Of course, it’s your house.’
When Marielle unlocked the door, it was to find Sabrina smiling in a way she hadn’t seen her do before.
‘I remembered something,’ she said. ‘It isn’t much, but I know I was named after my mother Rina.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ said Marielle.
‘I was watching the filmSabrinawhile you were out, withHumphrey Bogart and Audrey Hepburn, and it must have pushed out a memory.’
‘I know it,’ said Marielle. ‘It’s a lovely story.’
She’d watched a lot of those old black-and-white films when she was younger. Her mum loved them. They’d snuggle up on the sofa together every Sunday afternoon when her dad had gone for a nap after his big roast lunch. Then Cilla had come along and she’d snuggle up with her mum instead and Marielle had to sit in the armchair because there wasn’t room enough for all three of them on the two-seater.
‘Come through to the house and have a cup of hot chocolate with me to celebrate,’ said Marielle. ‘My son bought me a velvetiser for my birthday and I’m addicted. I’ve got white chocolate, Black Forest or orange.’
‘They all sound nice,’ said Sabrina, but she plumped for Black Forest. She was giddy as a kipper about remembering something and Marielle didn’t think for a minute she was putting it on.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ said Sabrina, her hands drawing warmth from the mug as she sat on Marielle’s squashy sofa. ‘Since we met, everything’s been about me and all I know about you is that you’re some sort of an angel.’ A sweet-faced angel with kind blue eyes and lovely dark red hair.
That made Marielle chuckle. ‘I’m no angel, trust me. I’m a very ordinary sixty-three-year-old mum of one. When I was seventeen I went over to Italy as an au pair not knowing a word of the language but I picked it up very quickly. I stayed with the family for three years and then I became a nurse in Naples. And at the hospital there, I fell for one of the maintenance men – Salvatore Bonetti. He was gorgeous – and he knew it. We married and then came my son Teodoro, though everyone has always called him Teddy. We came back toEngland when he was eighteen as my mother wasn’t well and I found a nursing post in the hospital where you were. Four years later I lost both her and Sal within weeks of each other and I’ve been on my own ever since.’
‘That must have been hard, losing them so close together,’ said Sabrina.
