Memories

Once James was in a stable condition Joanne started to go home at reasonable hours and not necessarily visit every day. Everything had gone far better than expected with the operations, a case for the journals no less, and it was a record time before James entered rehabilitation and recovery. Since then, Joanne had worried a little less each day, but she had still cut her hair short and wore a little less make up than usual.

Replacing so many of James' major organs had seemed quite the impossible task, without even considering the unlikely chance of a donor, yet they had done it. The donor had been involved in another car accident across the city, his body was relatively undamaged but a head injury had killed him almost instantly. Much to the nurses' collective disapproval Joanne kept pulling back the sheets covering her fiancé to look at the neat scars. She was fascinated; the criss crossing of purple lines over his torso where they had replaced parts of her man like components, had her in thrall. Over time she watched as the bruising faded and disappeared; she could not resist touching his patchwork as he slept deep within his coma, the little ends of stitches flicking under her nails and the new tissue soft under her fingers.

When James woke he took his surroundings in with surprising aplomb. At first everyone worried about brain damage and assumed the Doctors optimism was to serve their own well being; for a long time James was unable to speak and he reminded Joanne of a disadvantaged child at her school when she was young. His eyes would stare past her and sometimes thin saliva would dribble from the corner of his mouth. Much to his Doctor's barely concealed satisfaction over being right, James almost made a full mental recovery. He was, as many visiting Doctors remarked, a scientific marvel. Repeated tests in cognition and a host of medical principles that frightened Joanne, all turned out well, yet his memory suffered. Joanne's elation at the prospect of all of her boyfriend coming back to life had been obliterated when he admitted to her that he had no recognition of her and no idea of who she was. He earnestly believed he was engaged to be married and that he had indeed loved Joanne her very much, he had survived a near fatal accident for goodness sake, there were bound to be some problems with remembering - but now she was just another person. He never told her, but he found her complete devotion to his recovery quite unsettling.

James' recovery was arduous and took many months of rehabilitation. Joanne was present for as much of this as she could be, even shooing away James' own family in a valiant effort to jog his memory and return to being his partner. She worked closely with his Doctor to help him walk again and to clothe and wash himself, together they watched the scars heal. In time, James would proclaim that that fragments of memories with Joanne were coming back to him. Over a cold meal in the clinic canteen, he recounted to Joanne the time not long after they had first met, when she had fallen into a stream and he had rushed past his mates to be the one to fish her out, desperate to be her hero. The story brought tears to her eyes, once at the table with James, and then again when she discovered one of his best friends had told him the story in private so that he could tell it back to her.
Joanne persevered with James and fought to bring him 'back to full operational capacity', as his Father would describe it. When Joanne had told James' parents about the accident from a payphone at the A&E department of the hospital, she had broken down into sobs of tears so violent that his parents did not know exactly what had happened until they arrived there in person. Despite themselves, throughout even the most desperate times of his recovery, James' parents managed to hold the fort from a distance. James' Mother was secretly happy that Joanne was there to be so devoted to him and his Father maintained a frowning distance, as if the whole thing were happening in front of him on Saturday night television.

At James' party, Joanne's resolve finally gave way and she collapsed into a trestle table holding an array of savoury and baked snacks. The women clustered around James' Mother said it was bound to happen; that no girl could put up with what she had been through without an episode. Over last orders at the pub, James' more knowing friends agreed that it was possibly the best thing Joanne could ever have done – James had been almost next to her when she went down and insisted that he carry her in his arms up to bed, despite his Mother's protests over opening old wounds. That night James vowed that he would get to know this girl, that he would try his best to make her a part of his life.

“James Darling, I'll be back a little later today.” James hated it when Joanne called him Darling, when she did and wasn't within sight he would mouth the word silently.
“I have a meeting that I want to prepare for.” Joanne was throwing things into her capacious handbag in the dining room of their small terrace house as James chewed on wet cereal in the kitchen, his hand supporting a packet which he was apparently reading.
“K. Sure.”
“About half five, six. Will you be OK?”
James dropped the packet of food, little crispy things spilling out onto the Formica surface.
“Yeah. Got some stuff to do this afternoon so might not be around when you get back.”
Joanne popped her head around the door jamb; she was trying to force one foot into a ballet type shoe whilst balancing with the oversized plumbers bag in the other hand. Her eyebrows were raised, exaggerated with the effort of manipulating her foot.
“Bank stuff. Going to try and recover some of that ISA, then I said I'd pop round and see Dave in his shop.”
“Oh.” Joanne managed to get her foot into the shoe and with the force of it staggered back into the dining room.
James had no intention of doing anything of the sort, he had fished all of the money out of the bank long ago and he and Dave were barely on acquaintance terms now. He fancied he would take a walk down the canal towards the other side of the Toppen Quarter, it might be nice down there today – the past few days had been blazing sunshine.
Joanne's voice came clenched through to the kitchen again, she was brushing her hair violently, as if it had betrayed her.
“What about the job centre?” The inflection buzzed inside James' ear like a trapped fly. He looked upward from the cereal packet and swallowed his mouthful half chewed, nearly choking himself.
“My advisor says it's probably detrimental to visit every day.”
“Uh-huh.”
More sounds of Joanne's bag being arrested came through from the dining room. James finished his cereal and wiped his hands on his trousers, then picked up his coffee mug and held it close to his mouth, as if he was about to drink.
Joanne whirled into the room with her hair streaming behind her, she had grown it long again since the accident. She was all movement and intention.
“Goodbye Darling.” She breathed, smearing a Vaseline kiss onto his cheek.
“Enjoy your day.” He was levering stuck cereal out from behind his teeth with his tongue. Within a moment Joanne was gone, slamming the door behind her. James sat for a moment, then he got up and threw the remains of his coffee into the sink.

The canal's deceptive quiet fascinated James. The sun was indeed blazing the tow path where he walked, giving a lingering coolness to the shaded gaps underneath the stone bridges. Not long after coming out of hospital he had wandered down here and since then had been visiting the placid water as often as he could, so often that he had to make a secret of it now. When he had asked Joanne about the canal in the hope that it might be a remnant of some experience they shared, she had reminded him that it was where drug dealers hung out and rent boys got murdered. So he came down alone; he hadn't come down at night, not yet, for the reasons that Joanne had reminded him of, but he was sure that he wasn't far off.
He sat on a worn step in the full glare of the sun and put his hand to his side, feeling the areas of his incisions as his insides ached within him. Part of his recuperation had been counselling for dealing with the feelings related to the transplant, but he had never been able to describe fully the ache within him. The therapists quietly resigned themselves to being grateful that he had survived at all.

In the kitchen, James was sat up on a high stool reading a magazine, his back straight. He preferred to sit up when he could, another positive result of the operations. When the back door squeaked and Joanne stepped in, flustered from walking fast in the afternoon sunlight, James didn't even think to acknowledge her.
“How was Dave?”
“I went down the canal.”
“What for?”
James looked up to angry bewilderment on Joanne's face. Yet again he couldn't recognise another of his fiancé's expressions, so he shrugged his shoulders. Joanne clattered her keys down onto the kitchen side and dropped her plumbers bag under the breakfast bar, shoving her hair over back over her head and flicking on the kettle.
“Work was OK.”
“How was your meeting?”
“It's not 'til tomorrow.” A silence froze the air before the kettle began to boil furiously. Joanne wouldn't look at James, but he sensed what was coming. Clutching his magazine he began to rush uncontrollably out of his fuzzy refuge.
“Why won't you get a job, James?”
“I'm not up to that yet.”
“It's been long enough now, the doctor said it'll be good for you.”
“When?”
“When what?”
“Fuck you.”
James' Doctor had said that strange behaviour might be attributed to cellular organ transplant memory and that Joanne was to take some information home on the subject. He had seemed keen on the idea, and had prepared the material for Joanne himself, but she hadn't read it and James seemed to have forgotten.

James quickly discovered his favourite part of the canal; a little stairway led up from the water to a café bar amongst a collection of converted warehouses, the sort of modern change James decided he should hate but actually thought quite practical. On his second trip there, a girl wearing a name badge saying Elizabeth sat down at his table. She wore a long fringe and lived in clothes.
“May I sit?” She offered.
“I think you are.” James smiled. He felt omnipotent in the sunshine.
“You were in the paper a while ago.”
“I was in an accident. Big news apparently.”
“You walk past my flat every day, I feel like I know you.” Her voice was keen, clean as fresh ice.
“Can I order you a latte?”
“Full fat please.”
“Of course.”
They talked for well over an hour, James' felt drunk on the sunshine and when he got home he went straight to his own bed for a nap, missing Joanne when she came home from work.

Joanne sat opposite the Doctor with her bag upon her lap and her legs closed together underneath.
“It's been a while Joanne. Did you read the notes I gave you?”
“Yes. Mostly. I didn't understand them all.”
“James' behaviour could be explained by a number of things you know. He needs to make his own appointment with me.”
“Oh, he won't.” Joanne's bag slipped down onto the floor. She shifted as though to pick it up, but didn't.
“What about his GP?”
“I haven't asked. Do you think I should end it with him?”
“Joanne, I invited you here at your insistence. If you can get James to come here, I will try to help.”
“Fine. Thanks.” Joanne picked up her bag and strode out of the room, her long hair leaving fine blonde strands behind her like a trail.

James lay on his back in Elizabeth's bed, one arm tucked behind his head. She was curled up with her back to him, hugging her knees to her chest.
“Do you love me?” She murmured.
“What?” James thought that he had misheard her. He was feeling proud of his body, lean and battle scarred in the new light of the day.
“Do you love me?” She sighed again.
“Go easy.” James leaned onto his side pulling her over to face him. There was a faint scar across her forehead that she hid with her fringe. He traced it across with his finger and she opened her eyes.
“We've been in the wars, haven't we?”
Elizabeth glimmered a smile at him.
“I want to get so far away from here.”
“Where do you want to go?”

Joanne scrubbed the dishes in the sink hard. On the breakfast bar her mobile began to buzz urgently, she recognised the Doctor's number and wiped her hands to answer.
“Hello?”
“Joanne, it's me.”
“What can I do for you?” She ran her fingers through her hair.
“Joanne, is James with you?” His voice was urgent and sounded sorry for her.
“No. I don't know where he is.”
“Joanne, I'd like James to come and see me as soon as he can, I've been looking into what you said and it could be quite important. I don't know if I'm right.”
“Yeah, sure. I'll tell him.”
“I'm sorry Joanne, look - he needs to come and see me. Can you get him to come? He doesn't need to make an appointment.”
“What do you want from me?” Her voice betrayed her confusion.
“Please just tell him to come, Joanne. It's important.”
“For God's sake.” She squeezed the close call button on the phone hard.

James slung his bag into the boot of Elizabeth's car and climbed in to the front seat next to her. The engine was running.
“Ready!” He gasped. “I don't know why I'm doing this!” He was as excited as he could remember.
“Because you love me. And I love you.” Elizabeth's voice was flat calm. James frowned.
“Drive the car if we're going.”
Elizabeth gunned the engine and steered them out of the close streets near the flat where she lived. She was a good driver and wove neatly in and out of the amorphous traffic.
“You still haven't told me where we're going.” He challenged her, trying to distract himself from the narrow gaps she was propelling them through.
“Yes I did.”
“No, you said somewhere I've never been before.”
“So lets just see shall we?” Her voice was high and vacant.

Joanne sat in the quiet dark of the living room. She didn't want the TV or the radio on and wouldn't play any music. James had left the house a few hours earlier with a bag, saying he needed some time away to get things straightened out for them both. When her phone buzzed she answered it without looking at the caller ID.
“Hello.”
“Joanne, how are you - I need to speak to James please.”
“Look, I told you I would tell him to come and see you, I can't make him.”
“Did you tell him?” The Doctor's voice was desperate.
“He's gone. Walked out with a bag hours ago and he can stay gone for all I care.”
“His donor, Joanne, his organ donor..”
“Look if you're not interested in me, why are you calling?”
“They were in a car accident..”
“I know! I nursed him back to fucking health didn't I!”
“The donor and his girlfriend, Joanne! They were in a car accident together!”
“What's that got to do with me?”
“Has James been seeing anyone?” The Doctor was angry now.
“How should know? Probably some queers down the canal in the Toppen Quarter, that's where he's been hanging out.”
The Doctors voice dropped an octave. He almost whispered to himself.
“That's where they lived together, the donor and his girlfriend.”

The Police told Joanne that the car was probably close to it's own speed limit when it hit the apex of the barrier that made up the off ramp of the motorway. It was an unusual accident because there was no evidence of braking, as if the girl driving had crashed on purpose. What a coincidence they said, that two people with a recent history of near fatal car accidents should find each other and go through it again, this time more unfortunately.