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This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental.

I have based the tragic incident in the first chapter on a real event, and I salute those public servants and volunteers who worked so hard to manage the event, from every angle. My heart goes out to those directly and indirectly involved in the whole horrible affair, and I hope that I can, in some small way, pay homage to those who sought to bring relief and help.

I dedicate this work to the police officers, fire fighters, paramedics, doctors and nurses and all the other professionals and volunteers who give of themselves on a daily basis for the sake of others.

Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.

The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.

This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don't read it.

Later in the afternoon, Dad returned with both sets of grandparents and Richard. Hannah told them that I was tired after a long session with the psychiatrist, which caused Gran to start crying again.

I still had a terrible sense of displacement. ‘There's been a mistake!' I wanted to scream. ‘I'm not me!'

Dad's parents were less upset and Richard was very quiet. He was as tall as I was, but very slim and had started being spotty, poor kid.

“They had to, I had bone sticking into my brain and now they've put titanium in to cover the hole.”

“Yeah, so's half the male population of the county,” he muttered with a sly look at me.

“That's convenient,” he said, ducking as his father's hand almost took his head off.

Actually, it was a good visit. Even Gran managed one smile and stopped crying for several minutes on the trot. I might have been rather callous, as I still felt emotionally detached.

I was quite sad when the late shift nurse advised them I was getting tired and asked them to leave. She'd been right, because I was tired and went to sleep for a while.

This time I was standing in a line and was looking as a man lying on the ground. A car was parked right next to him. Another man was standing over him.

I looked at him. He was a policeman and he had three stripes on his tunic sleeve.

It took me a moment to remember where I was, and then it all came back. I grabbed my pad and wrote, … Stewart/Stuart…first name? Surname? Police.

“Every time I have a dream, I try to write it down in case it means anything later.”

“Some stuff could be what I overheard, others might be memories or even from books or films I've seen. I can't tell.”

“Stewart? The policeman who died, with the daughter who's a nurse, he was called Stewart. Annie Stewart is his daughter, she's off at the moment,” she said.

“I'm not sure. I wasn't on. But he was brought in the day after the rail crash, I think. Anyway, do you want some supper?” she asked, dismissing Stewart and my dream at one stroke.

I had the tomato soup and two slices of garlic bread, followed by a banana and an orange. The library trolley appeared as I ate my fruit, pulled by a spherical, jolly lady who smiled a lot.

I looked at the selection, so told her I was suffering from amnesia. I remembered telling Bruce that I liked Douglas Reeman and I saw there was one by him on the bottom shelf.

“I'm not sure that you'd like this. It's a war book, wouldn't you rather have this one? It's about a girl and her horse,” she said.

I started immediately and by the end of the first chapter I began to feel that I'd read it before. As I got further in, the feeling became stronger and it was encouraging for me. Together with the strands that Bruce had drawn out and the dreams, I believed for the first time that my memory might come back.

I managed the loo again and this time it was much easier. I cleaned my teeth and had a wash in the basin. My ribs still hurt and any twisting or bending was a no-no for a while. But I actually felt pretty good otherwise.

I kept my light on for a long time after official lights out and finished the book. It was brilliant and at the conclusion I was convinced I'd read it before. It wasn't as if I remembered the characters or the story, but the feel and atmosphere was strangely familiar.

The lad in the next bed groaned and was quite restless. The nurses kept checking on him and I felt very sorry for him, as he was a wreck.

I was doing a crossword when something made me turn and look at him. He was awake, eyes open and was looking right at me.

“Where the fuck am I?” he said, his speech was slurred and I didn't know whether that was due to the drugs or the neck brace.

I buzzed the nurse. She came quite quickly, took one look at the man and summoned the night duty doctor.

They drew the curtain around the bed and spent some time with him. I got the impression they were relieved he had finally come round. They finally withdrew, pulling the curtains back.

“I saw that on the news. Some idiot drove onto the track and committed suicide. Silly fucker!”

“Horrible. I don't remember anything from before the crash. My parents, nothing.”

“Thanks. You don't,” I said, giggling. He started laughing and stopped again. He then drifted off to sleep. The anaesthetic was still in his system.

I put my book down, turned my light off and settled down to sleep. I was just dozing off when he woke me up.

I fell asleep and dreamed of dogs, - two Labradors, one black and one golden. They were playing on a lawn and I loved watching them. Then nothing.

The days seemed to drag. The doctors seemed pleased with my progress and Bruce spent at least an hour with me every day. I managed to claw back snippets of memory, but was selective with what I told him. I was getting pictures that didn't fit with my life as a sixteen year-old girl, so I didn't want him to deem me as being loony.

Steve spent the first couple of days in and out of post-anaesthetic sleep. He really was a mess and as he became more alert, the full extent of his injuries hit him.

He made me laugh. He was twenty-three going on twelve, I think. He was a telecom engineer with BT and his life was his motorbike. He spent all his spare time on it and he used to spend all weekend either going round a racetrack or touring hundreds of miles with a couple of others.

His language was earthy and became worse as he became frustrated and angry with his injuries. I have to say the nurses were brilliant with him, but not entirely sympathetic. I thought they were a bit mean, but then Hannah told me that he'd been in the previous year with a broken leg after a previous accident on a bike.

“Just kidding. Not really, I did have, but she was on the back of the bike the last time. She told me, it's the bike or her.”

Finally, after I'd been there two weeks, the consultant surgeon told my father that I could be discharged. They'd done everything for my physical injuries and, in his opinion; the memory loss would recover in time and preferably in the home environment where familiar stimuli may spark a recovery.

Dad had held off having the funeral for Mum until I was out of danger. There was no excuse now, so he arranged it for the Friday after I was allowed home.

It was a Monday morning that I finally escaped. I was quite nervous as I dressed myself in proper clothes to go out for the first time. I'd been permitted to dress in my own clothes for a few hours every day, but I had to stay close to the ward. The bra gave me the giggles; particularly as it appeared in the week I'd been lying down, I'd put on a little extra flesh, particularly in the boob department.

I wanted to wear jeans and a tee shirt, but the jeans were too tight and I hurt too much to struggle to put them on. In the end, Hannah suggested I wore a loose top and a skirt. I felt my legs were really exposed, but she told me I looked fine and once I'd got the tights on, with some help, I felt warmer. She helped me put on a baggy sweater, as it was chilly outside. I put on some makeup while waiting for my father, wishing my hair would hurry up and grow.

The stitches had dissolved or come out and there was a mean looking scar on the back of my head. Hopefully, the hair would grow back and cover it, but it looked pretty rough at the moment. Hannah gave me a woolly hat and once that was on, with my long fringe showing, no one could tell I was shorn.

“Nah, no point. It'll grow back, and I don't care that much. I'm just grateful to be alive and walking about!”

At that moment someone I really did know walked in. She was a tall, dark haired nurse, very attractive, with a lovely smile

She nodded and went to greet the girl. She was in her uniform and I was stunned. Here was someone I knew, but had never seen before. How?

“Jenny, this is Annie. She looked after you that first day, and you remember her, don't you?”

“I'm sorry, but we had a family tragedy. My dad died unexpectedly, so I had to take some time off. The funeral was last Friday. I'm so pleased to see you looking so well. The last time I saw you they were getting ready to pull the plug!” she said. She was almost in tears.

The tears fell and we hugged each other. It felt right, for some strange reason this girl felt like family and I didn't want to leave her. However, my father walked in and he didn't understand why I was quite so emotional. If I had to be honest, I didn't know why I was emotional either. I had found that I could burst into tears for no good reason and yet at other times, I felt emotionally dead. With Annie, I just felt that there was a history here, but I wasn't going to be allowed to find out what it was, not today, at any rate.

“Hello Princess,” said my father, beaming at me. “Gosh you look wonderful, I never expected to see you up and dressed!”

He grinned and nodded. He was looking a little happier today. I think the fact that he was out of grandparents' clutches for a while was enough to make anyone feel a bit happier.

I had a very emotional farewell from the nurses. I felt they were almost more my family than my family was. Even Steve seemed sad to see me go. He now had an old boy with a broken hip and Alzheimer's to keep him company.

It was raining, so Dad held a large red and white golfing umbrella over me all the way to the car. I didn't know which car we were heading for. Between them, Dad and Richard carried my small bag, all the cards, the CDs and books that I had accumulated over the fortnight. I followed them across the car park and to a dark blue Mercedes estate car.

I was very conscious that I was showing off a lot of leg, with my short skirt. Even with the tights on, I still felt chilly and I didn't like the chunky shoes with big block heels.

Dad opened the doors with a remote, opening the front passenger door for me. On getting in, I was pleased the car was quite warm inside. Richard got in the back with all my stuff.

He smiled and adjusted the heater/climate control. Warm air gushed out as soon as he started the car.

As he drove out of Reading and along the back roads, it was like a journey in a foreign land. It was new to me and I was very quiet. Richard kept telling me of things that happened on other journeys on this route, things like when he was sick after drinking a can of Sprite and a bag of cheesy puffs, but none of them was familiar to me. Just as well, I suppose.

The rain made the world seem grey and I tried to picture the home I was heading for. I found it very difficult to formulate a picture in my head, as it was hard to differentiate between wishful-thinking and reality.

“I think so. My head is fine and even my ribs are okay. As long as I don't have to carry the coffin.”

“I'm sorry, Daddy, that was in bad taste. I seem so remote from it all, I can't seem to take it all in. I'm sure it'll hit me eventually.”

“You've had a massive trauma. At least, that's what the neurosurgeon told me when you were in a coma. None of us expected you to pull through, so my little love, I'm just so happy to have you back. The three of us will get through this together.”

“Does Granny have to be here?” said Richard from the back. His tone of voice spoke volumes.

“She was my mum, I don't see why she has to have everything her way,” Ricky said, somewhat petulantly.

I could tell that Richard missed Mummy badly and try as I might I still couldn't even picture her face.

Dad's expression said a lot. He missed his wife and was having to allow others to take up his attention. I touched his arm again.

“Don't be silly. You've given us hope and something to be thankful for. Hasn't she, Rick?”

We pulled off the road and up a driveway. It was about a hundred yards long, with a large house looming at the end of the drive. I'm not sure what I expected, but it was larger than I had anticipated. It was an old, white house, with a date etched on a plaque above the door.

Wisteria and ivy climbed the front, above the front door, and a short grassy bank ran off to the right, down onto the lawn. A tennis court was at the far right, and I saw a small paddock beyond that. Two horses were grazing in the paddock and one looked up as the car came to a halt.

“Flora and Dora, the horses. You and Mummy used to ride every spare moment you got,” he said, as sadness fell across his face like a dark shadow.

“Which one's which?” I asked, looking at them both. One, a lighter brown with a white mark on its face, was still watching.

“I won't be able to ride of a bit. I mustn't risk falling off for at least six months. Besides, my ribs are still so sore, I don't think I want to for a while.”

I got out of the car and walked across the grass towards the paddock. The other horse stopped grazing and both walked towards the fence.

Flora shook her mane and whinnied, making me smile. I stopped at the fence, she came up and I nuzzled her velvety nose with my hand.

“Hello, old girl, remember me?” I asked. She snorted and I smiled again. The other horse, Dora came along side and almost barged Flora out of the way. I stroked her nose too. Dad came up behind me.

I turned and he held open his arms and I allowed myself to be cuddled for a bit.

“Come on, we're getting wet,” he said. With his strong arm around my shoulders, he led me inside.

The inside of the house was as nice as the outside, and yet, at the same time, it didn't feel like home. The furniture was nearly all antique and the decor had been very tastefully done. Pleasant pictures of horses and naval scenes adorned the walls, along with photographs and portraits of relatives. There was one photo of Dad with his uniform on. He was hugging a woman in a stewardess' uniform. I guessed she was my mother. She was very pretty.

China and ornaments were displayed in lovely cabinets and the curtains matched the furniture. It was a warm and friendly house, but it didn't feel like my home.

The grandparents were all in the kitchen, which was large enough for the four of them, the three of us, and several others besides. My Dad's mother was making lunch, Mum's mother was sitting being miserable at the large kitchen table. The two grandpas were cleaning the brass, and there was a heck of a lot of it.

They all looked up when we entered and the two female grandparents slobbered at me. I sat with them for a while, drinking the statutory cup of tea. Needless to say, Granny (Dad's mum) had baked some shortcake biscuits, so we polished that lot off.

I asked Ricky to show me up to my room. He looked at me, as if I was still pretending, shrugged and took my bag. I followed him upstairs and into a room at the end of the landing.

“This is your room, mine is down the back. The bathroom is over there and that's Dad and Mum's room,” he said, pointing as he spoke. Then he realised what he had said and simply sat on my bed. The floodgates opened and I sat next to him and put my arm around his shoulders. I sensed he'd have rather have lost his sister than his mother, feeling slightly guilty that I survived instead of her. I said so and he shook his head violently.

“No, it's not that. I just want her! I didn't want either of you to die and I'm glad you didn't. But, Jen, I miss her so much!”

We just held each other for a little while. The numbness I felt was odd, because when I wanted to feel emotion, nothing happened, but when I didn't, the tears came without any trouble. I cried a little for him and that seemed to help. I don't think he could cope with the fact I wasn't feeling what he was.

I looked round my room and liked what I saw. It was definitely a girl's room, but not a prissy room. Rosettes from horse shows were pinned to one wall and a couple of small trophies sat on the windowsill. Posters of boy-bands were on one wall and a large poster of Kenny from South Park on a toilet was behind the door.

A riding hat hung on a hook behind the door and my clarinet was on the dressing table, probably still there from when I left it there. A small collection of soft toys lay or sat on a shelf, only one rather moth-eaten teddy was on the bed. He was dark brown and had a slight squint. He looked as if he jealously guarded his privileged position through the use of extreme violence if needs be.

“Yeah, you saw Roger Rabbit at about the same time as Mum gave him to you, and you called him Roger. Except, you couldn't say Roger, so you apparently called him Woger for a couple of years.”

I smiled and cuddled Roger for a second or two. He felt he belonged. He was a tatty old chap and yet he was well-loved.

“Not really. Sometimes I have dreams, but some of them are like I'm another person. I dream of people that aren't from this family and I don't really know who I'm supposed to be.”

“No, I'm just suffering from trauma induced amnesia. Sometimes the memory comes back quickly and sometimes never at all. I just have to wait and see.”

“I don't know what I've lost. It's rather like a big empty space inside my head. It's not very nice, but I suppose it's better than being dead!”

“You look very like mum. You even sound like her now. You never did before. Maybe you did, but I didn't notice.”

“I suppose it means that she's not gone completely, as I can see her in you. You just look like a younger version.”

I smiled, ruffling his hair with my hand. He made a face and knocked my hand away.