What a day...

There have been quite  few upheavals in my life lately, not least of which is my working life. I'm sure everyone has experienced a difficult work environment. We have all felt like square pegs in a round hole at one time or another. I was only thinking this today, and really I think 'square peg' is a misnomer. Square peg denotes a certain inflexibility, perhaps even an aura of boring. Generally, square pegs are not inflexible, and definitely not boring. Square pegs have their own minds and usually a pretty strong belief in themselves. Square pegs tend to be highly individualistic and have a desire to stay true to who they are. Square pegs are different - at least from the perspective of the round hole they are not fitting into. Square pegs should be glittery stars!

I am surely a glittery star as far as my current work goes, so much so that this glittery star has had enough and was going to quit today. The security of a guaranteed income really can become secondary to being able to sleep at night. Happily for me the daunting experience of quitting was taken out of my hands. Obviously my boss has no fondness for glittery stars (!) and today, on a day off work for me, came around to my house while I was away and slipped a letter of dismissal into my letterbox.

Sure, I should be rather annoyed at such an underhand way of dismissing me - but in fact I am relieved and feel like a huge burden has been taken off my shoulders (I have never been fired before, I would not have imagined this to be my reaction). Tonight, I am sure I will sleep well :) The problem was not ever my lack of intelligence, but rather the lack of training - not everybody can teach. So I have mentally thanked my boss for solving my problem for me and resolved to give the whole situation no more thought.

We must all remember that old sayings and proverbs have remained in the collective memory because they carry truth within them. The saying that I think applies to me right now is this one: When one door closes, another opens. The trick is to focus on the door that is opening, the closed one is done and finished with.

For me, that means that I now have time to focus on getting this book published, and on writing the others that fill my head. I don't know how it is for other writers, but for me, given a tiny glimmer of encouragement, the people who live inside my head become very insistent that I tell their stories.

I do need to find alternative employment of course. I am not a person with sponsors forming an orderly line at my front door, I need to work to pay the bills. But I have learned that I feel most fulfilled when I have time to write, so that means I will be looking for part time or casual work. And until I find work, I can focus entirely on this book and on starting the next one.

Today I thought I had the book completely ready to send off to be formatted - then I discovered a thing called an ISBN. This is the International Standard Book Number. Every published book needs one as an identifier. I have just secured one and I can tell you it makes me feel very professional!

So now the book is ready to be sent off for formatting, and once it is done I can upload it and I will then be a published author. Very exciting!

At this point, in case you enjoyed the first chapter, I will attach the second for your entertainment.

Chapter 2

Alicia took one more look at herself, admiring the light of battle gleaming out of her eyes, making them even deeper and more striking. A random thought drifted out of the grey mist, it’s nice to be able to admire myself and not feel guilty. Uncertain of how to interpret it she dismissed it and focused on the wardrobe. The first step in this battle was to be dressed for it. She felt inadequate clad only in a nightdress.

She slid open a wardrobe door and peeped in. Goodness, it was a walk in wardrobe. How had she missed that when Andrew got his clothes before? Staring too hard at his cute backside, she supposed. She had opened one of the doors at the opposite end to where Andrew had gone earlier, and her guess had been correct. Facing her were rows of women’s clothes. No, her own clothes, she corrected herself irritably. She was not surprised to note that they were all perfectly organized.

To one side were shelves filled with neatly folded casual clothes – denim shorts, cargo pants, t-shirts and the like. Hanging up next to the shelves were casual skirts and shirts, plus a few dresses. On the other side were racks of hangers filled with more formal clothes such as tailored suits and even a few evening gowns. There was a section of shelving devoted to shoes, sitting paired up neatly in rows and organized by style. She noted that there were a lot of high heeled shoes, as well as more casual sandals and trainers, but not a single pair of thongs were visible.

She turned around in bemusement; she had no idea what was appropriate wear for today. Was she working, at home in casual wear, or did she even have going shopping clothes? She noticed a row of drawers next to the shoe shelves. Underwear, she guessed correctly. Drawers of underwear, also neatly organized into colours and styles. In the top two drawers were underpants and bras in neutral colours and comfortable styles. The next two drawers contained dressier styles, bolder colours and lace embellishments. The second drawer from the bottom held pantyhose in beige tones and in the bottom drawer were stockings and pantyhose in black and lace.

Alicia was astounded. Was she really this woman? She didn’t feel like an ultra-organized person. She felt in chaos, her mind was spinning and she felt lost. Did this person really dress in casual underwear and matching casual outerwear? Maybe she wore the racy underwear underneath the casual clothes as her own personal secret. Alicia hoped so, she was beginning to feel some disdain towards this rather obsessive woman that apparently was her.

Turning back towards the shelves of folded clothes she selected a pair of denim shorts and a t-shirt. From the underwear section she chose the plainest bra and pants, decided on trainers and then looked around for socks. Where would an obsessive person store socks? Alicia looked more closely at the rows of shoes. There was a narrow drawer underneath the shelf that held the trainers. Sliding it out Alicia saw it contained socks, also neatly ordered and arranged in sections – white and coloured. She took out a pair at random and then went back into the ensuite to dress.

She would have liked to have taken a shower, but not sure of when Andrew would be back and unwilling for him to see her naked, she closed the door and instead hurriedly dressed in what felt like borrowed clothes. She found all the toiletries she needed on the vanity, including what she hoped was her toothbrush. A quick search yielded a selection of hair ties in the top drawer of the vanity and she secured her hair in a loose plait. Ready to face whatever came next she opened the door and came back into the bedroom.

She was feeling very let down, because she had been so hopeful that seeing herself and her clothes would restore her memory. Instead, here she was dressed in clothes that she didn’t recognize, seeing reflected in every mirror a person whom she didn’t know, and now she was beginning to feel that she didn’t even really want to know who she was.

She poked through the jewellery in the cases on the dresser. It was all beautiful, but she didn’t put any on – it felt too much like she was borrowing someone else’s things without permission. Noticing the unmade bed she straightened the covers and fluffed up the pillows. Her nightgown was still on the floor in the ensuite. Feeling like an untidy guest she picked it up and hesitated, not knowing where it should go. There didn’t seem to be anywhere in the room for it to hang so she folded it up and slipped it under the pillow.

Now what? Alicia didn’t know what else to do. She guessed that there would be more clues to her identity in the drawers of the dresser, but she already felt like a guest spying on her hosts. In any case nothing seemed to be going to work. The panic patrolling the edges of her consciousness made itself known again, and again she pushed it away.

Feeling a bit like a prisoner Alicia looked uncertainly at the curtained windows. There were two windows in the bedroom and what looked to be a door also. She chose the window closest to her and slid open the curtains. The view outside the window rang no bells, but was pretty nonetheless. She saw that the house was two storeys and the bedroom was on the upper level. The window looked down onto a garden that was of course immaculate. She could see flower beds and shrubs, and beyond the garden other houses that looked big and prosperous.

Moving to the next window she opened the curtains and looked out. Much the same view, but she could also see enough of the road at the front to be certain that they were in a leafy residential suburb. Where did she live? Her mind was still keeping that a secret. She could be in Brisbane, Cairns or Rockhampton. At least she knew she was Australian, and even that she lived in Queensland, she thought.

She carried on to the curtained door set next to the ensuite. Sliding those curtains back she saw a pair of French doors that opened out onto a large balcony. Feeling a sudden desire for fresh air Alicia unlatched the doors and pushed them open. Warm summer air rushed into the room and she breathed in the mingled scent of flowers and salt.

Walking out onto the balcony Alicia experienced a lifting of her spirits as she took in the view of the back garden and beyond, seeing for the first time that the ocean was not far away. There were more garden beds and shrubs, and a large pool was visible at the bottom of some stone steps. Peering over the side Alicia saw that there was an entertainment area underneath the balcony. A small table and two cane chairs were arranged at one end of the balcony, and she sank down into one of the chairs with a strong feeling of déjà vu.

At last, there was a feeling of familiarity to something. She guessed that here was a place she came to often, perhaps to read or to be by herself. She leaned back in the chair and tried to call up a memory, any memory. Nothing happened and with a sigh she stared out over the rail towards the sea. She could see a couple of islands in the distance and wondered idly what they were.

A feeling of peace stole over her, and even with the dramatic loss of herself, she felt her body begin to relax. She sighed, and settled more comfortably in the chair. She could feel the taut nerves relax, tight muscles loosen, and something that had been clenched in the depths of her stomach released its grip. She realized that she was hungry.

She sat for a while and considered her options, which didn’t take long as they were few. She could stay here until Andrew returned, and hope that the peace would restore her memory. That didn’t seem likely but it was the easiest option. Her only other option that she could see was to venture beyond the room and find the kitchen. That was the most sensible thing to do, considering that she felt like she hadn’t eaten in a long time. It was, however, a seriously daunting proposition.

The thought of opening the bedroom door and venturing beyond the boundaries of her tiny known world to whatever lay beyond was frightening enough to make her muscles tighten up again. She realized that it was adrenalin flooding her system, and supposed that she had released quite a bit of it already this morning. That was probably why she was so hungry, she thought absently, her head swivelling so that she was looking back into the bedroom.

She checked the time again, and saw that it was almost 9am. Still half an hour or so until Andrew returned. She didn’t want to wait any longer, so she pushed herself out of the chair and strode purposefully through the bedroom.

Hesitating with her hand on the door knob, Alicia forced herself to open the door. It opened easily, and she peeked around it half fearfully. Beyond the bedroom she saw a long hallway with several closed doors just beckoning to be opened and explored. Coming fully out of the room she felt disoriented, and stared back at the bedroom.

Closing her eyes briefly she rationalised that she was at one end of the house, and that meant the most of the doors she was seeing were likely to be bedrooms. Grabbing her courage in both hands she opened the first door on her left, and was faced with a large storage cupboard. Inside were rows of deep shelves, full of boxes each bearing a label. She glanced at the nearest one. It was a blue plastic box and the label read ‘light bulbs’. On top of it was a similar box, only it was red and its label said ‘hole punch, leather care and shoe care’.

Closing the door she moved on. Opening the next door on the left she saw a neatly organized linen closet. Opposite that was a bathroom, with the door left ajar. She peeped in and was encouraged to see that this room was in a state of dishabille. It felt reassuring to know that the whole house was not perfect. There was a towel on the floor, an empty toothpaste box on the vanity and various toothbrushes spread over the surface. It looked like this was the children’s bathroom and they were in a rush this morning. Stifling an urge to tidy up, and not sure if it was a natural urge or a polite guest urge, she moved onto the next room, which was next door to the bathroom.

The door to this room was also left ajar, and peeping in she gasped as she beheld total chaos. This room obviously belonged to the youngest, Michael. The bed was unmade, and toy cars were scattered all over the floor. Piles of other toys were shoved in corners and a pair of pyjamas lay on the floor in front of the bed, along with a discarded school shirt. Was this the normal state of this room, or was it the end result of an active boy filling in time until his parents got up? She had no idea, and she had no inclination to tidy up this mess right now.

Closing the door she continued exploring the upper storey of the house. The rest of the rooms on the right were more bedrooms. The one next to Michaels must be Sarah’s judging by the plethora of pink and yellow. The bed was yellow, the covers pink. The other furniture was also yellow, with pink curtains and thankfully white walls. Alicia was surprised by the abundance of colour – it gave the impression of an exuberant personality which she did not associate with what she had learned of herself so far.

Her daughter was also a pretty tidy child, with the bed made in a rudimentary fashion and pyjamas lying carelessly on the covers. Papers and colouring pencils lay in cheerful profusion on a desk in one corner, and a bookcase next to it was stuffed with books. The wardrobe was closed and the small dressing table held little more than a brush and some hair ties.

Unsure of what to make of it all Alicia closed the door and continued on. The next door opened onto what had to be the guest bedroom, as it was immaculate and showed no sign of occupation. Opposite it was the last bedroom on this level, Josh’s. This room was giving nothing away. It was tidy, the bed made and nothing on the desk to give any sort of clue to his personality. This room also held a bookcase full of books. There was a wardrobe, and a dresser. She stared into the room for several long seconds, but did not enter. It felt like a violation of his privacy, and try as she did she could feel no connection to any of these children.

Softly closing the door she moved down the hallway in a sober mood. How was she to interact with this family when she felt no attachment, no familiarity, nothing more than curiosity? The last door was back one from Josh’s, and when she opened it she saw that it was a rumpus room. There was a large lounge suite, various game consoles, even a pool table. It appeared that the children were well provided for, she thought.

The staircase was around a corner in this room, she realized that it ran down the back of the two storage closets. She hesitated briefly before beginning the descent to ground level. There were photos hanging on the wall at intervals on the way down, and she gazed at them curiously. She supposed they were documentation of her life, yet nothing sparked any sort of recognition.

It was bizarre and frightening to be looking at snapshots of her life and not remember any of them. There was a wedding photo in which she recognized only herself and Andrew. She supposed the two older couples in the photo were their respective parents but she couldn’t even begin to guess who belonged to whom. Further down the stairs her eyes collided with a large studio portrait which was clearly a family shot. She wondered absently how recent it was, as her gaze took in her children.

There were Josh, Sarah and Michael, smiling happily into the camera as she and Andrew stood proudly at the back of the shot. She studied it a little desperately. Josh looked a lot like Andrew, dark chocolate eyes gazing seriously out of the photo, tousled dark hair just a little too long. He had his arm around Sarah. Her daughter had her blue eyes Alicia thought, but with mischief shining out of them like a beacon. She had long white-blonde hair and Alicia wondered how two dark haired parents could produce a blonde haired child.

Michael stood in the front with Josh’s hand resting on his shoulder, a devil in shorts and t-shirt she thought. His eyes were a light brown, almost the colour of honey and his hair was golden brown rather than dark. He wore an angelic expression, but she could see the mischief lurking in the back of those innocent eyes.

Alicia stared intently at the tableau, willing herself to remember, but there was not a flicker. While she admired her children, she felt no maternal pull towards them. In despair she jerked her eyes away from the photo and descended the rest of the stairs, resolutely not looking at any more pictures. It was just too painful to see what she had lost. She could not bear the thought of never regaining her memory, of never being a proper part of this family again. She shuddered and pushed away the thought of being isolated within her fractured mind for the rest of her life.

Blinking eyes that had blurred with unshed tears, she reached the bottom of the stairs and stood irresolutely in the foyer. The stairs ended across the foyer from the front door, she saw. There was a doorway on either wall but from where she stood she couldn’t see what lay through them. The smell of toast and coffee lingering on the air directed her to the door nearest the staircase, and sure enough, through it lay the kitchen.

With hope once again rising she stepped through the doorway into what must surely be her territory. The sense of smell was a powerful trigger she knew, so maybe that coupled with what she had seen would throw her internal switch from ‘off’ to ‘on’. The room she saw was large and inviting, the walls a cheerful lemon colour, the fittings and fixtures gleaming. She ran a finger along one long bench top – pale granite, cool and smooth to the touch. She looked at the stove and cooktop, tried to imagine herself here cooking the evening meal. She opened the huge fridge and peeped in at the contents. She cast a quick gaze over the table, still littered with cereal bowls and boxes. A coffee mug stood near the sink, still half full. Clearly the family had needed to hurry to get away on time.

Picking up the mug she stuck her nose in and inhaled deeply. Fragrant coffee fumes filled her lungs and made her feel dizzy. It served to remind her that she was hungry, but did nothing to jog her memory. Dejected, she located the jug easily enough and turned it on. A search of the pantry and cupboards eventually yielded bread for toast, and several boxes of teabags. Tea was what she wanted, but she didn’t know if that was what she drank. She just knew that she needed the comfort of a steaming cup of tea.

The toaster was on the bench, still slightly warm, so she put some bread in and pushed down the lever. A quick rummage through the fridge failed to locate any butter, and then she saw it still on the table. There was honey there too, and she took it back to the bench with the butter. The small rituals of buttering toast and making tea helped to soothe nerves made ragged by the events of the morning. She was relieved to note that she did not have to think about how she took her tea. Evidently that was one of the small remnants of her previous life.

She had finished the toast and was sitting drinking the last of her tea when she heard the front door open. Realising (hoping) that it was Andrew she froze with her hands wrapped around the mug, staring at the doorway. She had no idea what she was going to say to this man who was both her husband and a total stranger. How was he going to react when she told him that she couldn’t remember anything?

Andrew came into the kitchen while she was still trying to formulate an explanation and stood staring at her in apparent shock. She stared back, perplexed. She didn’t know what she had done that would make him look like that. Was it the wrong clothes for today, or did she not usually eat breakfast, or maybe she hated tea? She tried a smile, but it went all wobbly on her face.

He dropped the keys he was carrying onto the bench and rushed to her side. Wrapping his arms around her he stroked the back of her head soothingly. Alicia rested her head on his shoulder with a little sigh, and gave herself up to the rather pleasant sensation of being coddled.

All too soon he held her shoulders back and gazed searchingly into her eyes. Tentatively he asked, “Are you feeling better?”

Not knowing how to answer, Alicia shook her head slightly.

“Well I rang the doctor as soon as they opened and made an appointment for you. Do you think you should go?”

Should she go to see the doctor? She had to do something, so maybe this was the place to start. She nodded her head, then thought to ask, “What time is my appointment?”

“11.30. You’ve still got an hour or so before we have to leave. Can I get you anything? Do you need some painkillers or…” Andrew paused, gesturing helplessly. “Alicia,” he continued carefully, “What is wrong with you? Do you feel sick, or dizzy, or what? I can see you’re not yourself, you haven’t cleaned the kitchen or put your make-up on so you must be feeling pretty dreadful.”

Alicia filed that titbit of information away. Apparently she was big on tidiness, and she wore make-up even in casual clothes. Right now she just didn’t have the energy to put on make-up and besides which she had no idea how she liked to wear it. Cleaning anything was going to take time since she would have to search for everything she needed. Having observed the contents of the cupboards, fridge and pantry, though, she figured that it would not take long to find things, organized as she was – or used to be.

She stared at Andrew who was looking at her with an expression somewhere between concern and exasperation. Deciding that the only way to tell him what had happened was to start at the beginning she did just that. To his credit he listened to her without interruption as she recounted everything that had happened to her since she woke this morning. She could see that he was struggling to believe her, but she slogged on regardless.

“And now here I am in a kitchen I don’t recognize, wearing clothes I don’t recognize, talking to my husband that I don’t...” Stopping abruptly she stared at him wide-eyed.

Andrew stared back and slowly filled in, “recognize. You don’t know me, do you?”

“No,” she replied in a voice little more than a whisper. “I don’t know myself either. I don’t know what I do all day, what I wear, how I behave, where the children go to school. I don’t even know the children,” she finished softly. “What am I going to do?”

Andrew gazed at her, his eyes full of purpose and determination. “Not you, us. What are we going to do? I married you for better or worse. We’ll find out what has caused this, and we’ll fix it. You’re not alone, you have me and the children. They may find it a little difficult to understand, but I’m sure this is only a temporary thing. You were fine yesterday and last night. This can’t be anything serious. We’ll go see the doctor and he can tell us what to do. You’ll see Alicia, everything will work out just fine.” Straightening, he took the seat next to her. “Remember, it’s us against the world darlin’, and together we can face anything.” 

Getting closer

So today I've sent off the book for a quote on preparing it for ebook upload. I confess I was sidetracked by all the pretty promises (and prices) with which the various web pages I visited tried to tempt me. And I was tempted! Such nicely worded hooks they dangle - what indie author wouldn't be swayed, even if only momentarily, by the promise of full publishing. Send the book, pay the money, get it professionally published and marketed and sit back to wait for the royalties. Very tempting.

However it does cost quite a lot more than my original goal of simply having it formatted. I have no quibble with the fees, these people charge a one-off fee and all royalties belong to the author from that point on. But I do have to stick to my original plan. Remember, indie author, small budget, realistic expectations of modest sales on the first book (optimistic hope notwithstanding of the book going viral a la 50 Shades of Grey - a not especially well written book but with a terrific hook).

So I bid a sad farewell to my fledgling dream of having the book professionally marketed and gave myself a stern talking to. After all, who has a more vested interest in this book being a success than me? Who will work harder at getting it noticed if not me? Having set myself firmly back on my path I sent away the request for a quote for formatting. I also have another webpage saved which has even prettier promises wrapped up in steadily increasing prices. This page has a flat fee for a fiction novel, so I will wait for a return email from the other, and then compare prices and services. Very level headed of me I think :)

While I wait I'll go check my ever expanding list of things to do to get this book noticed. I have a few days off, so I'm going to spend them getting everything sorted. Because as soon as the book is formatted I want to upload it to Smashwords first, and then to Amazon kindle.

Bearing that in mind, perhaps it's time I attached the first chapter, so you the reader can sample my work.

BLANK CANVAS

Chapter 1

She woke up with that feeling of disorientation that sometimes happens on waking suddenly in the middle of the night. For just a few seconds she had no idea where she was, or even who she was. Then she recognized the layout of the shadows in the bedroom, felt the reassuring presence of her husband in the bed beside her, and the panic that had been building up dissipated. Taking a deep steadying breath, she linked the little finger of her left hand into the little finger of his right, smiling as even in sleep his finger tightened around hers. All was well. She slipped into a deep dreamless sleep.

The next time she woke it was full morning and sunshine was streaming into the room around the edges of the still drawn curtains. Looking at her watch she saw with a twinge of anxiety that she had slept in. Jumping out of bed she took two steps, trying to remember what she needed to do first. She couldn’t remember. She stood still, trying to think, but her mind would not cooperate. Perhaps a shower would help. She took a step forward to go to the bathroom and panic began to spiral up through her stomach as she realized that she didn’t know where the bathroom was. Was she even in her own bedroom?

She looked around, but nothing was familiar to her. It was a very nice room though, very colour coordinated, so maybe she wasin a hotel. Perhaps she drank too much the night before, although she didn’t feel hungover - but she did feel curiously empty. If she couldn’t remember the night before, what might she have done with all inhibitions on hold? Looking at the bed her heart sank as she saw a man in it, one who was naked at least to the waist, and one who was completely unfamiliar. Attractive, she noted with a small sense of relief, but a total stranger.

With a spurt of alarm she saw that he was looking at her through sleepy chocolate eyes. Willing herself to look back at the man, she smiled tremulously and said shyly, “Good morning.”

He frowned a little, as though slightly puzzled, but responded easily, “Good morning honey. Did you sleep in today? You’re usually gone before I wake up.”

Oh dear, so he thought he knew her. But he couldn’t know her. She would surely remember if she had shared a bed with an attractive man like him before. Was this a case of mistaken identity? Had she gone off with a man who thought she was someone else? It would certainly explain the lack of recognition she felt. She rubbed her forehead irritably. If only this fog in her brain would lift she might be able to remember the night before.

“Alicia, what’s wrong? You don’t look too well. Couldn’t you sleep last night?”

She stared at him in bemusement. Alicia? Who was Alicia? It wasn’t her, her name was, was… She didn’t know. Her legs turned to jelly and she sank to the floor in shock. She didn’t remember her name. She didn’t remember last night, and try as she might, she couldn’t remember yesterday either - or the day before, or the week before, or any time before right now. Lifting trembling fingers she pushed back her hair – she had long brown hair she noted abstractedly.

“Alicia?” The man had jumped out of bed. She averted her eyes hurriedly as she realized that he was completely naked. A small part of her mind congratulated her on her taste in men, but she was in no condition to pay it much attention. He was squatting down beside her, trying to get her to look at him, talking all the while.

“Do you feel sick? I can go into work later this morning if you’d like. I’ll get the kids ready and take them to school. You go back to bed and if you don’t feel any better when I get back I’ll take you to the doctor.” He had pulled her gently to her feet as he spoke, with the intention of propelling her to the bed.

She was staring at him in total confusion. What was that he said? Kids? They had kids? How could she not remember this man, presumably her husband, and children? Was she having some sort of waking nightmare? Surely it was impossible to just forget a husband and children, to just forget a life. Who were they? Who was she? She felt like she was suffocating, and even as shestared at the man’s face he began to slip out of focus. With a soft sigh she gave up the fight to understand and fainted in his arms.

The feel of pillows behind her head when she came to told her she was back in bed. For a few precious seconds she thought that it had all been a terrifying dream, but the insistent voice calling her name told her that it wasn’t. The only reason that she knew Alicia was her name was because the man who seemed to be her husband was using it to try to wake her up.

For another few seconds she considered pretending that she had slipped into normal sleep, or even better, a coma, but she soon realized that would not solve anything. With an internal sigh she opened her eyes and stared straight into worried brown ones. They were the colour of her favourite dark chocolate she noticed, and wondered briefly how she could remember her favourite kind of chocolate but not her own name.

“Alicia honey, what is it? I’ve never seen you like this before. You’re scaring me.”

“My name is Alicia,” she stated with a slightly hysterical rising inflection at the end that made it sound more like a question.

“Well of course it is, has been all your life.”

“I’m sorry to ask what must be a really obvious question, but what’s your name?”

The man blinked and stared at her cautiously. “What do you mean ‘What’s my name’? It’s Andrew, like it’s been all my life too.”

She nodded, and added the name ‘Andrew’ to her sad little store of names. Two now, she thought. “You said we have children. How many do we have, how old are they and what are their names?”

“Alicia, I don’t understand the game you’re playing, but it’s giving me the creeps.”

“Please, um, Andrew” - the name sounded strange on her tongue -“Please just humour me. How many children do we have, how old are they and what are their names.”

He sighed, but answered with only a slight edge to his voice, “We have three children. Josh is 13, Sarah is 11 and Michael is six. Do you want me to describe them to you?”

She recognized the last as sarcasm, and felt too drained to try to explain that actually, yes, she did need him to describe them to her. Three children, and the first two so close together. She did a rapid calculation. But then five years gap until the last. Should she ask, or was it something that she didn’t want to know about – marriage troubles or perhaps a few miscarriages. It was like getting to know a stranger, and hesitating to ask questions for fear of hurting feelings or calling up unhappy experiences.

She had been staring at her fingers nervously pleating and unpleating the bedcover and now noticed that the sheets and bedcover matched. Looking up, she saw that the curtains were in similar tones of deep rose and green. If this was her house, and she supposed it was, it seemed that she had good taste and took pains with the home décor – at least in the bedroom.

Swallowing reflexively she realized that there was a whole house out there past the bedroom door that presumably was maintained by her. Then there was the outside world. The enormity of what had happened to her began to break through the numbness that had cushioned her since she had woken from the faint and she began to shake.

“Alicia! What is it, what’s wrong?” All traces of irritation dropping away from him Andrew cradled her close, rubbing her back and trying with body heat to calm her. It only served to increase her agitation. Her body shook even further, tears spilled from her eyes and even as she tried desperately to regain control a huge sob traveled from the pit of her stomach and burst out of her. Abandoning her attempt at control she collapsed into his arms and sobbed out all her fear and desperation at the state in which she found herself.

Once started it seemed that she could not stop, but the human body cannot sustain such intensity for too long, and gradually her sobs became less intense, and she began to settle down. She felt calmer, but was aware that it was the calm of numbness rather than any real peace. Andrew had continued to hold her close, murmuring soft words of comfort as she cried. However he put her from him as the tears stopped, gazing worriedly into her face – no doubt blotchy and swollen from such a storm of weeping.

“I think you should stay in bed this morning. I’ll get the kids ready and take them to school, and then I’ll come back here and we can talk, hmm?”

Staring helplessly at him she could only nod. He began to get up off the bed, but stopped and sank down beside her again. Taking her hands in his he added a bit diffidently, “Would you like me to keep the kids away this morning? I think that perhaps you are not quite up to seeing them right now.”

She flashed him a brief smile of relief, because she had been feeling anxiety, no fear, at the thought of interacting with three children of whom she had no memory. How would they handle it? She had no idea since she had no idea what they looked like; let alone their personalities.

He looked as though he was going to add something else, but on glancing at his watch, jumped off the bed in a mild panic. “It’s late, we’re going to have to rush or they’ll be late for school. Stay here and rest, I should be back by 9.30 or so. It’s amazing no-one has knocked on the door yet, I hope they’re all up.”

With a rather distracted look on his face he grabbed some clothes out of one of the built-in wardrobes that lined one wall of the room. Even in her current state of distress she watched his naked backside appreciatively as he disappeared into the ensuite.

Bringing her mind back to her predicament she eyed the wardrobe speculatively. Inside there would be clothes that belonged to her. Surely the type of clothes she wore would give some clue as to who she was. Perhaps she should begin trying to reclaim this life, or at least try to understand it. Her mind beginning to function again, she decided that there had to be a way back toherself, and the sooner she started the sooner this whole nightmare would be over.

Andrew came out of the ensuite fully dressed. She felt a mixture of relief and regret that his body was no longer on display and decided that it must be a good thing that she could find him attractive even though she did not remember him. It must mean that even though her memory was gone she was still basically the same person.

      He headed for the bedroom door, did an about face and came back. Leaning down he brushed her lips with his, said, “See you soon, go back to sleep,” and was gone, the door shutting almost soundlessly behind him.

Lips still tingling from the unexpected contact, she stared at the closed door trying to remember what was beyond it. Expelling her breath in a gusty sigh she gave up the attempt. For all she knew there was nothing out there but space, like looking out of the Tardis in an old Dr Who episode.

About to lie back down in the bed she stiffened as she realized that she did remember some things – like Dr Who. What else could she remember? She fizzed excitedly in the hope that her memory was coming back and by the time Andrew returned she would be back to her old self. Lying back against the pillows she tented her fingers under her chin and tried to think. What could she remember? She strained and strained, but it seemed that the more she tried the thicker the fog inside her head became.

Ok, so trying to remember was not the way. Perhaps she needed a trigger, something that would reconnect the synapses in her brain and bring back her memory. Her eyes swung around the room, resting on the sliding doors of the built in wardrobes, moving on to the various pictures on the walls and the dressing table in the corner. It was very neat, with jewellery cases lined up and some pretty ornaments arranged precisely.

It would seem that she was a bit of a neatness freak she mused as she gazed about the immaculate room. There were no clothes lying around, no books or magazines in sight. Maybe there was something to see in the ensuite. Her gaze lingered on the doorway into that room before returning to the mirrored doors on the wardrobes. As the fingers of her left hand nervously twirled a long strand of hair, her eyes became fixed on the mirrors. There was one sure way to see who she was, or at least what she looked like. Maybe it would prove the key to regaining her memory.

Unwilling to take such a step with a potential audience in the house she listened carefully to the outside sounds. She could hear birds chirping just outside the bedroom windows, but there was no discernible sound from within the house. That meant that everyone had gone, didn’t it? Maybe not though, maybe they had a very big house and the kitchen was a long way away from this room. She had no way of knowing, but she supposed that Andrew had not been gone long enough to be able to get three children out of the door and off to school.

She glanced at her watch, and then studied it more closely. It looked familiar, yet also strange. It was as though she had seen it on someone else’s hand rather than hers. But then, she mused, her own hand looked like someone else’s. On a sudden impulse she pinched the back of her left hand with the fingers of her right. The resulting brief pain gave her a sense of ownership of the hand in a way that her eyes did not.

She looked at her watch again, 7.45am. Only slightly more than an hour had passed since she had woken, yet it seemed to have been far longer. Andrew had to get the kids out the door by 8.10am at the latest if they were going to get to school on time, she thought. Another memory flash! She grabbed onto the thought, tried to extend it – where was the school, how far from here? Where, exactly, was here? Once again though, the harder she strained to remember the thicker the fog in her mind grew.

This was so frustrating and so frightening that Alicia felt an almost overwhelming impulse to scream. She banked it down and the impulse subsided rapidly. Frowning a little Alicia (she was trying to think of herself as Alicia, trying to give herself an identity) felt that she didn’t really like the ease with which she had tamped down a quite reasonable urge. Coupled with the extreme neatness of the room it pointed to a very repressed personality.

Perhaps that was at the root of all this. Perhaps she was such a repressed person that she simply repressed herself out of existence – to herself at any rate. Gazing again at the mirrored wardrobe she became aware of another, more pressing need. It was time to visit the bathroom. Never was she more relieved at the invention of the ensuite bathroom than at this moment. Cautiously she climbed out of bed and made her way to the open doorway across the room.

The ensuite was as immaculate as the bedroom. Here, though, were magazines, neatly arranged in a magazine rack. She gazed around this little room while using the facilities. There were some toiletries on the vanity unit – his to one side and hers to the other. A bin, empty, sat next to the toilet and the magazine rack was in easy reach on the other side. There was a large corner bath reached by a couple of steps. She supposed it was a spa bath. A huge shower lined one wall, with a shower head at each end. All was spotlessly clean, like an advertisement in a magazine. Above the vanity unit was a large mirror.

She looked at the mirror and looked away again, turning her attention to the magazines. Flicking through them she saw that they were a mix of car and gardening books. There were no women’s gossip magazines and she was a little disappointed to see that. What did that mean? Was she a closet reader of such magazines, disposing of them once read, or did she not read them at all? Did this new person in this strange body have different taste to the old one? Alicia shuddered, the thought was enough to send a cold finger of fear through her belly.

She got up decisively and flushed the toilet. It made very little sound which seemed in keeping with what appeared to be rather luxurious surroundings. Turning on the taps at the vanity she washed her hands thoroughly, examining them minutely as she did so. They were long, narrow hands with long elegant fingers. Her nails were short, but well manicured. She was wearing a thick wedding ring, an engagement ring with a modest stone, and an eternity ring set with six good sized diamonds.

It seemed safe to assume that they were not so well off when they married, but had improved their lifestyle as they went along. She wondered what Andrew did for a living, and whether she worked or was a stay at home wife. With three children and the youngest in his first year of full time school she guessed that if she did work it was only part time. Of course that was only a guess. For all she knew not only was she a neatness freak but she was also a frazzled mum who worked full time. That was probably enough to make her want to lose her memory.

Keeping her head down she carefully dried her hands on the soft yellow hand towel. The mirror was right in front of her, all she had to do was look up and she would see who she was. It was what she wanted to do, yet at the same time the prospect was terrifying. Giving herself a brief pep talk Alicia took a deep breath, forced her head up and locked eyes with her reflection.

She had been hoping for instant recognition, for a rush of relief as she reconnected herself with her image but that did not happen. Instead, deep blue eyes stared at her without a hint of recognition as she stared back. It felt like she was looking at someone to whom she had just been introduced. She studied herself curiously. Long tousled brown hair framed a face that she thought was pretty but unremarkable. Her eyes were undoubtedly her best feature she thought dispassionately. They were large and framed by long dark lashes. She had perfectly arched eyebrows, probably the end result of careful waxing or plucking. Her nose was pleasant, her mouth large with full lips, her cheekbones prominent. There were fine lines at the corners of her eyes, and faint frown lines on her forehead.

Suddenly consumed by curiosity she dashed into the bedroom and stood in front of the mirrored wardrobe. She was rather short, she realized, but with a reasonable body for someone who has given birth to three children. There was a bit of a tummy there, but not too much. She studied her legs critically and decided that they were attractive enough.

Looking at the full picture, she decided that she was an attractive woman, and she really didn’t look like she was 42. She studied the look of shock that came into the face of the stranger in the mirror, realized again that it was her, and then realized that she knew her age. Staring at her reflection for a long time, she willed herself to remember something else. Was her hair natural? Yes, she thought so. Was childbirth easy?Blank. Did she get on well with her husband? Blank. Was she happy with her life? Blank, but she thought perhaps not or she would not be looking at a stranger in the mirror.

Maybe she was asking herself questions that were too specific.Can I drive a car? Yes. What car do I drive? Blank. Can I swim?Yes, and very strongly. What day is it today? Tuesday. What is the date? Blank. What is the year? 2010. So, she was not a completely blank canvas. There was a measure of relief in the knowledge.

She thought of another question and faced herself in the mirror again. Do I have a family, apart from those I know of? It was like there was a void inside her. She didn’t know whether she had a mother or father, siblings or cousins. It was like being an orphan, only worse. She was totally alone right now; even though it seemed she had an immediate family she didn’t remember them or anyone else.

The person that she was before may have family and friends, but the person she was now had no-one. The person she was now was totally alone in an unfamiliar world. There was nothing in this room that she recognized, and she had no reason to believe that she would fare any better outside of the room. She had no point of reference, and she felt as though she had been picked up from her life and deposited on a strange planet to start a new life – her mind wiped clean and empty. Panic was ambling around the edges of her thoughts, waiting to take possession. She realized that she was in danger of losing her mind completely – it would be too easy to simply give up and be swallowed up by the panic.

The thought of being institutionalized was enough to kick start her survival instinct. She would not give in to this; she would not be lost in the grey mists of her mind. There was a way back to herself again, and she would find it. She seemed to have a comfortable life, with a good husband and three children who presumably meant a great deal to her. This life was surely worth fighting for – she was surely worth fighting for.