This was my first novel, which I've dusted off after five years of neglect and presenting it to you now. There is a complicated plot involving loss of memory, innocence, guilt, deception and avoiding consequences of actions. There is basically a husband with 2 personalities and 2 loving wives; which one will win, and which f. There is a large cast too, so this list in order of appearance may help:
Tommy/"Bob", the jogger who loses his memory, born as Tommy Barlow, also known as "Bob Morris"
Helen, discovers the injured jogger, saves his life, daughter of Sharon Bister
Ben, a nurse, married to Veronica
Sharon, mother of Helen Bister
JJ, Bob's daughter
Tigger, Bob's youngest son
Tom, Bob's son
Jennifer, Bob's wife
Richard, Bob's best friend, Emma Robertson's husband
Emma, Jennifer's best friend, Richard Robertson's wife
Susannah Fincher, Tom's pregnant girlfriend, daughter of Andrew and Madge
Shazza, JJ's best friend
Doctor Harding, hospital surgeon
DC Rachel Webster, police CID
Inspector "Hermann" Goring, Rachel's boss
Sally, Tommy's wife, nee Chapman
Cheryl, a petrol station desk clerk
Ralph, ex-CID, Chief Inspector Mike Haroldson's father
Mike, CID, Ralph Haroldson's son
Ann Barlow, Tommy's mother
Amis Joseph, Bob's boss
Alicia, Hannah Knight's mother
Hannah, abducted girl, saved by the Jogger, daughter of Alicia Knight
Dr Phoebe, Tommy's psychiatrist
Brett, Tommy's eldest son, married to Katie, children Owen and Nellie
Brick Alexander, JJ's ideal boyfriend material
Miriam Chesterton, road traffic accident victim
Jacob, retired motor parts manufacturer, father of Jake
Jake, professional golfer, son of Jacob
*****
PROLOGUE
The rescuer:
Helen held his hand in the tiny side ward, as she had for the last two days. The old man had more colour in his face she thought, compared to yesterday. She almost laughed at the thought; look at him, she said to herself, there wasn't even much of his face to be seen.
The man had a turban-like bandage covering his forehead. Thick pads, held in place with white bandages, covered his eyes. There were a number of tubes up his nose and around his mouth, connected to a ventilator and a bag of water. Other tubes were funnelling water and plasma into veins in his arm. At least they had stopped giving him blood. A bag, running under the blankets, was draining almost black blood from his punctured lung; her mother had been brave enough to ask the nurse what it was on Monday and she had to run to be sick. He had another bag swinging under the bed collecting dark urine, which she had seen the nurse weighing when emptied, noting the amount in a folder for the purpose at the end of the bed. The man's ears were uncovered. To Helen they were old man's ears, large, fleshy and quite hairy.
The male nurse walked back into the room, carrying a flexible bag of clear liquid. The girl released her grip on the man's hand and let her hand fall to her lap next to the other one. She looked up at the nurse. It was the one that she saw most of, a large black male, with a cheerful disposition, and a thick African accent. He had a smile on his face, as usual, so she smiled back.
"You can hold 'is 'and Helen, it is probably doin' you both some therapy," said the nurse, in his deep baritone, "If'n wasn't for you, he wouldn't a got this far."
"Thanks, er ... Ben, isn't it?" Helen said, as she caught his nameplate while he took off an empty water bag and hooked up the fresh one.
"Yeah, that's right." He quickly unscrewed the old fitting and connected up the new, checking for a moment that the drip was flowing correctly. Then he wound up the old tube neatly round the empty bag, ready for disposal.
"I just felt a little self-conscious, Ben, being caught holding hands and ... caring. After all, he is a complete stranger."
"Don't you worry about carin' too much, yo' Mum Sharon was in here las' night from about midnight to fourish, accordin' to the previous shift."
"Yes, I know," Helen laughed, "She'd left a note for me on the fridge, telling me to go to college this afternoon and she would be along to relieve me about lunchtime. You nurses must think we're crazy!"
"Not at all, Ma'am, we think you's angels."
CHAPTER ONE: Coma
The man had started breathing without respiratory aid for the last few hours and was occasionally twitching in his sleep. His eyes had been covered up, as a precaution for when he awoke, since before Helen had come in.
Helen Bister had arrived at eight in the morning, relieving her mum, Sharon, who had been there since midnight, maintaining their vigil over this poor man.
Helen thought she had found a dead body when she came upon him the previous Sunday, early in the afternoon. Since she had taken up exercising again a few months earlier, she often ran through the open moorland in the late afternoon, after her college studies during the week, and in the mornings at weekends. Helen was a bright and attractive young woman but had felt self conscious that she was no longer as fit as she had been eight years earlier when she finished her education. On her runs she usually avoided entering the woods on the edge of the moor. Last Sunday, though, it was unseasonably warm for late October and, being a Sunday, she thought there was likely to be more children and walking families around. So she decided to chance it by taking a short cut through those woods, to get home early for a welcome cooling shower before she started preparing the evening meal for her mother and herself. As it turned out, she didn't get home until late evening and by then didn't have either the energy or the appetite to eat at all.
Helen saw the man lying quite still, flat on his back on the ground in full bright sunlight, his eyes open, unblinking. She first saw something in front of her from a distance away as she followed a narrow track that looked like a short cut. Initially she was uncertain what the object was, possibly a dead deer. She slowed down, sensing that something definitely wasn't right. She was tempted to take a different path, but something made her warily walk towards the object, while looking all around for any sign of a trap.
It wasn't that she was naturally paranoid, but she had heard so many stories and been warned so many times by her mother, about being alone in a dangerous place, that she felt her cautious approach was sensible. Helen unclipped her mobile phone, to have it at the ready, but immediately noticed that there was no signal to be had there, which made her even more wary as she approached.
The nearer she got, the more certain she became that the body was clearly a man, not a deer. She became more and more convinced that whoever he was, he was already dead. He definitely looked dead. Helen had never seen a dead body before but this had all the signs she expected would constitute a dead body. He looked like he had been beaten up or murdered. He had dried blood on his head, a lot of blood on his bandaged arm and spread on the grass all around him. She tentatively touched his forehead. His skin was hot to touch, burning up in the unrelenting sunshine. She wasn't sure, did this heat mean he was still alive or that his death was very recent? Dare she check his breathing, pulse or heartbeat?
Helen shook him by the shoulder, gently at first and then shook him harder but he was so deeply out of it, she got no response. It was as if he was finally at peace and heading towards paradise. He didn't seem to be breathing. He had clearly been a runner, dressed as he was. His running shoes were reasonably well worn, probably much more comfortable than her own recently broken-in ones were. He was old, probably retired she thought, fair-haired going grey, thin-faced, even pinched although surprisingly, his face was relatively unlined, like someone who was spiritually at peace, ready to meet his maker.
