I could see it all. The hand on the shoulder, then the hug. The mouths that find each other through the tears, the moment when guilt and the certainty

that things must go no further gives way to lust and the certainty that they cannot stop.

And then what? The fucking. On the sofa? The floor? I do not want to know.

‘And?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I never wanted it to happen. But it did, and … I felt so bad. So bad. We both did.’

‘How long?’

‘What?’

‘How long did it go on for?’

She hesitated, then said, ‘I don’t know. Not long. A few weeks. We only … we only had sex a few times. It didn’t feel right. We both felt so bad,

afterwards.’

‘What happened?’ I said. ‘Who ended it?’

She shrugged, then whispered, ‘Both of us. We talked. It couldn’t go on. I decided I owed it to you – and Ben – to stay away from then on. It was

guilt, I suppose.’

An awful thought occurred to me.

‘Is that when he decided to leave me?’

‘Chrissy, no,’ she said quickly. ‘Don’t think that. He felt awful, too. But he didn’t leave you because of me.’

No, I thought. Perhaps not directly. But you might have reminded him of just how much he was missing.

I looked at her. I still didn’t feel angry. I couldn’t. Perhaps if she had told me that they were still sleeping together I might have felt differently. What

she had told me felt as though it belonged to another time. Prehistory. I found it hard to believe it had anything to do with me at all.

Claire looked up. ‘At first I was in touch with Adam, but then Ben must have told him what had happened. Adam said he didn’t want to see me

again. He told me to stay away from him, and from you, too. But I couldn’t, Chrissy. I just couldn’t. Ben had given me the letter, asked me to keep an eye

on you. So I carried on visiting. At Waring House. Every few weeks at first, then every couple of months. But it upset you. It upset you terribly. I know I was

being selfish, but I couldn’t just leave you there. On your own. I carried on coming. Just to check you were all right.’

‘And you told Ben how I was?’

‘No. We weren’t in touch.’

‘Is that why you haven’t been visiting me lately? At home? Because you don’t want to see Ben?’

‘No. A few months ago I visited Waring House and they told me you’d left. You’d gone back to live with Ben. I knew Ben had moved. I asked them to

give me your address but they wouldn’t. They said it would be a breach of confidentiality. They said they would give you my number and that if I wanted to

write to you they would pass the letters on.’

‘So you wrote?’

‘I addressed the letter to Ben. I told him I was sorry, that I regretted what had happened. I begged him to let me see you.’

‘But he told you you couldn’t?’

‘No. You wrote back, Chrissy. You said that you were feeling much better. You said you were happy, with Ben.’ She looked away, across the park.

‘You said you didn’t want to see me. That your memory would sometimes come back and when it did you knew I had betrayed you.’ She wiped a tear from

her eye. ‘You told me not to come anywhere near you, ever again. That it was better that you forgot me for ever, and that I forgot you.’

I felt myself go cold. I tried to imagine the anger I must have felt to write a letter like that, but at the same time realized maybe I hadn’t felt angry at all.

To me, Claire would hardly have existed, any friendship between us forgotten.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. I couldn’t imagine being able to remember her betrayal. Ben must have helped me write the letter.

She smiled. ‘No. Don’t apologize. You were right. But I didn’t stop hoping you’d change your mind. I wanted to see you. I wanted to tell you the truth,

to your face.’ I said nothing. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said then. ‘Can you ever forgive me?’

I took her hand. How could I be angry with her? Or with Ben? My condition has placed an impossible burden on us all.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes. I forgive you.’

We left soon after. At the bottom of the slope she turned to face me.

‘Will I see you again?’ she said.

I smiled. ‘I hope so!’

She looked relieved. ‘I’ve missed you, Chrissy. You’ve no idea.’

It was true. I did have no idea. But with her, and this journal, there was a chance I could rebuild a life worth living. I thought of the letter in my bag. A

message from the past. The final piece of the puzzle. The answers I need.

‘I’ll see you soon,’ she said. ‘Early next week. OK?’

‘OK,’ I said. She hugged me, and my voice was lost in the curls of her hair. She felt like my only friend, the only person I could rely on, along with

Ben. My sister. I squeezed her hard. ‘Thank you for telling me the truth,’ I said. ‘Thank you. For everything. I love you.’ When we parted and looked at each

other both of us were crying.

At home, I sat down to read Ben’s letter. I felt nervous – would it tell me what I needed to know? Will I finally understand why Ben left me? – but at the same

time excited. I felt sure it would. Felt certain that with it, with Ben and Claire, I will have everything I need.

Darling Christine,

This is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Already I’ve kicked off with a cliché, but you know I’m not a writer – that was always you!

– so I’m sorry, but I’ll do my best.

By the time you read this you’ll know, but I’ve decided I have to leave you. I can’t bear to write it, or even to think it, but I have to. I have

tried so hard to find another way, but I can’t. Believe me.

You have to understand that I love you. I always have. I always will. I don’t care what has happened, or why. This isn’t about revenge, or

anything like that. I haven’t met anybody else. When you were in that coma I realized just how much a part of me you are – I felt like I was

dying every time I looked at you. I realized I didn’t care what you were doing that night in Brighton, or who you were seeing. I just wanted you

to come back to me.

And then you did, and I was so happy. You will never know how happy I was, the day they told me you were out of danger, that you

wouldn’t die. That you weren’t going to leave me. Or us. Adam was just little, but I think he understood.

When we realized you had no memory of what had happened I thought it was a good thing. Can you believe that? I feel ashamed now,

but I thought it was for the best. But then we realized that you were forgetting other things too. Gradually, over time. At first it was the names

of the people in the beds next to you, the doctors and nurses treating you. But you got worse. You forgot why you were in the hospital, why

you weren’t allowed to come home with me. You convinced yourself that the doctors were experimenting on you. When I took you home for a

weekend you didn’t recognize our street, our house. Your cousin came to see you and you had no idea who she was. We took you back to

the hospital and you had no idea where you were going.