Chapter Text
talking like a stranger
Vanessa’s hand is silk, skimming along her coiled muscles, tight with tension she hasn’t yet managed to let go. The touch helps - it always does - and she feels herself sinking back into Vanessa as Vanessa’s hand slips down her arm and over her hip, fingers splayed out across the dress she spent too much money on not to have a gorgeous woman take it off her.
“I’m headed to the washroom, and then we’ll…”
“Head home?” Charity finishes. She turns her head, her lips brushing against Vanessa’s temple. “Best idea I’ve heard all night.”
Vanessa purses her lips, forehead wrinkling. “Not sure if that’s a compliment,” she murmurs.
Charity pushes down the urge she has to reach out and smooth the lines out, covering Vanessa’s hand with her own instead. “Oh, it is. For you.” Charity smirks, one side of her mouth curling up. “Sam isn’t the brightest businessman we Dingles have, is he?”
Vanessa’s fingertips pinch at her hip and Charity yelps. Debbie and Joe both turn and Noah catches her eyes, barely hiding the teenage-embarrassment rising high in his cheeks. Charity tips her flute of champagne in Joe’s direction and he returns the gesture slowly. Kim Tate is floating around the party still, and Joe is still playing the ever-faithful step-grandson.
“Have I said how hot you look in that dress?” Vanessa breathes into her ear.
Charity shifts her weight, just barely. Her dress slides against Vanessa’s, their hips moving together as they sway softly. “I’ve been told I never look anything but.”
Vanessa laughs softly. “Right. You’re fishing for another compliment, lady.” Vanessa’s hand tightens again, more pressure than pinch. “Get through the next few minutes without me and I’ll show you exactly how hot you look.”
“It’s this dress,” Charity says, looking at the bright red fabric, splitting just above her knee.
“I meant coming out of it.” Vanessa’s lips catches the side of her mouth as she slips around Charity and across the shining floors of Home Farm. She looks over her shoulder at Charity, pausing at the staircase. Charity looks past her, at Cain coming down them with Moira on his arm, and then back at Vanessa. Vanessa wiggles her fingers in Charity’s direction and follows it with a smile that stretches across her face.
I love her , Charity thinks.
Vanessa turns, careful not to catch her dress under her feet, and starts up the stairs.
She loves me, Charity thinks.
Vanessa is halfway up the stairs when she looks back again, the smile sliding off her face in a slow pitch. She catches Charity’s eye across the room, her forehead knitting in confusion before it blossoms into fear. The staircase, grand and glittering, gives an almighty groan. Cain stops on the top step, his face souring, and then he’s jumping back onto the landing, pulling Moira with him. The staircase heaves again and Vanessa pitches forward, her forehead catching the solid wooden banister with a sharp pop that Charity realizes too late is her champagne flute bursting in her hand.
Somewhere in the house, Charity can hear the ghost of Kim Tate cackling, her master plan coming together after a year in the ground.
Vanessa screaming Charity as the step she’s standing on cracks drowns it all out.
-
“I don’t want your flaming coffee,” Charity growls at Pete as he tries to push another takeaway cup into her hand. She’s careful not to wake Noah, sleeping in the hard, plastic chair beside her. He’s using his jacket as a pillow, Vanessa’s handbag clutched in his hands, under his chin. Ryan is next to him, tapping away at his phone, giving Irene updates.
Pete sighs quietly, the sound falling deaf on Charity’s ears. “I’m only following orders,” he says gently. “Rhona says-”
“If Rhona says to round up a pasture of sheep and drive them off a cliff, would you?” Charity spits.
Pete frowns. “Well, the first part of that is me job.”
Charity ignores him. “This is ridiculous,” she hisses. She stands up, pushing Pete’s enormous suit jacket off her shoulders onto the floor. “There has to be an update.”
Tracy slips up next to her, a cool hand on her elbow. “They said they’d let us know.”
“It’s been-”
“Vanessa Woodfield?”
Charity’s vision blurs as she turns too quickly. Pete is behind her, steadying her, Rhona at his side. Tracy is pressed into her arm, fingernails digging into her bare skin. Frank and Megan are somewhere behind Tracy, holding onto each other. Noah is still sleeping, but he shifts in the chair, mouth hanging open as he snores softly.
“Yes?” she asks impatiently when the doctor doesn’t speak.
The doctor peers down at the file in his hands, looking back up and scanning the crowd in front of him. “Tracy Metcalfe?”
“It’s Shankley, now,” Tracy says, stepping forward. “But that’s me, yeah.”
The doctor angles his body towards Tracy, his voice dropping low. “Your sister is-”
“Speak up,” Charity says, her fingers curling in. She can feel her fingernails cutting into her palm, but she barely feels the sting.
“Yeah, speak up,” Ryan echoes.
The doctor scowls at them both.
“She’s family,” Tracy says, pulling Charity up alongside her. “She’s Vanessa’s girlfriend.”
“Right,” the doctor says. He clears his throat and adjusts the glasses at the end of his nose. “Ms. Woodfield has suffered a severe head trauma. In addition to the rather large laceration across her forehead, we discovered a bit of bleeding in the left frontal temporal lobe.”
Charity chews on her bottom lip for a moment. “What does it mean, though?” she finally asks, the words bursting out of her mouth like a balloon letting out air.
“We’re going to have to wait and see,” the doctor says slowly. “At best, it’s possible she could wake up with a large headache.”
“At worst?” Rhona asks from somewhere over Charity’s shoulder.
“At worst,” the doctor repeats. “At it’s worse, there’s a chance of permanent damage. Loss of speech, loss of language categorization… Loss of memory.”
Something cold rushes through Charity’s chest, stealing the air from her lungs. “Memory loss,” she says.
“We’ll know more when she wakes up.” The doctor finally meets her eyes, giving her a sad smile. “I’m afraid waiting is all we can do.”
“Mum?”
Charity looks back. Noah is sitting up, rubbing at his eyes. Vanessa’s handbag is in his lap and he picks it up carefully, winding the long, thin strap around the clutch.
Vanessa’s handbag.
It had ended up on the floor across the room, right at Noah’s feet. Charity hadn’t given it a second thought, but Noah had kept watch over it for most of the night, gripping it tightly as the medics arrived and loaded Vanessa onto a stretcher; refusing to let it go when Ryan and Tracy bundled him into the car to follow the ambulance; curling his body around it when Charity worked her hands through his hair like she used to when he was younger, putting him to sleep.
He holds it like a shield, now. Ready to defend himself against the truth.
“Is there news?”
“Oh, babe,” Charity whispers. She shoulders Pete out of her way and sits down at Noah’s side, welcoming his warmth when he leans into her. “We just have to keep waiting. She’s still not woken up yet.” She lets her hand drift to the back of his head, mussing the strands of hair against the back of his neck. It’s getting long now, starting to curl up at the ends.
Too long, Vanessa had said just last week. Reckon he’s growing it out like Ryan’s?
“I want you and your brother to head home and-”
Noah shakes his head quickly. “I’m going nowhere,” he says firmly.
“Babe.”
“No,” he repeats. “What if she wakes up and she’s alone?”
Charity feels a lump building in her throat but she swallows hard past it. “She won’t be alone. She’ll have everyone here, yeah?”
“But she won’t have us ,” Noah says, his eyes wide and wet. “We’re her family, too.”
The lump grows and she can’t fight it off this time. Her voice cracks when she speaks. “Of course she is, babe.” She kisses the top of his head. “Of course she is.”
Rhona slips forward, Pete’s jacket over her arm. “We’re going to go get the boys,” she says quietly. “Ross has all three and we-”
Charity waves her off. “Go on. I’ll, uh, call. If anything changes.”
Rhona gives her a softer smile than she probably deserves, reaching out and squeezing Charity’s shoulder carefully. “It’s Vanessa, yeah? She comes up roses every time.”
“Let’s hope so,” Charity whispers, blinking back something pressing hot against her eyes.
Ryan sinks down into the seat on Charity’s other side, adjusting the formal wear baseball cap he’d picked out with Vanessa - a black cap with a brother, leather bill.
“What’re you doing?” Charity asks. “You best be getting home to Irene. Tell her-”
“I’m staying,” Ryan says. He folds his arms over his chest, giving her that smirk she sees too often in the mirror. “Like Noah said. She’s family.”
“She’s family,” Charity echoes.
Frank sits back down, his arm along the back of Megan’s seat. Megan crosses her legs, one over the other, but when she catches Charity’s eyes, her own are rimmed in red and her mascara is smudged. Tracy sits on Ryan’s other side, picking his phone out of his hands and pulling up a game they both get involved in.
“She’s family,” Frank says when Charity looks his way.
Charity nods, the words she wants to say catching in her throat. Noah presses closer to her, Vanessa’s handbag stuck between them uncomfortable.
“Right,” she finally manages. “Family.”
-
“Charity,” someone whispers. “Get up.”
“Go away, Sherk,” Charity groans. “I’ve not entered your swamp.”
Moira snorts. “I should hope not. Bit mucky. Never thought of you as a farm-type.”
Charity scowls, opening one to glare at Moira. “Then get back, would you?” Her whole body is tight, cramped over in the same position she fell asleep in. She blinks. The hospital. She’s in the hospital. Vanessa is-
“Vanessa’s awake,” Moira says slowly. She holds up her hands quickly. “But we need to talk, first.”
“Not a chance,” Charity hisses.
She pushes off the hard, plastic seat and sways, unsteady on her feet. It takes another moment before the feeling in her toes comes back, but she wiggles them until they feel like they’re beneath her. Vanessa’s room is through the double doors and down the hall; she’d been there last night when they wheeled Vanessa in, before they pushed her into the hallway and left her there, watching them work through the sliding door. There had been shouting and beeping and Charity felt her knees give out. She’d expected to hit the floor, but Pete had caught her easily, moving her back to the waiting room where everyone was filling up the seats, asking her questions she couldn’t answer.
What happened? Where is she? What’s wrong?
Noah and Ryan had been her only grounding force against the barrage of voices and Pete had pushed the first of many cups of coffee into her hand.
There’s a small crowd by the door of Vanessa’s room and Charity feels her pulse quicken. Her hands feel clammy and her chest feels tight, but Vanessa is awake and Charity’s finally able to draw in a breath. Each step closer puts the ground under her feet just a bit more solidly.
Vanessa’s awake. Vanessa’s awake.
“Mum,” Noah says. He steps in her way, his eyes clouded.
“She’s awake,” Charity says, grinning. She grabs Noah by the shoulders and pulls him in, hugging him tightly. “Hard headed, she is. I knew she’d-”
“Mum,” Noah tries again.
His face is pale and drawn and Charity decides she’ll insist he go home now; now that Vanessa is awake. She’ll have Debbie pick him up, or have Ryan drive him home and take a shower, order pizza for tea. Pile the little ones back into the car and bring them over. Vanessa loves their once-a-week family night. So they’ll have it in a hospital room. She’s had less family in worse places.
Noah tries to wriggle out of her grasp. “I need to tell you something.”
“It’ll have to wait, babes.” Charity kisses the top of his head and gently eases him out of her way, into Ryan’s side. Out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees Tracy shake her head at Noah, reach for him and squeeze his shoulder.
She pauses in front of the small window leading into the room. Rhona is sitting on the edge of the bed, Pete hovering nervously behind her.
She’s awake .
“Babe,” Charity breathes as she catches sight of Vanessa.
She’s pale, nearly as pale as Noah, and there’s a long, thin line across her forehead that’s been stitched up. There’s bruising around it that’ll take ages to heal and Vanessa surely won’t be going on any callouts to moody cows anytime soon.
Vanessa looks up from her lap, where Rhona’s hands are tangled in her own. Rhona is still speaking to her soft, low tones - words that Charity can’t, and doesn’t need to hear. The thin line wrinkles in confusion and Vanessa winces when the stitching pulls.
“Charity?” she asks.
Charity can feel her whole body softening. Each time Vanessa blinks, something else loosens in Charity’s chest. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding it all in; every muscle tense, her jaw clenched. She can feel it all unraveling now, tendrils of relief snaking through her system. Exhaustion hits her suddenly, nearly bowling her over. It doesn't matter though, not now. Not now that Vanessa’s awake.
“Gave us a right scare, you did,” Charity starts. “Had to go and be dramatic, didn’t you.”
Rhona’s eyes are wide and warning, but Charity ignores them. She rounds the bed, her hand resting over Vanessa’s ankle. The need to feel Vanessa under her hands is overwhelming; the small touch eases the ache.
“I mean, honestly.” Charity laughs, a sharp sound in the quiet room. “If you wanted to get away from me so badly, you could have just asked instead of taking down a whole staircase.” She slides her hand up Vanessa’s leg, fingers curled around the bone of her shin. She’s never been more grateful for such an inane body part; never found the curve of someone’s leg to be so perfect.
Vanessa eyes go to Rhona.
“I was just telling Vanessa what happened,” Rhona says slowly.
Charity frowns. “What do you mean, telling her what happened? Kim flaming Tate managed to orchestrate some Tate-level hysteria even after she’s she tossed herself over a railing.” She looks at Vanessa, giving her a sad smile. “You got caught right in the middle of it, babe.” There’s guilt in her throat. “Which is probably something to do with me, I’m sure.”
Vanessa opens her mouth, wincing again. “What…” She moves her jaw side to side, working the muscles before she speaks again. “What’re you doing here?”
“What am I-” Charity barks out a laugh. “What’d you mean, what am I doing here?”
“I was just explaining to Vanessa-” Rhona begins to say.
Vanessa sighs, frustrated. Her leg bucks and she kicks Charity’s hand off. “Just tell me,” she demands of Rhona. “Tell me where Kirin is.”
“ Kirin ?” Charity spits. The room starts to spin on its axis. “Why’d you want to know where Kirin is?”
Vanessa ignores her. “He’d want to know. Even if he doesn’t…” She hiccups softly. “Even if it isn’t working with Johnny, he loves me, still.” Her hand goes to her neck briefly. “I still love him.”
Charity’s stomach heaves. “You still what ?”
“Charity,” Tracy says softly behind her.
“ No ,” Charity says, pulling her arms across her chest. “What did you say?” she demand, taking a step towards Vanessa.
Vanessa isn’t looking at her anymore, staring anxiously at Rhona. “Is he coming?”
“Vanessa, I’m not sure if I can get ahold of him,” Rhona apologizes.
“Kirin is-”
“Enough with bloody Kirin!” Charity shouts.
Vanessa shrinks away from her, leaning towards Rhona. Pete, still hovering in the corner, steps forward, his hand on Rhona’s shoulder.
“Charity,” he warns gently. “Best you go back into the hallway, yeah?”
“ No ,” Charity says. She steps closer. “Babe, come on. It’s me .”
Vanessa’s eyes widen. Fear , Charity thinks. That’s fear . She’s seen it in the eyes of the girls she used to know, when a customer would get a bit too rough, a bit too loud. Vanessa is afraid. Of me .
“Vanessa?” Charity asks. The walls feel like they’re closing in on her. She feels like she’s getting smaller with each second Vanessa doesn’t look at her.
Tracy’s hand curls over her arm, tugging her back. “Come on, Charity,” she says quietly. Charity stumbles, her feet rooted to the floor. Tracy is steady behind her, guiding her towards the door and out of it, into the hallway.
“What is Charity Dingle doing here?” she hears Vanessa ask Rhona as the door closes with a soft click.
Noah is grabbing for as soon as Tracy lets her go. “Mum.” Noah’s voice is broken and his cheeks are wet. “She doesn’t remember. She doesn’t remember us.”
Charity’s arms go around him, holding him close. His body jerks as he cries, harder now.
She doesn’t blink back tears. She doesn’t swallow down a scream. She doesn’t hit the closet wall or kick the nearest chair. She barely feels Noah in her arms, Ryan at her back, Tracy at her side. The beeping and the business fades away to a dull hum.
She feels nothing at all.
-
Vanessa doesn’t remember her.
That’s what the doctors tell them all, huddled in the hallway like a pair of gobby old women with a slice of gossip. Vanessa has retrograde amnesia and she doesn’t remember.
Rhona is the only one in the room with her now, curled close around her and talking to her quietly. She’s the only one Vanessa will let in the room. Not Frank. Not Tracy.
Not Charity.
“It’s possible she may never regain her full memories back,” the doctor says carefully. “It appears that Ms. Woodfield believes it is January, 2016.”
“ Three years ,” Frank breathes.
“But then…” Tracy starts, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. “She doesn’t know I’m her sister.”
“Or that I’ve redeemed myself,” Frank adds.
“There will be many things she may not remember,” the doctor says.
Charity sways, Noah a crutch at her side, holding her up. He’s got a tight hold on her hip, hanging off her like he used to when he was younger and thought she could turn all of his dreams into stardust.
Now everything is crashing down around her.
“Like me,” she whispers.
No one looks back at her, but Noah flinches. He’s heard her, at least.
“There is a chance she may regain some memories,” the doctor continues. “As time passes and she is able to return home, be surrounded by familiar items and things, paired with some therapy... “ He attempts something like a smile. “Home will help. It’s a starting point.”
Home , Charity thinks.
Home is Tug Ghyll. Home is a the small loveseat she curls up on with Vanessa on Sunday mornings, while Noah and Ryan massacre an attempt at a fry up. Home is Johnny’s yellow boots next to Moses’s red ones. Home is her jacket on the hook in the living room next to Vanessa’s. Home is a proper family tea with Debs and Joe sharing a chair and Sarah looking after the boys and Noah and Ryan arguing over who gets to watch what on the telly and Vanessa leaning into her side and whispering in her ear. Home is-
She stops herself. Home was .
“We’ll do it,” Noah says firmly.
Charity startles, looking up at him. “You what?"
Noah straightens his shoulders, looking too much like the man Charity has spent her whole life running from. “Take Vanessa home.”
“Babe,” Charity says, shaking her head. She can still hear Vanessa in her ear, still asking for Kirin, still saying she loves him.
“We can,” Noah insists. “It’s where she lives. With us.”
“But she doesn’t remember that,” Charity tells him gently.
“She will,” Noah says confidently.
The door to Vanessa’s hospital room opens and Rhona slips into the hallway, avoiding everyone’s eyes. She gives the doctor an unsteady smile that fades to a shake of her head. No ; Vanessa still doesn’t remember anything.
Charity sighs and turns away, drifting from Noah and slumping down into one of the plastic chairs.
“The last thing she seems to remember is sometime before Kirin left the village,” Rhona says. She glances at Pete quickly for a moment. “And that I am still married to Paddy.”
Pete curls an arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his side, kissing the top of her head.
“Can we....?” Tracy asks, pointing towards the room.
Rhona shrugs a shoulder. “She’s a bit tired, honestly.”
The crowd moves down the hallway, to the cushier waiting room with fabric couches and a snack machine in the corner. Charity doesn’t follow them, vision blurring as she stares at the small paint chips flaking away from the wall under the window.
“Moira and I ran into Pete,” Cain says as he sits down next to her.
“Hard not to,” Charity mumbles. “Broad shoulders, eh.”
“He told us Vanessa-”
“Doesn’t remember a thing,” Charity sighs. “I’m going to put an advert in the paper next so people’ll stop saying it so bloody loud. Vanessa Woodfield. She’s lost her memories .”
“Not all of them.”
“The ones that matter,” Charity says.
Cain is quiet for a moment, his hands curled around his knees. “Did I ever tell you I threatened her, once?”
Charity lifts her head slowly, eyes narrowed. “You what ?”
“Down, lady.” Cain shakes his head. “Years ago, when she spent a lot of time at the farm with the cows.”
“And he finally calls Moira a cow.” Charity says under her breath.
Cain ignores her. “Backed her into a corner and told her to watch herself. That if she told anyone she’d seen us kissing, I’d…”
Charity rolls her eyes. “Big, bad Cain. Bullying the tiny people of the village.”
Cain scoffs. “As if I could get a word in edgewise. Put me back on my heels, she did. I think she threatened me. ”
“Reckon you deserved it.”
“Reckon I did,” Cain agrees. “Your Vanessa, she’s a fighter. She’ll come out of this just fine.”
“Just fine,” Charity mocks. “Everyone around you is just fine.” There’s a hot, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, building into an inferno that races in her blood. “Ross was just fine when his whole face was scarred by acid. Harriet was just fine when she ruined her life for you. Vanessa’ll be just fine if she can just get over this sticky memory situation, yeah?”
“Charity,” Cain tries.
Charity leans in towards him. “You were on those stairs with her. You felt them shift.” She jabs a finger, hard, into his chest. “ You jumped back. You saved yourself. Mighty Cain, always looking out for number one.”
“I don’t know what you’d have me do,” Cain starts.
Charity pokes him again, standing up and towering over him. “You could have grabbed her. She was right there. She was right there ! You could have pulled her to the landing or gone to the bottom but you left her there.” She knows she’s shouting, drawing the attention of everyone around them. She can feel Vanessa’s eyes on her, through the window, but all she can see is Cain. “You could have saved her! You could have saved us!”
Cain stands and Charity backs up a step.
“Instead, it’s all Cain all the time.” She puts her hand flat against his chest and pushes. “Can’t be bothered by the little people, can you.
“Charity, stop it,” he warns.
She pushes forward. “We’re beneath you, are we?”
“Charity, settle down.”
“She was right beneath you!” Charity shoves him hard. “You let her fall! She was right there beneath you and you let her go!”
“Charity, calm down! ”
She pushes again and they go crashing into the wall outside of Vanessa’s room. Cain loses his balance and she’s too unsteady, vision blurred with tears she’s not managed to cry yet. She can feel the hallway tilt and she braces herself for the fall, for the sharp bounce of her body against the cold floor. Cain’s arms go around her, though, holding on tightly as he slides down the wall.
“Charity,” he pants. “Charity, it’s all right.”
The world rushes back in with a roar and when she looks up, Noah is at the end of the hall, leaning into Tracy’s side. Ryan is right behind them, a hand on Noah’s shoulder. “Oh, god. Cain, I-”
“It’s all right,” he breathes into her ear. “You’re all right.”
“I’m not,” she cries. “It’s not. She’s not.”
-
There’s a knock at the door that she nearly misses. The second time it comes, she ignores it. It opens a moment later anyway, and Charity scoffs, staring down into the glass of wine she’s been holding for the last thirty minutes without actually taking a sip.
“Thought you’d be out front,” Tracy says casually. She leans in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. “That’s where the customers are, yeah?”
Charity barely glances up at her. “What’s it to you?”
Tracy lifts an eyebrow. “Uh, last I checked, your pub pays for half of your house.”
Charity looks up now, eyes hard. “You mean the house I don’t live in anymore?”
Tracy takes a step back, bumping into the arm of the couch.
“The house I’ve been scrubbed from?” Charity throws a hand towards the corner of the living room, at the boxes stacked towards the ceiling. It’s a mess of pictures and clothes. There’s a toothbrush somewhere in there - not the one she uses, but the one she gave Vanessa as a gift when they’d made their living arrangements more permanent. Rhona and Pete had brought them over the night before, apologies in their eyes they wouldn’t dare say out loud.
Charity slept on the couch, eyes wide open and staring at the boxes.
Her whole life, the life she built for herself - for her children - packed into brown boxes and stacked into a corner.
“Charity,” Tracy says softly.
Charity’s lips pull back in a sneer. “The home I don’t have anymore?”
“She’s coming home!” Noah shouts from the stairs. He thunders down them, his steps heavy enough to make her wine wobble in its glass. “I saw the car pull up.” He pokes his head into the living room, a wide smile on his face. “Are you coming?”
“Oh, no, babe,” Charity dismisses. She gets to her feet and swallows the entire glass of wine in a single swallow. “Punters needs pouring, yeah?”
Noah’s shoulders and smile drop. “Mum.”
“We’re boarders now, babe,” she says, throwing a hand towards the stairs. “Going to have to pay for that somehow, yeah? Only, starting by working my share of the rota seems like the place to start.”
Noah stomps his foot impatiently. “She needs us.”
Charity snorts. “She needs Kirin .”
Noah stares at her for a moment before his eyes harden and his jaw sets. He turns without saying anything to her, slamming the door behind him.
The air comes back into the room as Noah leaves it. Charity can feel it filling her lungs and she lets her eyes close, breathing in.
“Charity,” Tracy says.
Charity startles, opening one eye. “You’re still here.”
Tracy bites back a sigh. “Noah is just as heartbroken about this as you are.”
“Doubt it, babe.”
“ Charity .”
“Oh, go on, then.” Charity waves a hand at Tracy. “Tell me.”
Tracy huffs, some hair falling across her cheeks. “Noah loves Ness. The two of them are thick as thieves.”
“Don’t remind me,” Charity mutters. “I’m still scrubbing mud out of that carpet.” She pauses. “Well, I was.”
Tracy sits down on the arm of the couch, picking up the pillow Charity had used the night before. She turns it over in her hands, setting it down on her lap. “You know, she doesn’t remember me either.”
Charity rolls her eyes. “Right. I’ve got a bar full of-”
“She doesn’t!”
“But she believes you!” Charity shouts. “She believes that you...”
Tracy crosses her arms over her chest, eyes narrowed. “She believes what ?”
Charity sighs, the fire within her extinguishing. “She believes you matter to her. She believes you’re important to her. And she doesn’t... she doesn’t believe that about me, does she?” She shrugs a shoulder. “Who else will, if she doesn’t?”
Tracy’s mouth closes slowly.
“Go on,” Charity challenges. “Go on and tell me she’s going to suddenly wake up and remember me, remember us .”
Charity waits, her chest heaving. She feels lightheaded, like she’s back in front of those reporter and Bails and she’s just spilled the whole truth for everyone to hear. She’s been so tired, lately. Tired of hiding in hallways at the hospital, tired of hiding her tears from Noah, tired of putting on a smile and pretending that it’s okay Vanessa doesn’t remember the life they fought so hard to build.
“You can’t,” she says wearily. “She won’t.” She lifts her hands and drops them down to her sides. “So, what’s the point?”
She storms past Tracy, into the stairs instead of the bar. Her chest feels tight, too tight to be able to breathe, and she tugs at her blouse, loosening the zip a bit. Fresh air , she thinks. I need fresh air . She stumbles out the door and the air is fresh, but the sunlight is too bright. She can hear people chattering on, going about their day, and it makes her sick to her stomach.
“Welcome home!”
Her head snaps up. Vanessa’s taxi has just pulled up to the door of Tug Ghyll and everyone is crowding in. Frank and Megan are getting Vanessa’s bags from the boot and Rhona is holding up, easing her out of the taxi. Tracy comes out of the front door of the pub, her shoulders back and her head high. Ryan and Noah hang back on the path, grinning at Vanessa.
Vanessa eyes the boys warily before she smiles tentatively. “Noah,” she says, testing the name out.
Charity can see Noah’s eyes light up from where she’s standing. “You remembered.”
Vanessa’s smile fades a bit as she looks at Ryan. “I’m sorry, I-”
“Ryan,” he interrupts, offering a hand. “Noah’s babysitter.”
Noah elbows him.
“I mean big brother,” he corrects, smirking wickedly.
Vanessa’s eyes skate past Ryan and land on Charity. “Big brother,” she repeats.
Charity feels her stomach turn again and she spins on her heel, pushing through the door and slamming it shut behind her. She can hear the pub swelling with people, all clamouring for a drink. The wine bottle on the table looks back at her, twinkling in the light coming in through the kitchen windows.
She takes the bottle and tucks it under her arm, leaving the glass behind on the table.
One day of this. One day of drowning her sorrows at the bottom of a few bottles of wine, and then she’ll be done. One day is what she’ll give herself to bleed Vanessa Woodfield and all of the sunshine and all of the smiles and all of the sodding touches out of her body.
One day, and then she’ll forget about Vanessa the way Vanessa has forgotten about her.
-
“Start from the beginning,” Noah says kindly. “Just the things I’ve told you.”
Charity hears nothing but silence for a long moment. She’s about to turn around and head back upstairs - maybe a shower , she thinks as she catches sight of her hair in the glass of a picture frame - when she hears someone sigh.
“Lachlan killed Chrissy and Lawrence, then tried to kill-” Vanessa stops abruptly. “Noah, I’m not sure this is the kind of activity my doctor suggested.”
Charity presses tightly against the door, her ear to the wood.
“He said that reviewing the things from your life might help trigger memories,” Noah recites. “I’ve done readings and I-”
“Honestly,” Vanessa interrupts. “I’m not sure why’re you’re doing this. Or why I agreed to it,” she adds, soft enough that Charity nearly doesn’t hear it.
Noah sighs. “You didn’t give up on Mum. Or on me.” He pauses. “I’m not going to give up on you.”
Vanessa laughs quietly. “I still can’t believe that.”
“Believe what?”
Charity holds her breath.
“People keep telling me about… your mum and I. But it feels a bit like they’re winding me up.”
Charity can’t blame her, not really. If she woke up in a hospital bed with three years of her life gone in an instant, she wouldn’t believe it. Her and Vanessa Woodfield, of all the people in the village? It wouldn’t make sense. Vanessa wasn’t rich, she couldn’t give Charity the things Charity used to think she wanted. She’d never be the type Charity would go for.
She’s certainly not the type Vanessa would want.
“I thought so, too,” Noah admits. “Honest. Mum had to… set me straight. Told me you were different.”
Vanessa claps her hands together. “I don’t know why I’m talking to you about this,” she says. “You’re just a child.”
“I was nearly yours,” Noah says quietly.
Charity’s stomach turns over.
“Oh, Noah,” Vanessa breathes.
It’s hard to hear them properly through the door, but Charity is pressed tightly against it, greedily sucking up every word and exhale Vanessa comes out with. She’d had a fit when Noah told her Vanessa was coming over earlier this morning.
“She has her own house,” Charity had pointed out, ignoring the voice in her head that said it used to be Charity’s house, too.
Noah had only shrugged. “She said she’d come here.”
“For what?” Charity had mumbled. “To practice her maths and her readings?”
“To remember ,” Noah spat. “To remember us .”
“I know you don’t remember,” Noah says now. “But you tried hard for me. I’m not going to give up on you. Mum can be hard.”
“You reckon?” Vanessa mutters.
Charity can’t be in the same room as Vanessa right now, but she wants her close anyway. She wants to be nagged about her feelings, to be browbeat into talking. She wants Vanessa’s sodding lasagna and her special Sunday morning fry ups. She wants to slide into bed after a late shift and have Vanessa roll over, curling around her body and warming her. She wants and she wants but Vanessa has nothing to give her and Charity doesn’t trust herself not to try and take it anyway.
She stays away and slinks in corners and she drinks until Vanessa feels like a foggy dream too far out of reach.
Here, in the hall of the house she moved out of a year ago, Vanessa is close enough to touch and Charity is aching for a drink.
“But she’s hurting,” Noah continues. “She said you were different. She trusted you. And you were, different, I mean. So,” he says brightly. “If we get your brain working again, you’ll go back to being our Ness, yeah?”
“Noah,” Vanessa says.
“Noah,” Charity breathes.
“You’ll see,” Noah says firmly. “You’ll remember all of what you and Mum have done together.”
Charity blinks back the tears forming in her eyes. Her baby boy, strong where she can’t be, the way he’s always been. Her strong, brave boy.
“I called Kirin,” Vanessa admits.
Charity’s heart hammers in her chest. Her fingernails dig into her knees and she bites down on her bottom lip hard enough that she tastes blood.
“I tried, at least.” Vanessa laughs sharply. “Priya was able to get in contact with a mutual friend who gave her the last number they had for him.”
“Did he pick up?” Noah’s question feels like it comes from Charity’s own mouth. “When you called?”
Vanessa is too quiet for too long. It makes the fire in the pit of Charity’s stomach smoulder and she feels sick, the T&G she had at lunch fighting its way back up.
“He said he nearly forgot all about me,” Vanessa says quietly. “Imagine that, yeah? I’m the one with the head injury and he’s the one whose forgotten about me.”
There’s the soft sound of Noah’s feet against the carpet and an even softer sob that follows. Charity’s hands twitch over her knees and she pushes to her feet quietly, steadying herself on the bannister.
“Nothing makes sense,” Vanessa says, words watered down. “Nothing.”
Charity stumbles out of the building, sucking in a breath that burns on the way down. She shakes her head to clear her eyes and spies her car. Her keys are there, in her hand, before she thinks about it for too long. A quick pop into town, a quick drink - it’ll give her time to get out of the village and breathe air that Vanessa isn’t breathing; time to get away from all of the unraveling that’s happening around her.
Vanessa was right: Nothing makes sense.
She’s done so much, lived through too many horrors. Giving up Debbie, out on the streets, Bails, having Ryan, the streets again. Chris, Zoe, Michael, Declan, Jai, Tom. The trial and the truth and the baby that never really died. And Vanessa had known it all, her very own secret-keeper. And now there’s no one who knows those things anymore, not anyone who knows them the way Vanessa did.
It doesn’t make sense. Charity had done enough repentance. She’s given enough. Vanessa was her safe place.
Another thing taken away from me , she thinks bitterly. Another thing I’ve lost .
She puts the car in drive and presses hard on the gas pedal, the village growing smaller in her rearview mirror as the air around her clears.
-
“Mum?”
Charity groans at the sound of Noah’s voice, too loud and cheerful for this time of the morning. She wrestles her phone out from under her body, twisted up on the couch, and peers at the time on the display. Fine , she compromises. This time of the afternoon .
“Mum, come on,” Noah prods. He pokes her in the forehead. “You’ve been sleeping for ages.”
“Well that’s what happens when you’re up half the night,” she grumbles. She sits up slowly, the room spinning.
Noah wrinkles his nose. “You’ve been drinking.”
“Have not,” Charity says absently. She swings her feet out, under the small table in front of the couch. She catches something solid and an empty bottle rolls across the living room rug. “Oops. Busted.”
Noah sighs. “You’ve been busted for the last week.”
“Oh, come on, babes.” She reaches for him, using him as a crutch to stand up. Noah steadies her when she pitches one way, holding onto her. Charity smiles and curls some of his hair back behind his ear.
Vanessa was right , is the first thought that comes to her mind. He’s growing it out to be as long as Ryan’s .
She scowls. Must be the booze , she thinks. She’s not thought of Vanessa at all recently, the wine replacing any lingering ideas she’s had. They’ve come and gone, all in whispers of Vanessa’s voice: Your turn to pay the light bill . I’ll clean Moses and Johnny’s wellies if you speak to Noah about his towel use during showers . Don’t forget to remember the milk , Charity , Vanessa had said to her on their last morning together. The boys’ll need it for their cereal tomorrow.
She drinks each one away as fast as they come.
“I saw Vanessa this morning,” Noah says slowly.
Charity stiffens, leaning back from Noah. “Oh,” she says, trying hard to keep her voice even. “Good for you, babe.”
“The doctor said if she keeps doing brain exercises, she might be able to regain her memory.” His voice is high, excited. “We’re doing some together. She didn’t want to, at first, but Johnny’s still scared by her, so.” He shrugs. “She said she’d try. For him.”
There’s a hint of longing in Noah’s voice that goes just as easily as it comes.
“She did better today,” Noah continues. “Even remembered that Johnny dumped split pea soup on the floor.”
Johnny , Charity thinks, her chest aching. He’d been shipped off with Frank and Megan for days before they brought him by to see Vanessa last night. Charity had been about to pour herself a drink last night when Tracy came round with Johnny in tow, his eyes red and his nose raw.
Tracy had taken the glass from Charity’s hand and finished it for her. “She doesn’t remember Johnny,” she said.
Charity frowned. “She what?”
Johnny snuggled into Charity’s side, his body warm and sleepy. Tracy lowered her voice and filled the wine glass to the brim again.
“She thought he was still an infant, didn’t she.” Tracy waved her free hand around. “She kept insisting we had the wrong baby and we needed to go get hers.”
Charity curled herself around Johnny protectively. “She never.”
“She did,” Tracy assured her. “Told me the last she remembered of Johnny was kicking Kirin-”
Charity grimaced at his name.
“-Out of the house for getting mad at Johnny.”
Charity’s eyes flashed. “He what ?”
Tracy nodded. “Scared this wee one,” she said quietly.
Charity’s hand twitched, flexing into a fist. “I’ll-”
“Do nothing but make him feel loved,” Tracy said pointedly. Johnny blinked sleepily against her, his hand fisting in the fabric of her sleep pants. He smiled up at her and laid his head down on her lap, twitching a bit when Charity rubbed a hand through his hair in slow circles.
“Night, Char’ty,” he murmured.
“Night, Johnnybobs.” She waited until Tracy scooped him up and the door closed behind them, headed back to Frank and Megan’s, before she reached for another bottle and twisted off the top.
“She’s even got a book,” Noah says, breaking through her thoughts. “Where she writes down all the things that’ve changed since she-”
“A book?” Charity laughs, wincing a bit at how loud the sound is. “She’s got retrograde amnesia. Not the everyday kind.”
“Mum,” Noah says wearily. He takes a deep breath, one much too big for a boy his age. “You’ll see, okay? She’ll love us again.”
Charity scowls. “I need to get back to work.”
She stomps into the bar, her lungs burning and her eyes wet, and grabs the first glass she can find, holding it under the optic until it’s full of amber liquid. She swallows the whole drink, hissing as it goes down. Her elbows lock when she braces her hands against the bar. Someone clears their throat and Charity looks up, eyes narrowed, ready to snap at Jimmy or Rodney or Eric.
Vanessa lifts a hand in a small wave.
“Oh, of course,” Charity hisses. She picks up a crossword and a pen, the letters swimming on the page. She stares at them until she recognizes each letter and word, minutes passing in a noisy blur.
“So, my drink hasn’t changed, then,” Vanessa says suddenly.
Charity looks up. “What?”
Vanessa’s smile falters a bit. She points at the glass in front of her. “My drink. It hasn’t…” She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “Nevermind me.”
Charity looks at her for a long moment. Vanessa’s hair is up in a ponytail, a few loose strands curled up around the collar of her shirt, tucked away underneath her yellow jumper. Charity can see the spot on the back of her neck that Vanessa always made a stink about; the one she told Charity to stay away from, but melted when Charity eventually turned her attention to.
“I don’t know what you’re going through-”
“No, Vanessa, you don’t.” Charity scowls at her, lips pulled back in a sneer. Whatever was softening inside of her hardens quickly, back into a knot of anger she holds onto too tightly and fear she won’t acknowledge. “You don’t know anything , remember?”
Vanessa glares back at her. “Thank you, for the reminder. As if I don’t get told enough, yeah?”
“By Kirin ?” Charity spits. She presses her lips together, her heart pounding in her chest.
Vanessa leans back a bit. “No,” she admits. “I haven’t…” She shakes her head. “He’s not returned anymore of my calls.”
“Not much of a surprise, is it?” Charity shrugs a shoulder. “Being on the run from the law.” She slaps a hand down on the bar, her face twisted into something she’s sure looks like a grin. “Hey, that’s something else you can write down in your Rebecca book, yeah? You like men on the run. Slept with our Adam, murderer.” She lifts one finger and then another. “Kirin, murderer and all.” She lean back, eyes widening for effect. “Actually, maybe not write that one down, babe. Would hate for your type to get out.”
Robert, a few seats down, snorts into his pint glass. “You better add ‘emotionally stunted blonde barmaids’ to that list.”
“Put a sock in it,” Vanessa says.
“Shut your mucky gob, Robert,” Charity spits.
Robert scowls at both of them.
“You’ve not changed either, have you?” Vanessa asks softly. “Still always taking the mick.”
Charity throws her arms wide. She can feel everyone staring at her, all of them hanging on her every word. “What else can I do when you make it so easy?”
Vanessa stares at her for another moment before she pushes the still-full drink back across the bar. She spins off the stool and storms past Rhona and Pete at the door,
Rhona sighs and shakes her head, following after Vanessa. Pete scrubs a hand over his face and strides across the pub, picking up Vanessa’s abandoned drink. He lifts it at Charity and mouths ‘cheers’ before finishing it in one go.
Charity ignores him, turning back to the optic. Noah is there, eyes hard and mouth set in a firm line. Something drops in the pit of her stomach. “Babe,” she starts.
“You’re doing it again,” he accuses.
“Doing what?” she asks. “Telling the truth?”
Noah jabs a finger at her. “You’re ruining things again .”
Charity’s mouth drops open. “I’m not-”
“You always do this!” he shouts. “You always make them leave!”
“Noah,” she tries.
“No wonder she doesn’t want to remember you!” he yells, pushing past her and out from behind the bar. He knocks over a chair and bumps into Jimmy, shouldering him out of the way. The pub door slams shut behind him and the place is quiet, for a change.
She doesn’t meet their eyes when she turns, her hand shaking as she holds her glass under the optic. No wonder , she thinks. No wonder she doesn’t want to remember me . She reaches for the lever but her hand won’t close around it or pull it down. She stares at it curiously, hearing the soft chatter behind her rise back to its normal level. No wonder she-
Pete’s large hand covers her own, pulling on the lever. She watches the liquid fill her glass, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. It moves up and into her chest, digging out the space where she thinks her heart used to be, before she gave it to Vanessa. Only for it to be trampled on, thrown about, and forgotten about, she thinks. She laughs, the sound breaking somewhere in her throat.
“Go on,” Pete says softly, guiding her towards the corridor. He starts rolling up a sleeve, giving her an easy smile. “I’ll take care of the bar, yeah?
“You’ve not run a pub,” she says, even as she lets herself be walked to the living room.
“Bit like herding sheep, I imagine,” he says, still smiling. “Only I’m herding them towards me instead of away.”
Charity wants to tell him he can’t manage a bar; that she needs to get back to work because nothing is wrong with her. But his smile is too soft and his hands are too warm and his eyes are too kind and it’s all too much for her now. She grips her glass tighter and nods shakily at him before she ducks into the living room.
She makes it as far as the couch before she falls, sinking into the cushion. The glass is empty in a single flick of her wrist and the ache as the liquor goes down burns in a way that reminds her she’s still alive.
Still alive and still alone and still remembering all the things she had; all the things she lost.
At least Vanessa gets to forget , she thinks.
Charity fishes another bottle of wine out from under the couch and screws the top off, letting it bounce along the carpet. Maybe I can forget, too .