As soon as the words left my mouth, I frowned. Since when did I not like silence? I had always enjoyed the peace and quiet that it brought, but now the very thought of silence made a shiver of fear run the length of my spine and I had no idea why.
It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.
I focused on the news and watched it for a few minutes until Boris Johnson, the mayor of London, appeared on screen. He was doing a press conference of some kind outside of Number 10, and it went on for ages but I couldn’t make sense of it. I looked at the doctor, who was now standing over by the window, writing on my chart.
“The mayor is getting his money’s worth today,” I joked. “I’ve never seen him talk so much.”
Doctor Abara looked at the screen on the wall, then back to me with raised eyebrows and said, “He’s not the mayor any more – he’s the prime minister.”
Bemused, I asked, “What happened to David Cameron?”
The doctor opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly closed it. For a handful of seconds, he stared at me, unblinking, then he approached the bed. He sat on the chair next to me again and cleared his throat.
“What is your date of birth, Noah?”
He had already asked me that question earlier, so I frowned at him.
“The sixth of March, 1991.”
The doctor looked at his chart, then back to me and said, “And how old are you?”
Blinking, I replied, “Twenty-four.”
He looked concerned and I had no idea why.
“What year is it?”
I shook my head, though a sharp pain made me regret it.
I grunted. “Why’re you asking me that, sir?”
“Can you answer the question, please?”
I exhaled and said, “It’s 2015. Why?”
The doctor frowned deeply, and I became worried.
“Sir . . .” I swallowed. “What aren’t you telling me? I know something is wrong, I can see it on your—”
“Noah!”
I jumped when I heard my mother’s voice from out in the hallway. Instinctively, I tried to get up, but my body protested and rewarded me with a flood of pain. I fell back against the bed groaning, as Doctor Abara gently leaned over me and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“You’ll hurt yourself, Noah. Take it easy.”
I looked from him to the door when it swung open. My mother stood in doorway, her hand frozen on the handle as her red, puffy eyes stared into mine.
“Mum,” I whispered. “Mum!”
In an instant, she was by my side. Her hands were on my face, and then so were her lips and tears. She kissed me all over and sobbed the entire time. I had a tight grip on her arms as I whimpered. She tried to hug me, but I yelped in pain.
“I’m sorry,” she wept, and was now careful where to touch me. “Oh, my baby. You’re awake, you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” I assured her. “I’m okay, Mum.”
“My heart.” She clung to me. “I was so afraid that we lost you too. My baby.”
I leaned into her embrace and inhaled her scent. A mixture of honey and vanilla invaded my senses. She had used the same scented shampoo and body wash since I was a child, and I was glad of it because the smell was familiar. It made me feel safe, secure . . . protected. There was a lingering feeling in the back of my mind that I hadn’t felt those things in a long time, and I didn’t know why.
“I’m okay,” I repeated as I kissed my mum’s cheek. She pulled up another empty chair right next to my bed. She didn’t sit down, instead she kissed my face again and held me. “I promise.”
I wasn’t sure how much time passed, but when my mother and I separated, Doctor Abara was no longer in the room. It was just me and Mum.
“Where’s Dad?”
“He’s here.” She lowered herself into the chair as she looked over her shoulder. “John! For God’s sake! Get in here.”
Doctor Abara walked in first and it reminded me of my conversation with him before my mum burst into the room. Something was wrong. I knew it was. I could feel it. He was entirely focused on my mother; he wore a serious expression on his face.
“Mrs Ainsley,” he said to my mother. “Your husband would like a quick word outside with you.”
Mum shot to her feet. “Our baby is awake, and he’s outside wanting to talk—”
“Mrs Ainsley,” the doctor interrupted quietly. “Please, go speak to your husband.”
Mum looked from the doctor to me then back to him. My stomach churned when she slowly walked out of the room. The doctor followed her, and I couldn’t hear anything that was being said. I stared at the empty doorway waiting for my parents to come back, and when I heard my mother’s gasp, my body tensed. Fear spread through me like wildfire.
“What’s wrong?” I shouted, not caring that it caused my head to throb. “Mum! Dad!”
My mother came back into the room, but her face was a shade or two paler.
“Please, Mum, tell me what’s wrong. I know something has happened, please. Tell me. I can handle it.”
That was a lie if I had ever told one. I could barely handle what bits of information I already knew. My hands were shaking, and I couldn’t stop it. Mum, who looked a little unsteady on her feet, looked at the doctor, who nodded in what seemed like encouragement. She cleared her throat, came back to my side, and took my hand in hers. She stared at me for a few lingering moments.
“You’re okay,” she stressed on a shaky breath. “That’s all that matters.”
I didn’t believe her; she had never been a very good liar.
“Okay.”
“Your accident caused your coma, but it seems to have caused some memory loss for you too.”
Slowly, I nodded. “Yeah, I can’t remember the accident.”
“And other things.”
“What?” I blinked, confused. “What other things?”
“Baby, you . . . you think it’s 2015.”
Her words weren’t much more than a whisper,
