Most people smiled at me, while many uttered some form of greeting, or failing that, they at least nodded at me. Older men tried to straighten and larger men tried to appear slimmer. Young men adopted a ‘devil-may-care’ smile and teenagers sniggered.
I was used to a brief eye-contact followed by being politely ignored by other males. Looking as I always had, I believed that people used to be afraid of me. I felt tough and capable, so it was this image reflected outwards to those who saw me. Now, I was sending a very different message, and it un-nerved me slightly. It dawned on me that I, too, must have behaved in a similar predatory manner with all the girls I met. I experienced mixed feelings, knowing that I was still, at heart the same capable person, but the new image was something a heck of a lot more vulnerable.
On the one hand I enjoyed being attractive and worth looking at, but on the other, I didn’t actually appreciate being gawped at the whole time. I realised that I would have to get used to it if I was to remain like this for long. I wasn’t used to having tits. The fact that virtually all the males immediately looked at them began to irk me.
As I thought about it, rather than having a breakdown at finding myself suddenly the opposite gender, I actually found my predicament rather amusing. My life had been a long way down the pan, if the truth was told. I had fucked up in all areas except my profession, but even in that, I had limited myself through my injuries.
I was crap at relationships. As soon as I got close to someone, I always managed to screw things up. I was now facing a second chance as a completely different person. It was strange, for I actually didn’t mind the fact that I was now female. I thought that perhaps I would probably go through some form of trauma before too long. But then, deep down, perhaps this was the result of deeply ingrained wishful thinking. I shrugged, what will be - will be!
I wanted to find a phone to call the colonel, but knew that if seen by anyone of the staff or police, my story of not remembering anything would be blown out of the water. I had to be patient. Those who know me will recall that patience is not my finest quality.
I walked right out of the front door into the sunshine. It was so easy. I could just keep going and make my way home by hitching a lift.
Home?
The flat in London was hardly home, and there was a problem going back to my old life.
Where was home?
I stood in the sun thinking about it for a moment
I could go back to the flat, as I had some money and stuff that I could use. But then what?
The dangers of such an act were many. There would be more a fuss over me going missing from the hospital than being a girl with no memory. I didn’t want them to make a fuss, so it wouldn’t be to my advantage for them to splash my picture over the media. There was always the possibility of being picked up by a sexual predator, though I felt he would get a shock if he tried anything. In a way, I’d enjoy the experience of seeing just how strong this new body was. I felt very fit, but I just wondered how different my general condition was.
I sat on a bench, watching the people coming and going. I was amazed at the amount of smokers, whether staff, visitors or even patients. They were flocking to a small smokers’ area to desperately suck themselves into a cancer ward. I wondered how many were actually here because of smoking. I smiled, at least the cynic inside was still there.
“Excuse me, is anyone with you?”
I looked up.
A tall young man with his left leg in plaster was standing looking down at me. He supported himself on crutches under both arms.
“No, feel free,” I said, sliding along the bench.
He sat down awkwardly, so I guessed he’d not much experience with crutches.
“First day up and about?” I asked.
“Just about, I’m being discharged tomorrow as they need the bed. My Dad’s picking me up and I must admit that I’ve had enough of being stuck in here.”
I smiled.
“I’m David, David Lyddall.”
“I’m Rebecca.”
“Hi Rebecca. Are you visiting, or what?”
“Or what. I was in an accident and am suffering from amnesia. I hope to claw back the missing bits soon.”
“Shit, that sounds awful. Were you injured?”
“No, just lost some memory.”
“Well, you look fantastic.”
I smiled at him. He hadn’t gawped at me like most of the others.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
“Motorbike, so my mother is on her ‘I told you so!’ trip. I was knocked off my bike by a drunk driver.”
“Just the leg?”
“A couple of ribs and the tibia. I came off, but my foot was caught so it’s a spiral fracture.”
“A friend of mine had that when skiing,” I said. “She was going slowly and fell. The ski boot stayed and she twisted round. Nasty!”
“How can you remember things like that?”
I was momentarily stunned by the shock of being caught out so simply. I managed a smile, despite the shock.
“Oh, it’s not everything, mainly short term and some important stuff, like where I live and stuff like that. Does the leg hurt still?” I asked to change the subject.
“It’s funny, but the ribs hurt more, as the leg is immobile. Every move hurts the chest.”
“I bet.”
“Where do you think you live?” he asked. He was quite a big young man. I guessed he was in his mid twenties. He looked fit and quite tough. Judging by his broken nose, I assumed he had taken part in contact sports, like rugby or boxing, when at college.
“I’m not sure, down south, I think.”
“You don’t sound like a local,” he said with a smile.
“Neither do you,” I remarked, as he had no discernible accent. He was well spoken, so I assumed he was from what I had come to regard as the officer class.
“I was working up here. I’m a vet, and yes, I’ve heard all the jokes about keeping my arm inside a cow,” he said, grinning. “I was working as a locum (temporary fill-in post) at a practice just outside the city while I’m trying to find a permanent placement.”
“Cool, how long have you been qualified?”
He grinned. “I qualified last year. I had six months as a locum, just down the road from here and then went and did this. I’m unemployed again.”
“Bummer. How long are you going to be off?”
“I suppose about twelve weeks. Fortunately, the other driver was insured. He was arrested and found guilty at court. I’m suing him for loss of earnings now. How about you, what do you do?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t know. I think I must be a government assassin,” I said.
He laughed. “Have you seen the film, A Long Kiss Goodnight?” he asked.
“I’m not sure, what’s it about?”
“It has Samuel L. Jackson in it. Geena Davis plays this young mum, who is suddenly attacked by some weirdo. She manages to take him out, but she wonders why it happened and why she has certain skills, but as she has amnesia about her previous life, she pays Jackson to help her find out who she was. It turned out she was a US Government assassin.”
I smiled. “How did she get her memory back?”
“The bad guy ties her to a watermill and dunks her in icy water. She gets a flashback and then kills him.”
“I’ll go take a cold bath, then.”
He laughed.
“So where’s your dad coming from?” I asked.
“He’s driving up from our farm in Hertfordshire. He’s hoping to get here by noon tomorrow. It depends on the A1.”
“Oh yes, where about is the farm?”
“Do you know Hertfordshire?”
“I don’t know, maybe.”
“Well, we live near a village called Berkhamstead, it’s not far from Hemel Hemstead.”