The rest of what she had told him was more vague. They had obviously been lovers, although for a short time. They had split up. There was someone else in her life, and the name Niall had been mentioned. She was Sue, not Susan. Then two odd details: the sunbathers, the cloud.
What had gone wrong with the relationship? The two times he had seen her at the hospital he had been initially hostile to her; was this an awakening from the unconscious? If there was someone else, had everything been wrecked by jealousy?
And what was the significance of the people sunbathing, the cloud? The two brought a mental image of a hot beach, people spread out in the sun, the interruption of a clouded sky. They were commonplaces; why had she selected these?
But taken as a whole, nothing she said stirred the slightest memory in him. From the traceable reference to the postcards to the enigmatic cloud, nothing helped.
Dr. Hurdis listened attentively, wrote down a few notes as Grey was speaking, but at the end sat with his notebook closed on his lap.
“There’s something I’d like to try,” he said. “Have you ever been hypnotized?”
“No. Would that work?”
“Well, it might. It’s sometimes helpful in recovering lost memory, but it’s imperfect and by no means a sure method. It could make a difference in your case, though.”
“Why haven’t you suggested this before?”
Hurdis said, smiling: “You’re motivated now, Richard. I’m due to make another call here on Wednesday. We’ll give it a try then.”
In the evening, Grey spent an hour in the pool in the basement of the hospital, swimming to and fro very slowly, floating on his back, thinking about Sue.
VII
She telephoned on the Tuesday evening. Grey took the call on the pay phone in the corridor; he had his own telephone in his room, but she must have been given the other number. As soon as he spoke to her he knew she was going to let him down.
“How are you, Richard?” she said.
“I’m a lot better, thanks.”
There was a short silence. Then, “I’m on a pay phone, so I can’t talk too long.”
“Hang up, and I’ll call you back from my room.”
“No—no, there’s someone waiting. Look, I’ve got to tell you something. I won’t be able to get down there this week. Will next week be all right?”
“No it won’t,” he said, against a thudding and inevitable feeling of disappointment. “You promised you’d come.”
“Well, it’s not possible.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I can’t afford the train fare, and—”
“I’ve told you, I’ll pay.”
“Yes, but I can’t get the time off. There’s a deadline, and I’ve got to go in every day.”
Two of the other patients walked slowly down the corridor, not speaking. Grey held the receiver closer to his ear, trying for privacy. The patients went through the door into the lounge, and he briefly heard music from the television set.
When the door had closed, he said, “Don’t you understand how important this is to me?”, but halfway through his sentence the pips interrupted him. He heard a coin fall, and the line opened again.
“I didn’t hear that,” Sue said.
“I said it’s very important that I see you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Will you definitely come next week?”
“I’ll try.”
“You’ll try? You said you wanted to come.”
“I do, I really do.”
Another silence.
Then Grey said, “Where are you speaking from? Is anybody with you?”
“I’m at home—the phone in the hall.”
“Is somebody with you?”
“No, Richard. I’m just working in my room, trying to finish a piece of artwork.”
Grey realized that he had no idea where she even lived. A bead of sweat ran down his face beside his eye. “Look, the phone’s going to cut off in a minute. Have you got another coin?”
“No, I’m going to have to finish.”
“Please don’t. Get some more money, and call me so we can talk. Or give me the number, and I’ll call you.” Time was slipping away.
“I’ll try to come at the weekend, to make up for it.”
“Do you mean that? It’d be—”
But the pips started, and Grey groaned in frustration. This time no coin fell. The line opened again, the few seconds extra the machine always allowed.
“Please … call me now. I’ll wait by the phone.”
“All—” The line went dead.
He put the receiver back, churning with disappointment and fury. The whole building felt deeply silent, as if his words had sounded about the place for all to hear. It was an illusion, though: he could still hear the television set faintly through the door, and somewhere below him the central heating boiler was making its customary distant noise. He could hear voices at the far end of the corridor.
He sat in his wheelchair, the telephone just above head height, trying to calm his feelings. He knew he was being unreasonable; he was treating her as if she were answerable to him for all her actions and thoughts, as if vows were being broken.
Ten minutes passed, and then the phone rang. He snatched it down, hearing the damned pips again.
Sue said, “I was only able to borrow one coin. We can talk for about two minutes.”
“All right, about the weekend—”
“Please, Richard. Let me speak. I know you think I’m letting you down, but when I found where you were I came down to see you without thinking of the consequences here. I have to sort out my work, but I’ll come at the weekend—that’s a promise. You’ll have to send some money, though.”
“I don’t know your address!”
“Do you have some paper? Or can you remember it?” Speaking quickly, she dictated an address in north London. “Have you got that?”
“I’ll send a check tomorrow.”
“Now, there’s something else. Don’t interrupt, because there isn’t time. I’m all mixed up because you can’t remember me … but since I saw you, I’ve been thinking and thinking about you. I still love you.”
“Still?”
“I always did, Richard, right from the start. You’ll remember soon, I know you will.”
He was smiling; he could hardly believe what he was hearing.
“I’m not going to be here much longer,” he said. “Maybe a week or two. I’m feeling a lot better.”
“It’s terrible seeing you in that chair. You were always so active.”
“I walked a long way today—five times across the room. I’m doing more every day. You’ll see at the weekend. You will come, won’t you?”
“Of course! I can hardly wait to see you again.”
The mood of depression she had cast him into had evaporated. “I’m sorry about everything … I’m so cut off down here. It’ll be different next time.”
“I know.” The pips started, but now they didn’t matter. When the line cleared, Sue said, “I’ll come Friday evening.”
“All right. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, love.” The line died.
He hung up, then propelled himself down the corridor, thrusting down on the push wheels with all his strength. At the end of the corridor he swung around and speeded back to the elevator.
Once inside his room, he went through the cardboard box of personal documents that had been sent down by the police and looked for his checkbook. Just to see these pieces of card and paper was like glimpsing his old identity again: a driver’s license, two credit cards, a checkguarantee card (now expired), membership of the British Film Institute, an A.C.T.T. union card, a BBC Club card, an insurance certificate for his car, a bank statement, membership of the National Trust …