Work the next day was a complete write-off. Unable to fall back to sleep, I'd scribbled away in the journal until the sun crept high enough to illuminate the world outside my window. Walking into the café for my shift, Ruby took one look at me and decided I'd be working the kitchen rather than serving. She joked about her customers not needing to see a zombie standing at the counter, but I knew she was worried about me. My face ashen, eyes sunken, with huge dark circles underneath them. No amount of carefully applied makeup could save me, so I'd not even attempted any kind of repair.
I genuinely looked like the walking dead.
For the first time since starting work for Ruby, I was mentally counting down the minutes until my shift finished. I'd have given anything just to be able to switch my brain off, to not think, but it was impossible. By three o'clock I'd morphed into the human equivalent of a caged tiger, prowling back and forth in the kitchen, digging my phone out of my pocket every five minutes like a fool. In truth, what I should have done was called in sick that morning, but Ruby had been so kind to me after the mess at Christmas, I didn't want to seem like a total flake.
My mind was also somewhere else completely. Between overthinking the dream from last night, and the lack of response to my text, I was slowly driving myself insane, to the point that two cups and a tea plate had already become casualties of my absentmindedness. Ruby had brushed off my desperate apologies, simply quipping that she'd have to start docking my wages if any more crockery met a similar fate.
For me, it was just another reminder of how much things were still impacting, despite working so hard to push past it all. Even though I was determined to not let things define me, it wasn't particularly easy when another significant recollection came out of nowhere and slapped you as hard, as the one the night before had.
When would it all end?
As I absentmindedly, wiped down the counters in the small kitchen, Ruby's head popped around the door. "There's someone here to see you."
Glancing up from the surface I'd been staring at intently, her expression was impassive, giving no hint of who it might be. My guess was that Jodie had decided to call in on her way home from college, or Constance had decided to finally see where I worked.
"OK, I'll be right out." I murmured to my boss who simply nodded and went back to where she'd come from.
Pausing to wash the disinfectant from my hands in the little basin in the corner of the kitchen, I quickly dried them before wandering into the main part of the café. Stopping short in the doorway, a recognisable figure I wasn't expecting to see was leaning casually against the counter chatting to Ruby.
"What are you doing here?" I blurted out, causing him to turn.
He looked shocked at my appearance. "I figured I'd come here and check on you."
Still a little confused as to why he was here, I answered weakly, "You didn't have to do that. Shouldn't you be at work or something?"
Shaking his head, he frowned, causing wrinkles to form on his brow. "I wanted to make sure you were alright. My diary was pretty free today anyway."
"Oh." Was all I could manage in response.
"Why don't you knock off Holly?" Ruby suggested as if she could tell that I didn't know what else to say. "I'm thinking I might close early anyway."
"Are you sure?" I squeaked, glancing at my watch.
"Yes, now get your coat and go catch up with your friend, seeing as he's been so thoughtful." She beamed, clearly taken with him.
Having been dismissed by my boss, I gathered my belongings and left the building with my escort. As we walked along the pavement in the direction of the main road, neither of us spoke. It wasn't an awkward silence, more a comfortable one which continued until we reached the end of Camden Market.
"Do you want to go get a drink, or I could take you home if you'd rather?" he murmured, seemingly unsure of what to do next as we reached a junction.
Not wishing to go back home, because I didn't want Constance worried at my early return, I sighed. "If I'm honest, a drink would be good."
"Follow me then." He grinned, steering me towards the canal.
Rather than continuing to walk in silence, I decided to say something that had been bothering me since he'd turned up at the cafe. "You could have just called you know?"
I knew it sounded ungrateful, but I was confused as to why he'd just shown up without warning at my place of work when he could have simply called or replied to my text.
"I know, I just thought this might be better." He explained softly. "I've slept for twelve hours straight, and my phone died during the night so I didn't see your text until I put it on charge when I woke up."
Glancing up at him, his eyes were fixed straight ahead, but a troubled expression graced his handsome face.
"I didn't mean to worry you, Jackson. I'm s..." My words trailed off weakly.
Stopping dead in his tracks on the towpath, he turned and growled, "Don't you dare...you needed someone and I wasn't there."
His reaction took me by surprise, and it clearly bothered him. When I'd sent my text, I hadn't intended to cause alarm, and it hadn't even occurred to me that he'd be dead to the world. I should have messaged Jodie instead.
"Don't be silly, I'm the one that forgot you'd have been wiped out after your flight." I reached out to touch his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance.
Studying my hand for a second, he reached out for my free arm and pulled me into a tight hug. "Even so...I told you I'd be there if you needed me."
This level of comfort with Jodie and Ruby was a given, but Jackson was different. Things were no longer awkward, but he'd never shown this much outward affection towards me. It was something I felt instantly at ease with, to the point I could return the gesture, wrapping my arms around his waist. His breath was warm against my hair as he squeezed tighter, rubbing his fingers against the middle of my back in hypnotic circles, before bringing both hands up to rest on my shoulders. Stepping back a little, he peered down at me, eyes filled with kindness and concern. For a second I thought I detected the faint hint of a blush gracing his cheeks, but realising how cold it was, quickly realised that it was simply the cold air causing the extra colour.
Jackson smiled briefly, a faint trace of something I couldn't decipher invaded his expression as he indicated towards a pub directly behind me. "I meant what I said. Now let's start trying to figure this out."
I nodded mutely, keener than ever to get some fresh perspective on everything that had come back to me so far, and I knew that what memories I did have would be completely safe with Jackson.
Walking through the doors, the lunchtime rush was firmly over, so we managed to snag a booth at one end of the bar for our talk. Slipping out of my coat, I slid myself onto one of the benches and perched myself so that my back was resting against the exposed brick wall before unwrapping my scarf from my neck and peeling the gloves from my hands. Jackson took my coat from the place on the bench where I'd stowed it, and hung it on a large black wrought iron hook positioned on the wall above me, then headed straight to the bar.
I studied him carefully as he chatted easily with the girl who was serving him. She was completely captivated, fluttering her eyelashes at him while she played with a strand of her bleach blonde hair as he leant casually against the copper counter ordering our drinks. As he reached into his back pocket for his wallet, I watched her face panic as she realised he had not yet succumbed to her chronic attempts at flirting. In truth, he'd barely given her any attention save for placing our order, but she was determined not to let him escape without another try. Taking Jackson's change from the till, she made a huge show of placing it into his open palm, ensuring their fingers connected. At this point, Jackson cottoned on to her game, and retracted his outstretched hand rapidly once the money was secure, purposefully striding back to where I was waiting.
I smirked as he eased himself gracefully into the seat opposite. "Could she have been more obvious?"
"Don't even go there." He groused with a slight shudder. "I have no interest in cradle snatching. She couldn't have been much more than eighteen."
His irritation was amusing, but I decided not to tease him further. "So where are our drinks?"
"I ordered a pot of coffee for us seeing as you're not a big drinker and we'll probably be here a couple of hours." He shrugged.
"Fair enough. You're probably going to need the caffeine to stay awake." I joked as I reached into my bag to retrieve the journal to share with him. Leaving the house that morning, a need to keep it close overwhelmed everything common sense should dictate. I'd never shown anyone the contents of the notebook, although others were aware of its existence. My scribblings were deeply personal, even if I didn't understand them most of the time.
For some inexplicable reason, though, it felt right to share this part of me with Jackson.
Placing the slightly dog-eared notebook down, I slid it slowly across the table until it was resting just in front of him. I kept my fingers firmly on the cover as he reached out to take it, I pulled against him slightly. "Are you sure you're ready to see what the inside of my head looks like?"
"It doesn't scare me, Holly. For what you've been through, you're doing amazingly well." Jackson wrapped his hand around mine, gently prizing the past from my grasp. As he started to read, the girl from the bar noisily deposited a tray holding a tall enamel coffee pot and all the necessary extras on our table while eyeing Jackson up again. When he didn't acknowledge her, I muttered an awkward 'thanks' before she rolled her eyes at me, huffed and flounced away.
As I poured two mugs of steaming black liquid for us, Jackson fervently scanned my words, his brows knitted together in avid concentration. Sliding his drink across to him, I settled back cradling my own cup, curling one leg under the other to get more comfortable. Every so often, he'd let out a low whistle, or bite the tip of his tongue in concentration, something that I'd noticed about him previously.
I was half way through my second mug when he slowly closed the book, setting it back on the table and picked his coffee up, taking a large gulp. Setting the cup back down, he unbuttoned his shirt cuffs which were peeking out from beneath the navy-blue wool jumper he was wearing and proceeded to push the sleeves up to just below the elbow. I found his actions hypnotic, but the silence was now killing me. The need to hear his thoughts had my skin itching, while my mind raced with the possibilities of what he might say.
Tearing my eyes away from the definition of his forearms, I tried to decipher his expression. The wrinkles were gracing his brow meant he was troubled by something he'd read, and his usually full lips, were set in a hard line, almost to the point of anger.
"Well?" I hedged expectantly, although it fell from my mouth like a needy whine.
A whoosh of air left Jackson's lungs before he responded. "All of this has come to you since the accident?"
"At first it was little bits, like the jam tarts, flashes of things that I couldn't give any relevance to." I shrugged. "Then in the last six months, it's been bigger recollections like the piano, and last night."
Jackson's face scrunched up at the mention of the most recent memory to surface. "You do know Constance will be cross you didn't tell her?"
"She's done more than enough for me. There was no point dragging her into the drama that goes with me remembering something." I shrugged.
"I understand that, but she'll be hurt if you keep something so important from her." He pressed.
He was right, I knew I should tell Constance, but at the time there was only one person I wanted or needed to bare the wounds of my splintered mind with, and the realisation that it hadn't been who I normally turned to had weighed heavy at first. The more I analysed it, the more it crystallised that Jackson had already reached the same level of trust as Jodie, in a much shorter space of time, I just didn't have an explanation for how it had happened. There was something about the man sitting opposite me that left me utterly defenceless, I knew I could spill my darkest secrets if I could remember them, and he would fight to the death to keep them safe. That kind of loyalty was rare, something to treasure, and I had no idea what I'd done to deserve it.
Sensing my reticence, he didn't push any further, instead opting to get back on topic.
"Anyway, enough of my nagging, you probably get more than your fair share from my aunt." He chuckled lightly before pointing to the journal and tapping the cover lightly. "I'd already had a few thoughts before I read this."
I was in danger of clawing at my own skin if he didn't tell me soon. Fresh perspective was something I craved to the point of bordering on insanity. "I'm listening."
"So, it's clear that the door and the piano are massively relevant. From what you've described, that house is very much real, and somewhere in Notting Hill. I'd say probably in a street almost identical to the one Constance lives on." He offered.
This was a conclusion I'd also drawn, but I had no clue where to start looking. So many of the streets looked identical to the one I now lived on.
Jackson continued with his thoughts. "The three names or places you've written about. One of those is your last name...I'm certain of that."
"Really?" I squeaked. To me, they were all just place names, but with no point of reference, it was impossible to identify their significance. "All I know is they're towns or cities dotted across England."
"True, but I think we shouldn't be looking at it so literally." Jackson pursed his lips in contemplation. "They mean something to you; we just have to follow the breadcrumbs."
He made it all sound so simple, and believe me, I'd tried to the point of exhaustion to figure out where it all fit together. I wasn't sure I shared Jackson's belief, but I wasn't about to pour water on his enthusiasm. "If you say so."
"Holly, I know you're not massively optimistic that we'll get to the truth, but please have a little faith in me." He reached over to where my arm rested against the rough wood of the table top, and squeezed my fingers, offering a reassuring smile. "I'm a tenacious bastard when something is important to me. I'm not letting go."
Returning his smile weakly, I nodded. His commitment to this went way beyond anything I expected from us being friends, reaching into my soul and shaking a tiny bit of that belief into the very fibres of my core. That seeds of his conviction started to take root, sprouting little shoots of hope that wove themselves securely around my negativity.
"So what thoughts have you had?" I asked, noticing he was still loosely gripping me, showing no signs of letting go. Oddly, the contact didn't bother me. Instead, the sensation of belonging nestled deep within, the feeling of family, of being supported, and knowing that I wasn't alone in my quest for answers.
"So, since we met, I've noticed there's something else to your accent. Like me, you have a bit of a trans-Atlantic twang, although it's masked pretty well." He smiled wryly. "It's still there if you listen carefully."
I'd never even noticed. Then again, when you speak, you don't pay attention to how you sound. It's just how you are. I marvelled at how much attention Jackson had to have been paying to pick this up.
"Now based on the flashback about cold winters you had at Christmas, I'd put money on the York you've written about being New York. It would fit with the building you described in your dream last night. It sounds like a brownstone." He explained. He was so logical in his deductions, so matter of fact, you'd think he'd spent months examining my journal.
It did make a lot of sense.
Closing my eyes, I allowed my mind to be consumed with the image I'd had of walking along a slush covered pavement, my boots scratching against the concrete as they connected with the salt used to clear a path. A car horn blasts as a flash of yellow zooms past, splashing through a murky puddle of melted snow. The illuminated plastic sign on top glows like a beacon of refuge calling to pedestrians desperate to escape the deluge from the heavens and the biting sting of such a frigid temperature that angrily consumes your extremities.
My eyes flew open at the realisation Jackson was spot on. Gasping for breath, my chest rose and fell in rapid succession making it difficult to breathe. Drawing my knees up, I hugged them tightly to me as I fought to calm myself down. Looking worried, Jackson darted out of his side of the booth and slid in next to me. Only when he pulled me towards him and wrapped his arm around me did I realise I was shaking violently.
"Shhhhh, I've got you." He murmured, rubbing against my arm with one hand as he held me tighter.
His enveloping warmth provided a much-needed anchor, allowing me to get a handle on the swirl of emotions that threatened to consume me at this new realisation. As my panic calmed, Jackson's grip remained firm, and I allowed myself to melt into him.
"Better?" His chin rested against the top of my head, the gentle warmth of his breathing providing an anchor point for me to ground myself.
"A little." I nodded awkwardly from the curve of his armpit. Sniffing back the last of my tears, the heady scent of whatever shower gel or aftershave he used flooded my nostrils. Familiar hints of wood and musk with a splash of citrus enveloped me, triggering a flash of the man I now knew to be my father hoisting me high in the air and spinning quickly until we collapsed in a giggling heap on a large brocade sofa. Surprisingly, this new detail didn't reduce me to an emotional puddle, instead, I revelled in the recognition whilst cradled in the protection of Jackson's embrace.
"So what was it this time?" He queried after a few minutes, as he attempted to reach for his coffee without disturbing me. Sadly, it was just out of range.
Untucking myself from his protective embrace to allow him to take a sip, I leant back against the leather upholstery, regarding his disgusted expression upon realising the drink was now cold. "I think you're right." I murmured.
"You do?" Jackson appeared surprised at my admission.
This new realisation seemed like the first solid lead on my past, so I knew we needed to keep talking. "Yes, but before we talk more, can we order some food? I'm starving, so my treat."
Thankfully there was little argument from Jackson who hadn't eaten anything substantial since his flight home, and even then, he'd bemoaned the portion size of business class meals. As we waited for our order to be delivered by the now sour faced barmaid, we discussed the idea of what my last name might be. It was difficult to wrap my head around the notion that we might be close to pinning it down, but doubt still niggled as there was still no indication of what my first name might be or my real date of birth. Those missing pieces of the puzzle were desperately needed to get to the answers I craved. Jackson had an idea of how we might narrow it down but was remaining tight-lipped on just what he had in mind.
As the sharing platter was deposited on our table, the conversation shifted to my most recent dream. Unlike previous recollections which weighed heavy due to all the extra questions they raised, this new one simply left me hollow.
Tearing a piece of pitta bread off, Jackson swiped it through the unctuous mound of hummus on the plate. "The woman you describe sounds like a real piece of work."
Unsure what else to say, I shrugged. "Tell me about it."
Jackson reached for the journal once more and flicked to the pages where I'd scribbled down the details. As he scrutinised my words for the second time, I pulled a cube of lamb from one of the skewers, popping it into my mouth. The herbs from the marinade danced across my tongue as the meat fell apart. "Oh god, that's so good. You need to try some."
I worked another piece of meat off the skewer with a fork and waved it under his nose. Jackson's eyes were trained firmly on my words as he swallowed thickly, jaw set in firm concentration. Something about what he was reading clearly bothered him. He didn't even look up to acknowledge me, simply reaching out to take the utensil as he continued to scan the page.
"Thanks." He muttered, sliding the fork in between his lips. As the flavours hit, his eyes shot upwards to meet mine. "Oh, Jesus...you weren't wrong."
"You should realise by now that I'm never wrong when it comes to food," I smirk, knowing he couldn't argue with my logic.
Jackson playfully nudged my shoulder with his and gave me a withering look. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."
Hungrily digging into more of the food, there was something niggling about what I remembered. It pained me how harshly the woman, who it was fair to assume was my mother, had treated me, but also how I'd been completely fearful of her. Her words and manner painted her as cold and harsh, someone who regarded me with abject contempt and exerting total control over a life and decisions that should have been my own.
We continued eating in silence as I mulled everything over. Clearly, I'd had dreams of a certain career, one that I knew wouldn't be accepted by her. What was it I'd tried to do? What had I ultimately ended up studying? Again, it left more questions than it provided answers.
"I keep getting stuck on what she said about him leaving. It contradicts what I've remembered about him so far." My voice was barely above a whisper as I partially articulated the thing that seemed to play most on my mind about last night.
Of all the details that had come back to me so far. This was the one that tore at my insides the most. How could he abandon us...me...or any child for that matter?
"Stop that." Jackson stated flatly.
I couldn't seem to let it go. It gnawed away at me, like a dog attacking bone, biting away despite there being no flesh left to devour. "She said he left. Do you think he walked out?"
Turning to almost face me, Jackson raised his arm, resting it casually along the top of the worn black leather bench behind my head. His other hand tentatively reached out to take hold of my hand again as he seemed to contemplate what to say next. I concentrated on the sensation of his thumb stroking back and forth across my knuckles until he answered sadly, not quite making eye contact. "No Holly, I don't think that at all. I don't think anyone who loves you could ever walk away from you."
There was a trace of sorrow in his words, almost as though he were trying to give reassurance, but didn't quite believe his own words. It didn't matter really, just the fact that he was here, trying to help me piece things together and provide a cushion for any possible impact came only second to getting to the truth.
Giving me a final squeeze, he released my hand so that he could help himself to the last piece of lamb, running it around the edge of the plate to capture the last of the hummus.
Popping it into his mouth swiftly, he chewed unhurriedly. I couldn't help but observe that even this act was something he did with poise and precision. His jaw flexing carefully with the movement until I tore my eyes away, closing them and letting out a juddering breath, before scrubbing at my face in a bid to prevent exhaustion from consuming me.
I felt empty.
Jackson regarded me with concern, "You look tired."
"I found it tough when I knew nothing, but only having half the picture is mentally draining." I scrubbed my hands over my face in frustration. "I'm weary."
Being this candid with him was easy, a level of comfort existed that I couldn't seem to find with Tristan yet, despite us having spent quite a bit of time together over the last few weeks. Which reminded me, I needed to share that with him before another opportunity to do so was lost.
Steeling myself in readiness, for some reason, I couldn't look at him as I spoke quietly. "There's something else I need to tell you."
I hadn't intended for it to sound so dramatic, but as the words tumbled out I felt Jackson stiffen beside me, obviously bracing himself for another shock.
"You're not sick, are you?" he laughed nervously.
"No, nothing like that, but I wanted you to hear it from me rather than second hand from Constance or someone else." I tried to explain without showing how surprised I was at the conclusion he'd jumped to.
He didn't look particularly convinced, so I continued. "I've started seeing someone. He's the guy I was talking to at Factory. It's early days, so I don't even know if it will go anywhere, but he works for your lawyer, so I wanted to make sure you didn't think there was a conflict or some kind of ethical question mark..."
"I see." There was a detachment there, maybe indifference, dare I even suggest he was pissed off? I certainly couldn't get a read on what he was thinking from his face in the absence of anything else. "If I did feel it was an issue, what then?"
What then indeed? I hadn't even stopped to entertain the idea that Jackson might have a problem with it. Maybe I should have said something straight after that first date with Tristan. Was I going to have to walk away for Jackson? Was that even something I was willing to do? My mind was now a jumble of thoughts that served no purpose except inciting a sense of trepidation about what his final reaction was going to be.
"I don't know." I replied weakly, refusing to make eye contact.
He remained silent, just staring at the jumble of mismatched ornaments affixed to the wall on the opposite side of the bar.
The lack of response was excruciating. Why was he taking so long to say something?
After what felt like an eternity, although it couldn't have been more than a minute at most, I got an answer.
"Relax Holly, it's fine. Provided it's not my personal lawyer you're fine. That would be a huge issue." He shook his head and cringed. "Seeing as he's nearing retirement and has been married for over forty years."
Incredulous at how he'd teased me, I smacked his arm lightly. "You're an ass."
And just like that, the tension was gone. Both of us snorting at his ridiculousness and shuddering slightly. I'm sure his lawyer was a lovely man, but he didn't sound like I'd class him as my type in any way, shape or form...if I did indeed have a type.
Tipping his head back to rest against the top of the leather bench, Jackson stared up at the ceiling. "If he upsets you in any way though...then there will be a very big problem."
It was difficult to work out whether he was just messing with me again. Rather than question it, I sat by his side, quietly contemplating whether there was any real intent or if he was just taking on a big brother persona.
"I mean it, Holly. If he so much as makes you frown, I'll make him wish he'd never been fucking born."
His clarification hung in the air, a mixture of threat and something I couldn't quite put my finger on. I said nothing, instead opting to silently revel in the knowledge that Jackson had somehow taken on the mantel as a self-appointed protector. Acceptance enveloped me like the woven fibres of a fluffy blanket, sheltering my soul from the cold reality of what might be to come.