The Girl from the Sea

Chapter Two

I've been moved to a different ward. They've put me on a drip to replace fluids. But the fluid bag gives me the creeps, hanging there like a grotesque transparent organ, so I'm lying on my side, facing away from it, staring out of the window at a flower bed in front of a wall. Thankfully, my mind is beginning to feel a little clearer – less weak and fuzzy – so the fluids must be helping.

But the dehydration and possible lung infection are not what's worrying me. No. The thing that's really freaking me out, is that I still don't know who I am. At all. Dr Lazowski says that amnesia due to shock or trauma is usually temporary. She checked my reflexes and balance, and I also had to do some tests to check my thinking, judgement and memory. So far, it's just my long-term memory that seems to be the issue. But I'm going to have an MRI scan, so hopefully that will shed some light.

Truthfully, I'm struggling to keep my panic under control. My heart races, my head spins and I'm constantly having to wipe the sweat from my palms. How can I not know who I am? It's crazy. Surely, I should know my name, my age, my history. But when I try to find that information in my brain, it's just not there. The doctor told me not to worry. She said that they would try to find out my identity. That once I see my next of kin, my memories should all come rushing back to me. But what if she's wrong? They've been asking me questions every twenty minutes. Questions like, 'What's your name? Do you know where you live? What's your mother's name? What year is it?' And I always give the same answers:

'I don't know . . . No . . . I can't remember.'

All I do know about myself is that early this morning I was discovered by a woman walking her dog on Southbourne Beach, Bournemouth, Dorset, on the South Coast of England. I've heard of Bournemouth, but I can't remember anything about the place. Do I live here? I have no idea.

I turn my head at the sound of voices and footsteps. The charge nurse is approaching accompanied by a man and a woman, both wearing suits. Are they here to see me? They must be. They're heading this way. Could they be relations? Friends? They look too smart. Like they're here on official business. I sit up, my head swimming with dizziness. I take a breath, try to compose myself.

'Hello,' the nurse says to me with a smile. 'You've got a couple of visitors from the police station. They've assured me they won't stay long. Are you up to talking?'

I'm not sure I am, but I nod anyway. She draws the curtain around my bed, all the way up to the window, before she goes, leaving me with the two officers. Both look to be in their late twenties, maybe early thirties. They're smiling at me, so I adjust my expression and try to smile back, not sure if I'm succeeding.

'Mind if we sit down?' the female asks, tucking a stray tendril of blonde hair behind her ear.

'Sure,' I reply, my voice a faint croak.

She grabs two stacked plastic chairs from below the window and brings them around to the other side of the bed, pulling at them with some difficulty. Her colleague helps her to tug them apart with a clatter.

'Sounds like you've had quite a morning,' she says, as they finally sit. 'I'm Detective Sergeant Emma Wright, and this is my colleague, Detective Constable Christopher Blackford.' He gives me a brief smile and says hello, before taking out a notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. 'Can you tell us who you are?' DS Wright continues.

I bite my lip and shake my head. 'I . . . I don't know. I can't remember. I'm sorry.'

'That's okay,' she replies. 'We're from the Criminal Investigation Department, and we're here to find out what happened to you this morning.'

'Criminal?' I ask, with a jolt of panic. 'Have I done something wrong?'

'Not as far as we know,' DS Wright replies. ''We'd just like to try and establish some facts. Okay?'