I remember

“Smith! Get over here son!” Prep cook Stockley yelled at the new garbage boy, catching him off guard as he examined a boiling pot of sauce. The young man turned around quickly, almost knocking the thing to the ground but grabbing it just in time. Stockley sighed, as an experienced member of the kitchen he knew that the young boy still had a lot to learn. He hurried over.

“Yes?”

“I have an errand for you, but if you are too busy examining the condiments I can give it to someone else,” He regarded the young man with raised eyebrows.

“No, no, sir, I can do it.”

“Alright then. I need you to travel into town and pick up these things.” The cook unrolled a rather long list before his young charge. “These must all be collected by 6 O’clock sharp. Understood?”

“Yes sir. Certainly sir.”

“Good.”

***

Quagly Smith’s old hatchback sped down the road to town as fast as its tiny engine would allow, which was, to say, not very fast. He glanced down at his wristwatch. It was four-forty-six at the moment, and 6 O’clock was a very tight mandate for the ridiculously long list Stockley had provided. He pulled the sheet from his pocket and perused the extravagant inventory. He shook his head. Goodness only knew what the restaurant served to required Almas Caviar and Iberico Ham for the midday menu, but Quagly wanted to keep his job, so he went to collect them, nonetheless.

He was musing over these things, when out of the nearby brush, a stag ran out onto the road. Quagly swore, and spun the steering wheel to the left, his Mini veering dangerously off the motorway. The little car crashed through the thicket, and down a steep incline until it came to rest in a small clearing. Quagly took a moment to catch his breath before he stepped out of his slightly beaten automobile. He was surprised to find that just on the other side of the glade stood a tiny wooden shack surrounded by a healthy vegetable patch.

Unsure what else to do about his situation, Quagly strode over to the hut and knocked once on the door. He heard a muffled gasp from inside and the clattering of metal on a stone floor. He waited a few minutes, but when no one came to greet him, he knocked again and let himself in. He entered the cottage just in time to see a woman dart into an adjacent room and slam the door.

“Hello?” He called rapping softly on the door. “I accidentally drove my car down here. I don’t mean to intrude, but do you think you can help me?”

There was silence for a moment before an oddly familiar woman’s voice said softly. “Just leave. There is a track to the right of the house. Please don’t come back.”

***

Quagly was running very late driving back from town, but he hardly noticed. His mind was in a whirr after his puzzling experience at the cottage. He was sure that he had heard that woman’s voice before. It almost sounded like…but it couldn’t have been, because she was gone, and she had left long ago.

***

Quagly had been trying to find a time to get back to the hut, but Stockley had been keeping a close eye on him after he had arrived late back from his errand to town. He didn’t get a chance until almost a month later. He found the path that led to the side of the house and trundled down it a lot more gracefully than he had previously descended. This time he was fortunate to catch the owner while she was out in her garden. She seemed terrified when she saw his car coming down the path, and made to retreat into her shack, but when she got to the door, she found that it was locked, and she had left her keys in the vegetable patch. Realizing that she was cornered, the woman began to cry, her whole body shaking with every sob. Quagly jumped out of his car and ran over to console the odd lady. When he made it to her, she looked up at him with wet eyes, her face radiating fear and misery.

Quagly fell backwards in shock. His head was spinning, and his vision began to blur with tears of his own. “M – Mona?” He managed to choke out.

The woman stopped her crying, and for a moment he thought he saw a spark of recognition in her eyes, but then it was gone. “Mona…who is Mona.”

Quagly stopped and stared at the girl before him. Sure, she was older, and more weatherbeaten, but he was sure that it was Mona. He would recognise those sweet honey eyes anywhere. “You…your Mona. Aren’t you.”

The woman shook her head ever so slightly.

“Well then what is your name?!” He asked, exasperated.

“I don’t know.”

“Surely you can’t not know what your own name is! You’re my Mona, I’m sure.” He reached out to embrace her, but she shoved him away.

“Please go.”

“No. I can’t let you be all by yourself out here.”

“I like being by myself, believe me.”

Quagly stared into her pleading honey eyes, and he finally relented. “Fine, I’ll go, but please, won’t you let me give my sister a hug.”

She shook her head. “I’m not your sister. I don’t know you.” Quagly felt his heart break, but he left as requested.

***

Quagly dug through his bureau draw, desperately trying to find something to remind Mona about him. He wasn’t sure what had happened to her, but he knew that her mind had been played with somehow and it was sad to witness. He finally managed to unearth a small photograph of the two of them, with their parents, in Mottisfont Abbey. Yes, he thought, that is just the thing to jog her memory. She loved those gardens more than anywhere in the world.

***

Quagly knocked on Mona’s door, hoping that she had gotten more used to him now. He waited a few moments before letting himself in. The house appeared to be empty, but as he approached the second door to see if his sister was in the adjacent room, he heard the front door open, followed by a gasp.

He turned around quickly and strode over to Mona. She looked near to fainting. “Why do you keep coming back?” She asked him shakily.

“Because I love you Mona –”

“I’m not your Mona, stop calling me that.”

“– and because I need to know what happened to you. Why did you leave, and why did you come here?” She stared back at him blankly and he felt a pang in his chest. “Anyway, I’ve brought you something.” He said, fishing the photo out of his jacket pocket. He pushed it into her hands and waited while she examined it. She looked up at him, addled. “That boy is you. And those other people I have met…but I can’t remember where.”

“Yes. Yes! That boy is me, Quagly. And you have met the others, Mona! They are our parents!”

“That young girl, she must be Mona -”

“Yes! She is! She is you!”

“She is not me, but she does look like me. And that garden is…Mottisfont Abbey. It is my favourite place.”

“It is! It is your favourite place, and we went there a lot.”

She shook her head, “I don’t remember.”

But that wasn’t entirely true. She did remember to a point. She remembered the Abbey. But what really confused her, was that she starting to remembered Quagly.

***

Quagly lay on his bed, puzzling about Mona. What had happened to her? The two of them used to be so close. But then she left. And why couldn’t she remember him. He recalled reading an article on amnesia at the town library. According to the author, some victims suffered something called Confabulation, where they make up false memories to fill in the ones that are blurry, or are hard for them to remember. Could that be it? Could it be that his own sister couldn’t remember him because, she didn’t want to? He hoped not. But maybe he should just leave her be. He glanced at the bedside table and noticed that the draw was open. He slipped off his bed and went over to it. Half submerged in his clutter of belongings was videocassette. He gasped, realising what it was. With shaking hands, he placed the tape in the record player. Quagly sobbed, tears spilling down his cheeks, as he watched the video play out. It showed him and Mona as teenagers drawing with chalk on the sidewalk. He remembered the day well. They had tried to make a hopscotch board that stretched throughout the whole block but had been stopped when they got to a grumpy, old neighbours house, where he sprayed the whole thing with his hose and sent them running back to their house, wet, and laughing. His sister had loved that. She couldn’t stop talking about it for days.

At that moment, Quagly decided that he would make one last attempt to reach whatever of his sister was still left in her beautiful body. “I’m coming Mona. Please remember.”

***

Mona was out in her garden again, but to his surprise, she hurried up to meet him when he arrived, almost like she had been waiting for him. “Quagly?” She asked as he climbed out of his car clutching the cassette and video player. He was taken aback by her greeting. “Yes? Yes! I am Quagly, that’s…that’s me.”

“Hello.” She nodded at his belongings. “Why did you bring those things.”

He looked down at them, wondering how to phrase his endeavour. “I want to show you something, from our…from our childhood.”

She looked at him queerly but didn’t object, so he sat the player down on the bonnet of his car and began to play the film. She was silent for the duration of the video, but the tears in her eyes weren’t lost on Quagly. “Quagly,” she said shakily, as the video finished with their mother laughing and trying to turn off the camera. “Was that Dr Thompson?”

“Yes!” He cried, laughing, as he threw his arms around his sister. “That is! He was a grumpy old thing wasn’t he!”

She grinned back at him, “He was. Do you recall the time you stole his tomatoes? He threatened to call the mayor!”

“Yes.” Quagly was surprised. He hadn’t expected her to catch on so quickly. “But Mona, do you remember my 17th birthday?”

Her mood instantly darkened. “Yes.”

“Why did you leave me?”

“I didn’t mean to Quagly. I went to pick up a present for you. But I had an accident on the way, and I hit my head. I forgot everything, and I was scared, so I bought this cottage here, and closed myself off. I didn’t want to see anyone every again. And then you came, and I was terrified again, because you knew who I was, and I didn’t.” She looked up at her brother, surprised at what she had just said. “Quagly,” She whispered. “I remember.”