Bonkers Page 6

  When Dan shrugged off his leather jacket, Lisa saw the front of his T-shirt properly. It was decorated with a big, brown kiwi wearing a smug smile beneath the tagline I’m a little kiwi who eats roots and leaves. She smiled to herself and wondered if Dan knew exactly what he was wearing on his chest to his place of work. The saying was a Kiwi classic, but Lisa had her doubts that root was a euphemism for sexual intercourse in America.

  ‘Um. Dan…’ She pointed at his T-shirt. ‘Does “root” mean the same thing in the States as it does in New Zealand?’

  He glanced down at the front of his shirt and back up again. ‘I don’t know. What does “root” mean in New Zealand?’

  Lisa narrowed her eyes suspiciously; she could have sworn she’d seen a smile playing about his mouth before he spoke. She cleared her throat awkwardly, suddenly wishing she’d never brought the subject up. ‘In New Zealand, it means…’ She scowled and said in a rush, ‘A root means having sex.’

  Dan’s brows rose in surprise. ‘You don’t say?’ He looked down at the front of his shirt and read out slowly, ‘I’m a little kiwi who eats…roots…and leaves.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Thank goodness I sent one to my brother for his birthday, because he’s the biggest bed-hopper in the state of Colorado.’

  Lisa threw one of the magazines at him. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me instead of letting me make a complete fool of myself?’

  He ducked and grinned. ‘I needed a laugh. When my mother saw Glenn’s shirt, she told me I was dreaming if I thought he’d ever become a vegetarian.’

  They stared at one another for a few moments before bursting into laughter.

  Dan pointed at the magazines he’d placed on top of her locker. ‘I brought some of your favourites.’

  Lisa glanced disinterestedly at the glossy magazines. She’d never been all that interested in fashion and makeup, leaving that side of things to Sherry. Lisa liked nice clothes as much as the next woman, but Sherry was the clotheshorse of the family. Although she knew she wasn’t up to reading a book, fashion magazines with pretentious models posing in outlandish clothes were not really Lisa’s cup of tea. She was a primary-school teacher by profession, although her endometriosis had been so bad over the past few years that she had worked mainly as a relief teacher so she could take time off when she wasn’t well enough to work.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said politely, watching as he crouched down in front of the bedside locker. The hems of his jeans rose to reveal a pair of unmatched socks, one brown, one bottle-green. Lisa smiled, but it faded when Dan began to place clean underwear and nightdresses inside her locker. Her face felt like it was going to burst into flames as she watched a total stranger handling her underwear with casual familiarity. ‘I’ll do that!’ she exclaimed, leaning over the edge of the bed to snatch a G-string from Dan’s hands and almost succeeding in falling out of the bed on top of him.

  Dan only just managed to catch her in time. ‘That was stupid,’ he said sharply as he lifted her back against the pillows.

  Lisa once again experienced that strange jolt when his hands made contact with her bare skin and she shrank away from him. She noticed that Dan dropped his hands hastily and stepped away from the bed.

  ‘Doesn’t Linda own a single pair of normal knickers?’ Lisa blurted.

  ‘Normal knickers?’ Dan looked confused. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know…’ She flapped a hand at him. ‘Panties, I think you call them. Does she have a single pair of panties?’

  ‘What are those?’ He jerked a thumb at the locker.

  ‘They’re G-strings, or…what do you call them?’ Lisa muttered to herself and then cried, ‘Thongs! They’re thongs!’

  Dan blinked. ‘You don’t like thongs?’ He was a big fan of them himself, particularly when they were worn on an ass like Linda’s.

  ‘No, I don’t like thongs. I don’t know how anybody in their right mind could, they feel like anal floss.’

  Dan’s brows rose in disbelief. ‘Anal floss?’ Seeing Lisa was serious, he hastily said, ‘I’ll see what I can find at home.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied primly. ‘And while you’re at it, do you think you could bring me in some big T-shirts to sleep in instead of these skimpy nightdresses?’

  His mouth tightened. Linda loved sexy nightwear and lingerie. ‘T-shirts?’ he repeated brusquely. ‘You don’t own any big T-shirts.’ Everything Linda owned was tailored or tight. She’d never been the sort to hide her assets.

  Lisa was beginning to get annoyed, which made her bolder than usual. ‘What about you?’

  Dan frowned. ‘You want to know what I wear to bed?’

  ‘No! Do you have any old T-shirts I could borrow?’

  ‘I guess so. Sure.’ When she continued to look at him expectantly, Dan shrugged and sighed. ‘I’ll bring you some.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He stood indecisively for a moment before eventually going to collect the orange plastic chair and place it a discreet distance from the side of the bed.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked after he’d lowered his long frame into the chair.

  Lisa decided she would scream if one more person asked her that question. She wished she could tell them all the truth. Something along the lines of: ‘I feel really confused and pissed off. I am in another woman’s body and I have to work to get it better. I have to pretend that I’ve lost my memory when I haven’t lost it at all but I haven’t got the one everybody thinks I should have. And to top it off, the very same woman is responsible for killing me in the first place.’

  When Lisa didn’t answer, Dan tried again. ‘The results of the CAT scan were good.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she agreed dryly, staring at the plaster cast which was beginning to itch like hell. ‘They tell me there’s a brain in there after all.’

  Dan’s mouth tightened. It was just the sort of comment Linda would make. ‘And you saw Dr Fergusson, the psychiatrist?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lisa snorted and rolled her eyes. ‘Now he really is nuts.’

  She recalled the hour she’d spent with the psychiatrist just after lunch.

  Lisa had never met a psychiatrist before, much less been examined by one, which was what he had done despite the lack of little hammers and lights to shine in her eyes.

  Dr Fergusson introduced himself as Craig and settled into the orange chair with every appearance of planning to stay for some time. He looked about thirty-five, with light-brown hair and indecently long eyelashes which kept getting caught on the lenses of his glasses and making him blink. Lisa watched him, curious to see what he’d do. It would be nice if he didn’t start out by asking her how she was, but as he was a doctor she didn’t hold out much hope he wouldn’t.

  ‘Bored?’ he asked.

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘Well…yes, I am as it happens.’

  Craig nodded and, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee, cupped the back of his head in his clasped hands. ‘Hospitals are bloody boring after a while. Especially when you’re not sick enough to not notice, but not well enough to leave. I’ve never been too keen on them myself.’

  Lisa stared at him. ‘But you’re a doctor. How could a doctor not like hospitals?’ she said, wondering if he was actually a patient or a member of the public pretending to be a doctor. She peered at the ID tag clipped to the pocket of his jacket.

  He unclipped the plastic card and offered it to her, laughing. ‘It’s OK. I am the real thing.’

  Lisa blushed and shrank back in the chair Chris had helped her into. Shaking her head, she mumbled something about never doubting he was a doctor.

  Craig returned his ID to his jacket. ‘You still seem unconvinced. What were you expecting?’

  Lisa’s head was beginning to ache and she didn’t buy his amiable fool act. ‘I don’t know. A couch? A watch to hypnotize me? Some of those black-and-white cards I’m supposed to tell you look like people having sex?’ She shut her mouth abruptly. Now he’d think she was a sexual deviant as well, and prob
ably tell Dan Brogan. She covered her eyes with her hands. Ahhh!

  Craig took pity on her and changed the subject. ‘So the nurses tell me you don’t remember anything before waking up in hospital. Would you agree with that?’

  Lisa watched him warily through her fingers. Although he might not be wearing a white coat, he still had the authority to lock her up if he thought she was bonkers. ‘I don’t remember being Linda Brogan,’ she hedged.

  When it became obvious she wasn’t going to be more forthcoming, Craig Fergusson asked, ‘Can you tell me the first thing you do remember?’

  Falling down the steps at the front of the house when I was almost two and splitting my mouth, Lisa thought, touching a hand to Linda’s mouth. It bled like hell and to this day I have a small scar on my bottom lip. Or at least I used to have a scar on my bottom lip. Her eyes filled with tears. She shook her head and swallowed convulsively, whispering, ‘No. No, I can’t tell you the first thing I remember.’

  Craig Fergusson waited until she’d blown her nose and wiped her eyes. ‘Do you remember Dan Brogan?’ he asked gently.

  Lisa sighed and shook her head.

  Craig suggested antidepressants. Lisa refused to take them.

  ‘Don’t dismiss them out of hand, Linda,’ he urged. ‘You are depressed, which is hardly surprising considering what you’ve been through. It’s extremely frightening to wake up not knowing who you are.’

  Lisa looked at him glumly. But I do know who I am.

  ‘I’m confident you will regain your memory.’

  I never lost it.

  ‘But in the meantime, it’s important you take each day as it comes.’

  You sound like my mother.

  ‘I think it would be a good idea if we meet regularly.’

  To check if I need locking up.

  ‘Keep a notepad nearby. If you remember anything at all, jot it down.’

  If I jotted down even half of what was going on inside my head you’d be measuring me for a straitjacket.

  ‘Craig?’ Lisa asked, desperate to stop the flood of questions and advice.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Why don’t you get a set of contact lenses? What is driving me bonkers at the moment is watching you get your eyelashes caught on your glasses.’

  He blinked rapidly in surprise, which only made the problem worse. Sighing irritably, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. ‘I’ve tried contact lenses but they irritate my eyes after a couple of hours.’

  Lisa made a sympathetic noise. ‘Why don’t you trim your eyelashes then?’

  ‘I’ve tried. But I have to take my glasses off to do it and I nearly took my eye out with the scissors.’

  ‘Ugh!’

  ‘Precisely.’ He replaced his glasses, smiling. ‘You’re very good at that, aren’t you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Changing the subject.’

  Lisa gazed at him innocently, undone by the blush she could feel flooding her cheeks, and was relieved when he left soon afterwards, promising to visit again in a couple of days.

  She was startled from her reverie when Dan asked, ‘Did it help talking to him?’

  Lisa looked at him warily. ‘He was very nice. Very kind. But he can’t help me, Dan.’ She looked back at her cast, a hopeless expression on her face. ‘I would be very surprised if anybody could.’

  In spite of the lectures Dan had been giving himself, he felt his heart tugged by her look of utter desolation. It reminded him of when she’d told him about her dyslexia when he first knew her. He’d have to make sure he didn’t get suckered again. ‘Why do you say that?’

  Lisa was immediately on the defensive. He was wearing the same look as Craig Fergusson wore when he was trying to get inside her head. Desperate to change the subject, she blurted out the first thing that came into her mind. ‘Tell me, are these real or fakes?’ she asked, arching her back slightly and pointing at Linda’s round, perky breasts.

  Dan was speechless. She was asking him about her breasts? The same breasts he’d kissed and fondled countless times? The same breasts he could picture in exquisite detail if he just closed his eyes? He felt a surge of fury. This was the Linda he knew, using her body to get what she wanted or to divert attention from a subject she didn’t want to pursue. Only in the past she hadn’t been so heavy-handed about it.

  His gaze hardened. ‘Pardon me?’ he asked coldly, feeling deep satisfaction when she dropped her eyes and shrank back against the pillows, her pale cheeks reddening. She slid further down the bed to huddle under the covers and mumbled what sounded like ‘Nothing.’

  The sense of satisfaction evaporated. Whatever Dan might think of her, Linda was still recovering from serious injuries and didn’t deserve to be punished for what had happened in the past—a past she said she couldn’t remember.

  Ever since she had regained consciousness, Dan had been taken aback by her wry, offbeat sense of humour. Linda had never had it before. He automatically responded to the well-developed sense of the ridiculous that seemed to lurk just beneath the surface of the woman cowering in the bed. ‘Why would you think your boobs are fake? Do they feel different?’

  Lisa frowned over the edge of the sheet, feeling sorry she’d ever raised the subject. ‘Different to what?’ she retorted. ‘I was the original Miss Two Backs before…all this…happened.’

  It was Dan’s turn to frown. Had she just said she was flat-chested before the accident? Determinedly, he thrust the confusing comment from his mind and concentrated on something he could understand. Propping his ankle on the opposite knee, he laced his fingers loosely in his lap and gave a good show of appearing perfectly serious. ‘They’re not fake. Fakes feel different.’

  Lisa sat up. ‘For who? The feeler? Or the feelee?’ she demanded. ‘Hang on a mo while I pop under the covers for a quick grope.’ She made a show of sliding back under the sheet and thrashing about while Dan watched in amusement. When she reappeared above the covers, her dark hair was tousled and untidy. She glared at him. ‘Sorry, the results were inconclusive. How the hell would I know what implants feel like? I said I was flat-chested before, not a lesbian!’

  He laughed out loud.

  Lisa thought Dan didn’t do it nearly enough. She stared, her stomach doing a little flip. The guy was gorgeous when he relaxed and came out of his shell. The change in his face was magical, all the strain and worry disappeared. She felt a stab of guilt when she realized that she had caused a lot of those lines and the tightness about his mouth. Me and Linda, she decided shrewdly, wondering not for the first time just what the relationship between Linda and Dan had been like. Crossing her arms over the subject of the previous few minutes, Lisa asked curiously, ‘So, can you tell the difference?’

  He lolled in the chair, still grinning, his hand lightly clasping the ankle of the foot propped on his knee. ‘What? Between an implant and the real thing?’

  She nodded, bright-eyed.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How?’

  It was Dan’s turn to roll his eyes. ‘They feel different, for chrissakes.’

  Lisa raised her brows. ‘Done a lot of research on the subject, have you?’

  ‘Some,’ he replied soberly, but ruined it by smiling. ‘Why?’ He lowered his gaze to her breasts. ‘Did you want a second opinion?’

  Lisa was momentarily robbed of breath by the heat that suddenly uncurled in the pit of her belly. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in shock as she fought against an urgent desire to drop her arms to her sides and tell him to go right ahead.

  ‘Sorry. That was inexcusable of me,’ Dan said stiffly.

  Lisa sighed, stroking her hands agitatedly up and down her upper arms. ‘It was a joke, Dan. We were joking with each other—having a laugh.’

  He watched the slide of her hands and heard the whisper of her palms brushing against her skin. Abruptly he got to his feet. ‘You need some sleep.’ Hooking his fingers beneath the moulded edge of the chair, he carried it to its u
sual place at the end of the bed.

  Suddenly Lisa didn’t want him to go. ‘I’m not tired.’

  ‘Well, I am,’ Dan replied brusquely. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘OK,’ she replied forlornly as he headed out the door. ‘Night.’

  He didn’t reply.

  6

  Dan brought Lisa a supply of his T-shirts, which were so big that they covered her from shoulder to elbow and neck to knee. She loved them, and if Dan found it unnerving to see her wearing his clothes he refrained from saying so.

  The doctors and nurses began to make noises about Lisa going home—as in home with Dan Brogan. Apparently, Linda’s leg was healing well and Lisa had become proficient enough with the crutches to move around without help.

  Lisa was badly shaken. She had been so absorbed with trying to make sense of her bizarre situation that she hadn’t really given any thought to what would happen next. Her emotions were on a constant roller-coaster; one moment she was convinced she could handle what had happened to her, that after coming so close to dying she needed to grab this second chance with both hands. Then the next she was sunk in despair, longing for her family with a pain that was almost physical and trying to imagine a future living the life of a total stranger.

  With the stranger’s husband, who she was beginning to fancy like mad.

  Dan Brogan continued to visit her each night. Although he was unfailingly patient and attentive with her, he remained distant. Lisa began to wonder more and more just what the state of his and Linda Brogan’s marriage had been. It didn’t seem natural for a husband to be so polite around his wife. He avoided touching her unless he absolutely had to, and Lisa didn’t think it was entirely out of consideration for her memory loss. She sensed that Dan regarded her as a responsibility. She also had a nagging suspicion that he hadn’t particularly liked his wife. Lisa thought it was strange that Linda hadn’t had any visitors apart from Dan, and she said as much to him one evening. Instantly, she had his entire attention, which could be very unnerving. Dan’s silvery-grey eyes looked at her as if they could see right down into her very soul.