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Is that really my life? I think. Is that all I am? I take the pen and add another note to the board. Pack bag for tonight? it says. Not much of a reminder, but my own.

I hear a noise. A tune, coming from my bag. I open it and empty its contents on to the sofa. 

My purse, some tissues, pens, a lipstick. A powder compact, a receipt for two coffees.

A diary, just a couple of inches square and with a floral design on the front and a pencil in its spine.

I find something that I guess must be the phone that Ben described- it is small, plastic, with a keypad that makes it look like a toy. 

It is ringing, the screen flashing. I press what I hope is the right button.

‘Hello?’ I say. The voice that replies is not Ben’s. ‘Hi,’ it says. ‘Christine? Is that Christine Lucas?’

I don’t want to answer. My surname seems as strange as my first name had. 

I feel as though any solid ground I had attained has vanished again, replaced by quicksand.

‘Christine? Are you there?’
Who can it be? Who knows where I am, who I am? 

I realize it could be anyone. I feel panic rise in me. My finger hovers over the button that will end the call.

‘Christine? It’s me. Dr Nash. Please answer.’ The name means nothing to me, but still I say, ‘Who is this?’

The voice takes on a new tone. Relief? ‘It’s Dr Nash,’ he says. ‘Your doctor?’

Another flash of panic. ‘My doctor?’ I say. I’m not ill, I want to add, but I don’t know even this. I feel my mind begin to spin.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘But don’t worry. We’ve just been doing some work on your memory. Nothing’s wrong.’

I notice the tense he has used. Have been. So this is someone else I have no memory of. ‘What kind of work?’ I say.

‘I’ve been trying to help you, to improve things,’ he says. ‘Trying to work out exactly what’s caused your memory problems, and whether there’s anything we can do about them.’

It makes sense, though another thought comes to me. Why had Ben not mentioned this doctor before he left this morning?