Dead Man's Gift 03 - Today (6 page)

It wasn’t a decision I’d come to easily. I’d been totally reliant on Jane, Tom and Dr Bronson. They were my crutch, my defence against a dark, foreboding outside world in which I was a complete stranger. Put bluntly, they were all I’d got.

But were they really helping me? I just didn’t know.

So I formulated a plan. I knew I couldn’t get out of taking the medication, not with Tom standing over me, but whenever I could, I’d let the tablets lodge in the space between my cheek and gum and get rid of them afterwards. This was no easy feat though, so in the majority of instances I had to swallow and then, when Tom had gone, slip out to the toilet, make sure no one was within earshot, and make myself throw up as quietly as possible. Then I’d clear up after myself, spray a bit of air freshener around and return to my room, leaving no one any the wiser.

So far my memories hadn’t started to come back, but I had experienced flashes of déjà vu. Visions of childhood – of kissing a girl; of riding a bike – flitted across my consciousness like wraiths, barely showing themselves before fading once again into the darkness. But they’d been getting more frequent.

And now the dreams had started, and I was beginning to think there was a connection in there somewhere.

Dr Bronson was talking about the importance of taking my medication, but I was no longer listening. I needed to get out of this room. It was suddenly oppressive.

I got unsteadily to my feet, deliberately swallowing hard. ‘Jesus, I think I might throw up.’

For a big man, Dr Bronson moved fast, shoving his chair backwards so he was out of range of anything I sent his way. Turning away, I made a pretence of staggering from the room and out into the hallway.

I could hear Jane and Tom talking quietly in the kitchen. They must have heard me because Jane popped her head round the open door and gave me a puzzled smile.

‘Everything all right, Matt?’ she asked.

I told her what I’d just told Dr Bronson and hurried up the stairs in the direction of the bathroom and my bedroom.

‘Oh dear,’ she said as I went. ‘Let me get Tom to make something up that’ll calm you down.’

‘It’s OK,’ I called back over my shoulder. ‘I just need a lie down.’ And, as I spoke the words, I thought two things. One: my sister looks absolutely nothing like me. She has red hair where mine’s dark; pale, freckled skin where mine’s touching olive; a short, petite build compared to my much taller, more solid frame. No obvious similarities at all. That was the first thing. The second was more worrying. I fancied her. I really did. I’d felt that way almost from the first time I clapped eyes on her after waking from my coma. When she’d told me who she was, I’d been shocked. Honestly. I’d thought the feeling might go away, but it hadn’t. In fact, in the absence of any other women in my life, it had got stronger. I didn’t even like to look at her any more. And as for Tom, I was jealous as hell of him.

When I got to my room, I opened the door and shut it loudly again, but without going inside. Then I waited a minute before creeping back to the top of the stairs and listening to the whispering voices downstairs in the hall. The three of them were talking quietly but I could hear only snatched phrases uttered in tense, businesslike terms. ‘How much longer?’ I heard my sister hiss, just a little too loudly, and there was an irritation in her tone that was a marked contrast to her usual friendly, caring manner around me. It was pretty obvious she was talking about how much longer she was going to have to look after me, and it made me flinch because I’d grown used to relying on her, and it wasn’t nice to hear what she really thought.

I thought I heard the doc say something about being close, then the voices faded away as they went into the kitchen.

I stood stock-still, wondering what the hell I thought I was doing skulking there in the shadows. It made me feel like a naughty child, listening in on something I shouldn’t.

And in that moment I experienced a sudden, perfectly clear vision of me as a young boy standing behind a half-open door listening to my parents shout at each other. And there’s someone standing next to me, older and bigger, and as I turn to him I can’t make out his face but that doesn’t matter because in that moment I know without a shadow of a doubt that it’s my brother.

And of course there was only one problem with that. I wasn’t meant to have a brother.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Version 1.0

Epub ISBN 9781473505919

www.randomhouse.co.uk

Copyright © Simon Kernick 2014

Simon Kernick has asserted his moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

Random House UK Ltd.
Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,
London SW1V 2SA

Random House UK Limited Reg. No. 954009

www.randomhouse.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library