Her Perfect Lies. Lana Newton

want Paul to see her eavesdropping outside Tony’s hospital room. What would he think? She moved away from the door and smiled at Paul. He asked, ‘How did it go with your father?’

      ‘Wonderful. I have no memories of him but I feel like I’ve known him my whole life. Did you talk to the doctor?’

      He nodded. ‘Your father will need extensive physiotherapy. He has to work hard if he wants to walk again. His recovery might take a long time. He was upset and confused when he woke up. Pulled his IV out, scared the nurse. But he seemed to recover quickly. He remembers who he is, remembers what happened, which is extraordinary.’

      ‘Poor Dad. I wish I could have been there for him when he woke up.’

      ‘Are you ready? I have fifty minutes for lunch before I need to get back to work.’

      Paul was already walking towards the exit and Claire trailed behind him, trying to keep up, when out of the corner of her eye she saw the police officers leaving her father’s room. ‘Can you wait for me for a minute? I want to speak to the police.’

      She caught up with them near the reception. They seemed desperate to leave the hospital and who could blame them? When they saw her, they slowed down but didn’t stop. She walked with them. ‘Do you have a moment? I want to ask you something.’

      ‘Of course, anything,’ said the woman.

      They found some empty chairs in a waiting area outside a room that wasn’t her father’s. Claire was glad. She didn’t want a nurse to wheel Tony out in his wheelchair only for him to see his daughter speaking to the police. For some reason she felt he wouldn’t like that. PC Stanley and PC Kamenski moved from side to side, trying to get comfortable. Although lacking in height, they were both wide-shouldered and looked out of place on the small hospital chairs, like grown-ups sitting in toddler seats. The woman took out a notebook and scribbled something down. Claire noticed her glance at the clock above their heads. There was only one question she desperately needed to ask. But she didn’t know how to bring it up, so she coughed and cleared her throat, just like Tony did moments earlier, and said something else entirely. ‘I’m concerned about my father. How did he seem to you? Was he confused? Having problems remembering?’

      ‘On the contrary. He seemed quite sure of himself.’

      ‘If you are concerned, why don’t you talk to his doctor?’ asked PC Stanley. He, too, glanced at the clock. Of course, thought Claire. It was lunchtime for them. The last thing they wanted was to be stuck in a hospital waiting area, talking to her.

      ‘Thank you. I will,’ said Claire. The police officers rose to their feet. Before they had a chance to say goodbye, she added, ‘One more thing. I’m not quite sure I was in the car on the day of the accident.’

      ‘Did you remember something?’ Both of them were staring at her now, all thoughts of lunch seemingly forgotten.

      ‘Not really. It’s more …’ She hesitated. She couldn’t tell them the truth. She didn’t want to contradict anything her father might have said to them. ‘It’s just a feeling I have.’

      ‘You are still confused. It’s understandable,’ said PC Kamenski softly.

      ‘Are you sure I was in that car?’

      ‘Positive. I pulled you out myself.’

      Claire tried to imagine her fragile, broken body trapped in the back of a car on the side of a motorway somewhere. Tried to imagine the pain and the fear, police sirens blaring, strong arms yanking her out, and couldn’t. In her mind she couldn’t see anything other than this hospital waiting room, her father’s immobile body in a bed down the corridor, herself alone and afraid and searching for answers. Maybe her father was right. Maybe she hadn’t been in that car after all.

      PC Kamenski was looking at her with suspicion and Claire felt tears perilously close. She almost opened her mouth and told the police officers everything. All her fears and misgivings and how confused she was. But she doubted they wanted to hear.

      The man stepped from foot to foot impatiently. The woman closed her notepad. ‘If you remember anything, please don’t hesitate to call. Here is my direct number,’ she said, reaching into her pocket and placing a card in Claire’s hands.

      Long after they were gone, Claire stared at the card but couldn’t see the writing from the tears in her eyes, couldn’t hear her husband’s voice from the noise in her head. She was lost in a maze with no way out.

      * * *

      On the way home, Paul suggested lunch at Claire’s favourite restaurant, Thai Basil. Having heard of it from Gaby and hoping it would trigger a memory, she agreed. Thai Basil was a red oasis in grey and rainy London. The furniture, the walls, the carpets, even the ceiling were a variation of that colour. Dotted around the room were porcelain elephants with their trunks pointing up – for luck, Paul told her. Claire relaxed into her ruby cushion, fighting to stay awake. Suddenly the day had become too much. Too many new faces and places, too much new information to process.

      Taking a deep breath to stave off the panic, Claire closed her eyes and thought of her father. Immediately she felt better. The warm feeling she’d experienced earlier was back. He was just as confused as she was, even though he tried not to show it. And just like her, he clearly had trouble remembering the accident. She wasn’t alone, and neither was he.

      ‘I didn’t realise ballerinas ate Thai food,’ she said to her gloomy husband when the starters arrived. Although everything looked delicious, she didn’t seem to have much of an appetite. It surprised her. Other than the sandwich in the morning, she had had nothing to eat, so nervous was she about meeting her dad. The sandwich was a distant memory now.

      ‘Your diet consisted of grapefruit and Thai once a month, for which you punished yourself at the studio for days,’ replied Paul.

      ‘Sounds healthy.’

      ‘It wasn’t.’

      ‘I was being sarcastic.’

      ‘Oh.’

      They were seated at a corner table, away from the other diners. Pouring some tea, she said, ‘What do you do for a living?’ Once again, she felt silly asking this question. She felt like she should already know the answer.

      ‘I’m a heart surgeon at the hospital.’

      ‘Which hospital?’

      ‘Yours.’

      She wanted to ask him why she had only seen him twice in two weeks if he worked at the same hospital where she had been a patient. But she didn’t want to upset him. They sat in silence for a while. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, while Paul absentmindedly checked his phone and glanced at his watch, as if he would rather be anywhere but sitting across from her at a restaurant table. Frantically she searched her mind for something else to say but couldn’t think of anything. Finally, Paul said, ‘Try these spring rolls. You love them.’

      ‘They’re delicious.’

      ‘Have another one. Have them all if you like.’

      ‘What about you?’ She pulled the plate closer.

      ‘I prefer this satay chicken.’

      She picked up a stick of satay chicken, took a quick bite, took a bite of the spring roll and looked at him like he was a madman. Paul filled both their plates with stir-fry.

      ‘Tell me about our marriage. Are we happy?’ she asked when the food was gone – all but the fish cakes which she didn’t like.

      ‘Very,’ he said.

      ‘We don’t have any …’ Claire hesitated, trying to think of the exact word Gaby had used. ‘Issues?’

      ‘Of course not. What makes you think that? We are one of those rare couples who never argue.’

      ‘Tell me stories. Something to jog my memory. How did we meet?’

      He