Chapter V
Anne awoke, probably, a few hours later – the room was lit up by the sunlight outside in any case. She could still feel Ann’s hand in hers, and she glanced to her side and found Ann’s head resting on the bed, close to her hip bent over from the chair. Anne couldn’t help but smile down at her, she was so precious. A rush of joy went through her as she realised this was her wife! This wasn’t just Ann Walker with whom she had a causal connection with, this was Ann Walker – her wife! If ever Anne had been happier to wake up, she didn’t know it.
Ann stirred on the bed, and her head turned up, and her eyes met hers. The blonde smiled, though she seemed to realise that her head was lying almost pressed up against Anne’s hip, and that she might not be comfortable. Anne however beamed, and ran a hand through her blonde curls, bringing her hand up to her mouth to place a kiss on her knuckles, turning her hand around lingering with her lips on her wrist for a second but her eyes found a white scar, and she frowned.
“What’s that? I don’t remember seeing that there before.”
Ann flushed a little and withdrew her hand from her grip, sitting up properly,
“It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like it was nothing.” Anne pressed her; she had an inkling on what that scar meant but she didn’t want to believe that.
“It’s old.”
“Yes, but it’s clearly not older than three years. What happened?” Anne looked troubled,
“I was in Scotland, and I thought I’d never see you again, that I would never be near you again and I thought I couldn’t stand it… so I…Oh Lord…” Ann trailed off clearly she found this difficult to speak of, and Anne looked appalled, tears threatening to fall, as if the sheer image in her head of Ann trying to end her own life was breaking her heart.
“Ann.”
“It’s fine, Elizabeth found me before I… she wrote to you after that.”
“Did she?” Anne raised an eyebrow, and Ann nodded,
“She didn’t tell you that though, and I don’t think you’ve ever properly forgiven her for that, at least not her husband.”
“Where were I?”
“Paris. When she wrote. You wrote back with your forwarding address in Copenhagen, but my brother-in-law deliberately misplaced the letter, or destroyed it. When she finally told me after about six weeks I decided to go home, get your forwarding address to Copenhagen and write you.”
Anne held her hand in hers, stroking her over the knuckles, thinking,
“And did you? Did you manage to get hold of me?”
“No. I went straight over to Shibden to ask for it only to have Marian tell me you were already here.”
“How come?” Anne asked,
“You had been called back because of your aunt.”
“She is alright? You said before…” Anne began and Ann nodded,
“She is… downstairs… Oh God! I should probably tell her you are alright!”
Ann released Anne’s hand and jumped up in a bit of a frenzy, realising she had selfishly stayed with Anne, without telling her aunt Anne that she was awake and alright, except of course the minor problem with her memory loss.
“But you will come back?” Anne looked at her expectantly as Ann turned around by the door, and she beamed,
“Of course I will. I just need to pop down and explain this whole situation.”
“Is my father alive?” Anne asked suddenly, and Ann nodded,
“He’s also downstairs – and I should probably tell him too… only I think Marian and Catherine must have told them something this morning – they were awake yester-night when you awoke.”
Anne allowed her to leave to deliver some news about her to her anxious aunt downstairs and felt the loss of her company deeply – she wasn’t made for bedrest and she doubted she would manage three more days lying there. Fresh air would only do her good – no doctor in his right mind could advice against it. Then again, Anne thought, Dr Kenny wasn’t most doctors and she would have Ann write to her friend Dr Belcombe and ask him to come. He might know how to cure this memory loss of hers – because she would dearly like to remember. Anne sat up straight in bed suddenly, hurting her head immensely as she did so but she held up her finger,
“My journals!”
Maybe if she read her detailed scribbles – the memories might come flooding back to her.
As soon as Ann came back, she would ask her to retrieve them, and to help her pen a letter to Dr Belcombe – Anne Lister was not going to be cowed by something as silly as a blow to the head and some small, or rather extensive memory loss.