Page 114 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

Struggling to follow her mother’s emotional outpouring, Clemmie moved her gaze to Joaquin, who stood there looking uncomfortable.

‘You saved me? Was I stuck up a tree?’

‘You were coming home with Joaquin. There was a crash,’ her mother said, enunciating the words slowly. She got to her feet and turned to the doctor. ‘She seems very confused, Doctor,’ she added in a worried aside.

Resting one hand on the wall above her head, Joaquin bent over her. ‘Not a tree this time. We were in a car crash.’

Clemmie pushed into her memory, the struggle to recall anything feeling as if she was fighting her way through a cotton wool fog.

‘You said that you remember...?’

‘No, I don’t think so, Joaquin. I’d know if I was in a crash.’

Over his shoulder, Joaquin threw a look at the medic that prompted the man to join them.

‘Things sound a bit echoey to me...’ said Clemmie.

‘Same here, but I’m told it’s only temporary. There was a loud bang.’

She looked at him blankly. ‘After the crash...? Are you okay?’ Then, as if seeming to notice for the first time, she added in a concerned voice. ‘Is that why you look so terrible? You should be in hospital.’ The comment seemed to wake her up to her surroundings once more. ‘Mum, I can’t stay here. I want to go home.’

Watching the interchange, Joaquin drew the doctor a little way apart.

‘She knew what had happened when we were in the helicopter and when she woke up, but now she seems the be getting more confused.’

‘It’s not unusual for someone to blank out the trauma. I wouldn’t read too much into this.’

‘All this doesn’t help.’ His gesture took in the room. ‘Clemmie is not good with hospitals.’

‘Not many people like hospitals.’

Joaquin reacted to this patronising, pat-on-the-head tone with a forceful, ‘Clemmie is not “many people”.’

A flustered expression briefly slipped through the man’s professional mask. ‘Of course. Your fiancée is—’

His eyes flickered across to the bed, where Clemmie had drifted off to sleep holding her mother’s hand.

‘I have known Clemmie for twenty years,’ said Joaquin, cutting across the man, his protective instincts in full flow and his impatience stamped on his lean features as he relayed her history in a tone devoid of the emotion the memory always kicked up in him.

‘Shortly before we first met she lost her twin sister to cancer. She had spent weeks visiting her sister in hospital every day, watching her get sicker. I think the fact that she had been told by the well-meaning idiot doctor caring for her sister that her twin would get better added another layer to her grief when her twin died.’

He had learnt the full story only after Clemmie had reacted with tearful fury to the mocking comment he had made about a stuffed toy he had seen sticking out of her rucksack, not knowing the special meaning it held.

It had belonged to her twin.

‘I think she is allowed to dislike hospitals,’ he finished quietly.

‘Of course, and I will make staff aware of her history.’ The doctor hesitated, before saying formally. ‘If you would like a second opinion...?’

‘I would like afirstopinion,’ Joaquin cut back grimly. ‘What is your diagnosis?’

‘It’s early days...’ the man began, but his voice trailed away when he saw Joaquin’s expression. ‘You might be aware that confusion is not unusual after a head injury—even temporary amnesia?’

‘You are saying she has amnesia...on what basis?’

Not used to people demanding facts like this, the man blinked. ‘I am suggesting it is apossibility,’ he continued carefully. ‘One you should be aware of. Tomorrow, when she has rested, we will be able to—’

‘I am assuming there are experts in this field?’

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