Forgotten

By Marion Heather Cane

After a harrowing accident leaves her severely injured and abandoned in a ditch, a young woman awakens in a hospital bed, her body battered and her mind a blank slate. Plunged into a coma, she emerges into consciousness with her past erased, her identity lost to the shadows of amnesia.

Embarking on a perilous journey of self-discovery, she navigates a labyrinth of unknowns, where each step could reveal startling truths or lead her deeper into a web of lies. Surrounded by faces she cannot trust and memories that refuse to surface, she must summon her inner strength to confront the mysteries that shroud her existence.

As she delves into the enigmatic fragments of her life, she encounters a cast of characters whose intentions are as obscure as her own past. Allies or adversaries, saviors or saboteurs, they are the pieces of a puzzle she is desperate to solve. With no guide but her unwavering resolve, she risks everything to uncover the origins of her identity and the events that led to her fateful night in the ditch.

What she learns will challenge her understanding of trust, identity, and the very fabric of her being. Changed by her discoveries, she faces the ultimate question: Can she ever truly return to the person she once was, or has her journey transformed her forever? Who is she?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: May 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035846221

Marion Heather Cane

Marion Heather Cane grew up in the beautiful Somerset countryside. Close to her sisters, they had a carefree childhood. Later, the family moved to Devon, which was equally lovely. From childhood, she was always interested in writing both poetry and stories. Most of her working life was spent in business with her husband who always encouraged and supported her. Only recently, after many years as a director of their family business, Marion retired. After immigrating to Spain, she now enjoys the idyllic life there that gives her so much inspiration for her writing.

Book preview

About the Author

Marion Heather Cane grew up in the beautiful Somerset countryside. Close to her sisters, they had a carefree childhood. Later, the family moved to Devon, which was equally lovely. From childhood, she was always interested in writing both poetry and stories. Most of her working life was spent in business with her husband who always encouraged and supported her. Only recently, after many years as a director of their family business, Marion retired. After immigrating to Spain, she now enjoys the idyllic life there that gives her so much inspiration for her writing.

Dedication

To my parents, who were always there to support me in whichever direction I took. Teaching and guiding me to think for myself and to plan whatever I was doing. I thank them both from the bottom of my heart for without them, I wouldn’t have started writing.

Also, to long-suffering husband, Fred, who stood by me, encouraging me whenever I needed it. He has spent many an hour listening to my stories patiently, with no complaints at all. He has continued what my parents started, so I am most grateful for that.

Last, but not least, my daughter, Karen, who sits quietly reading my stories but also encourages me to write more and who is happy that I am doing what I enjoy the most. As a child, she enjoyed listening to stories at bedtime and so it continues.

Copyright Information ©

Marion Heather Cane 2024

The right of Marion Heather Cane to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs 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 or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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

ISBN 9781035846214 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035846221 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

Firstly, I would like to thank my husband for supporting me over the years and always being available to listen when I wished for any constructive criticism.

My family too, are always there to hear what the latest story is about. All my life I have loved first telling stories then writing them.

Secondly, I wish to thank Austin Macauley Publishers for taking on my story.

All I hope is that the readers will enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Chapter One

It was almost midnight in the month of November. The rain was falling softly, chilling the air with the first hint of autumn. At first, the body wasn’t visible, until it moved slightly.

Looking closer, one could see that it was a young woman lying awkwardly in the ditch, obviously badly injured. Her legs were twisted grotesquely, and she was bleeding from injuries to her head and other cuts and grazes. She stirred, groaning with pain as she tried to move her battered body. Lying on her side, she looked like a bundle of rags. Due to the cold, the bleeding had slowed, which, had it been summer, she probably would have died through loss of blood.

Everything whirled about her. Her head and legs were excruciatingly painful and the warm blood slowly trickling down her face and oozing from her stomach cooled rapidly in the cold air.

It was eerily quiet, not a person nor car was in sight. How did she get here? She tried to think but her brain hurt. Where had she been going? She didn’t know. Where had she come from? She didn’t know that either.

Thinking that she might die, she had the presence of mind to try and crawl out of the ditch and up onto the road to have a better chance of being found before she either bled or froze to death. Trying to roll over was agony but she knew that she had to turn her body somehow or she would surely die where she lay if not found.

Every movement was purgatory, the pain so intense, it was almost delicious. Her breaths were short and gasping, becoming laboured with each passing second.

Inch by inch, she dragged her broken body behind her, until eventually, she reached the top of the ditch, and with her last remaining strength, she managed to heave herself onto the side of the road.

She hoped she would be seen in either direction but prayed that she wouldn’t be in the path of any oncoming vehicle. All that remained now was a wish that a car would drive by very soon or—she wouldn’t allow herself to think of the outcome if that didn’t happen.

She blacked out then, sinking quickly into unconsciousness. Deeper and deeper, she drifted, yet at the same time wondering if this was what dying was.

Flashing lights and sirens stirred her momentarily from her unconscious state and faint voices in the background. One of them saying urgently, ‘We’re going to lose her, get the defibrillator.’

Blackness washed over her again for what appeared like hours, then once again noise, strong lights, so strong that she wanted to shut it all out.

‘Don’t you let go now,’ a voice whispered in her ear. ‘We’re not finished with you yet.’ Blackness returned, again and again, then peace and quiet surrounded her.

‘Come on, sweetheart,’ a voice whispered in her ear. ‘It’s time to wake up, you’ve been asleep for too long.’

She tried to open her eyes, but they felt as if held by lead weights. A glimmer of light peeped through her eyelids, which was so bright she thought that it would burn her eyes. She closed them again, but another prompt from the kind voice encouraged her to open them a second time, this time for a little longer.

‘That’s right, young lady, you know it’s time to wake up, so come on, and open those lovely eyes.’

Her eyelids still felt heavy, yet she managed to open them fully, focusing on the face of the person standing in front of her. It was a man, perhaps in his mid thirties with bright blue eyes and a winning smile.

‘I knew you’d wake up for me,’ he said, smiling. ‘You’ve been asleep for weeks. Do you know what month it is?’ She tried hard to think what it was, but her head hurt to try. She shook it slowly, afraid it might give her more pain.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked. Again, she tried hard to remember but nothing came to her. She couldn’t remember anything at all.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied weakly.

‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘It’ll come back to you given time. My name is Stuart Taylor, I’m your consultant.’ She smiled for it was all she could do. She asked him what had happened.

‘As far as we are aware, you have been hit by a car or other vehicle. The driver has not been found, so we don’t know if he/she knew you. You have suffered several broken ribs, a broken leg, a broken arm, and a fractured skull. All in all, you are a very lucky young woman.’

‘I don’t feel very lucky,’ she whispered.

A nurse walked by and smiled at her. ‘So nice to see you awake at last,’ she said sweetly.

She put a beaker beside the young woman on the bedside table and said, ‘Perhaps you would like to drink something?’

She slowly stretched out her good arm to pick up the beaker from the bedside table. The beaker was only plastic but felt so heavy because she was so weak, she looked appealingly at the nurse.

The nurse helped her lift the beaker up to her lips and she sipped at the sweet liquid that tasted heavenly. It soothed her throat and as it was so good, she asked for more.

Stuart gently said to her, ‘Slow down with that, or you might be sick, as you have only been having intravenous fluids up until now and it might be too much all in one go. Wait an hour and then have some more, okay? I shall see you again tomorrow.’

She nodded in agreement and lay back on her pillows, closing her eyes. Vivid dreams followed, loud voices, running, bright lights and pain. Each followed in turn playing over and over until she awoke several hours later, perspiration running down her face and body.

Another nurse leaned over her and mopped her brow, then fetched a bowl of warm water and sponged her battered body with such care and attention before drying her very carefully. ‘Thank you,’ the young woman said, ‘that feels much better.’

The nurse replied, ‘It’s surprising how good a little wash can make you feel, isn’t it?’ She nodded and lay back once more onto her pillows.

Two weeks later the hospital chaplain was doing his rounds of the wards and when arriving at the young woman’s bedside, he said that the nurse had mentioned to him that she had lost her memory and didn’t have anywhere to go when released from hospital.

He said that he could give her the address of a hostel where she could stay until she got on her feet also the name of a doctor to try and help with her memory problem and who wouldn’t charge.

After he wrote down the two pieces of information and passed the paper to her, she thanked him then she put the paper into her locker.

During the following month, she was seen by a psychologist who had been trying to help her memory loss but to no avail. Again, she was told it would take time and to make more appointments after leaving hospital.

It took a further month before being able to leave hospital, yet even during that time, her memory still had not returned. She had not had any identification with her when she was admitted and worse still, she had no money.

After signing her discharge from hospital, she dressed in the pair of slacks, a sweater, and a lightweight jacket that she had arrived in (albeit they had been laundered). Slipping the address that the chaplain had given her in the pocket of her jacket, she picked up the crutches she had been given and left the hospital, walking slowly along the street.

The crutches were just an aid for a few more days after which she would be able to dispense with them, until then they were a comfort. She had no idea where she was going but, just to be out of the hospital environment was good.

Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to walk too far, she started to look around her to see if there was anywhere that she could sit and rest awhile.

Chapter Two

As she walked, she heard a band playing. She recognised it as the Salvation Army. That’s the way to go, she thought, to the Salvation Army, they might be able to help me.

Not really knowing what she was going to say, she approached a kindly looking woman in a Salvation Army uniform standing to one side of the band.

She quietly said, ‘I had an accident and have lost my memory. I don’t know where I live or even my name. Can you help me?’

The woman turned to her and smiled. ‘Just you come with me, dear,’ she said, ‘and we shall see what we can do for you, alright?’

‘Thank you,’ she replied, ‘that is extremely kind of you.’

‘Not at all dear, that is what we are here for, to see if we can help anyone.’

The woman led her to a hall that was situated a couple of hundred yards from where the band was playing. There were several Salvation Army personnel bustling about on telephones and computers and she ventured to the woman as to what it was they were all doing.

‘Trying to find families for people who have been lost for a long time for whatever reason,’ she replied.

‘How do I start to look for any family connected to me if I can’t even remember my own name?’ the young woman said.

‘Well sometimes, it returns in bits and pieces, like a jigsaw and like a jigsaw, we try to piece it all together. And by the way, my name is Joanna.’

‘Thank you, Joanna,’ replied the young woman. ‘What shall I do now? Can I help for some food maybe?’

‘Yes of course you can,’ Joanna said. ‘There is always something for us all to do.