You Must Remember This

By Terry R Barca

Sam loves Scarlett, or at least that is what everyone keeps telling him.
After the bloke in the stolen car slammed into Sam at a Tee intersection, everything changed.
A head injury, a stay in hospital followed by a stint in rehab and Sam is no closer to regaining all his memories.
His distant past is clearer than his recent present, and Scarlett belongs to now.
Can Sam fall in love with Scarlett — all over again?
And what of the bloke who ‘hit and ran’?
Will Inspector Blank work it all out, or will Sam have to be his own detective?
For many months, while Sam works on his recovery, there will be numerous tram journeys and frequent visits to Dr Doug, the therapist chosen by Scarlett to help to bring her Sam back to her.
Who is the bloke in the brown shoes and why do Sam and Scarlett decide that blackberry jam is a good way to put closure to their uncomfortable adventure?
Sam Bennett faces his biggest challenge to date — finding his Scarlett.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Terry R Barca
• Release date: Feb 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463993439

Terry R Barca

I’m an author who lives and works in the Dandenong Ranges, on the eastern edge of Melbourne Australia.I take one day at a time but occasionally I’m attacked by several days at once.My amazing wife and I have lived in The Hills for forty-three years.My favourite colour is green and so is my favourite car.I started my working life as a Primary School Teacher in the early 1970s.Since then I have been a stained glass craftsman, furniture restorer, restorer of Player Pianos and music rolls, author (twenty one books so far, seventeen audiobooks, another on the way), photographer, basketball trading card manufacturer, basketball coach, basketball player, basketball referee, part-time shop assistant, newspaper columnist, homeschool dad, husband, father, grandfather, and a few other bits and pieces, and not in this order.I’m fascinated by people, but I prefer the company of dogs.I’m not frightened of dying, but sometimes life scares the hell out of me.I think that birds are cool but I don’t believe that they spend any time thinking about me, even though I give them lots of stale bread, and the occasional pizza crust........ ungrateful bastards!

Book preview

Other Books By Terry R Barca

Schoome

The Long Weekend

Passerby

Loyal and True

Trust

Slightly Spooky Stories

Red Wheelbarrow

Rufus

Keeper of Secrets

Bullet To The Heart — Sam Bennett’s Case Files

Dot, Dot, Dot …

Secrets Kept

No Through Road

The Road Leads Home

Slightly Spooky Stories Too

BORIS: and the Rising Sun Hotel

SAM AND SCARLETT BOOKS

The Long Weekend

Bullett To The Heart

You Must Remember This

You Must Remember This

Terry R Barca

A Novel

A Sam and Scarlett Mystery

Book 4

Published by

WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL

© 2019

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events 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.

This book is unabridged and sometimes contains explicit sexual references.

It is sadder to find the past again and find it inadequate to the present than it is to have it elude you and remain forever a harmonious conception of memory.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Acknowledgements

To my wife Dianne, thank you for your patience, your keen eye for just the right word to convey a meaning, and for being my ideal reader . Your encouragement and love have helped me realise my dream. To my two dogs, who patiently waited for me to finish work for the day and take them for a walk, thanks, little ones.

Other Books By Terry R Barca

Acknowledgements

The Search Begins

My Head Hurts

They Asked Me To Go To Rehab

It’s Only Pain

Coming Home

An Itch You Cannot Scratch.

Big and in the Wrong Place

Tram Ride

Sam Crosses a Road and Opens a Door

Doctor Doug

Life and Death

Dream A Little Dream

You Dream Like A Girl

A Quiet Night at Home

Smooth Thighs

An Hour ’Till Scarlett

Old Friends

Erin Street

Comfort of Home

An Important Piece of Long Ago

Passing By

Blue Sky

Morning Glory

Bartenders

Eggs

Old Books

Blackmail

Dr Doug’s Satisfaction

Steak For Dinner

Chadwick and Veronica

The 35th Floor

A Seagull Needs Coffee

Rain

A Hat on a Windy Day

Silent Movies

Morning

The Secretary

Red Ink

Lost and Found

Bad News

Red Paint

The Scarf

Too Busy To Die

A Loser from Day One

Blackberries

The Search Begins

I loved her the first time I saw her, and that’s all you need to know.

She had hair the colour of rich Belgian chocolate, and recently cut it shorter only to grow it longer again, just for me. A short stay in hospital had left her looking a little pale, and her lack of makeup was not disguising her beautiful complexion. She smiled at me and spoke enthusiastically about different coloured foods. She didn’t see me, not really, and I was determined to change that. Nothing was more important in my life. She was wearing an exquisite gown that showed the curves of her petite body to perfection. She left early with her friends, and I sat in a daze, wondering what had just happened.

It was Scarlett Holmyard who triggered my fitful imagination. It was Scarlett Holmyard who gave my life meaning when things were at their darkest.

I still have the souvenirs. Random memories that, if you put them all together would look like the remnants of a shredded photo album. Fragments of photographs are floating on the water or stuffed down the side of a sofa. Each piece tells a story of adventure, close encounters, triumphs and pure excitement.

I cannot explain the feelings I have when recalling them — the frustration, the hope, the confusion, the anger. Scarlett is the most important person in my life, but I don’t know that yet. She’s that person that you catch sight of out of the corner of your eye. She’s the one whose name you struggle to remember, the torn photograph with not enough detail. She is my nameless champion, my never wavering hero, and I’m the one who is doggedly searching for her.

My Head Hurts

It’s good to see you finally awake Mr Bennett. We were worried about you.

These are the words that the surgeon said, but Sam didn’t hear them as clearly as you are reading them.

Who are you again? said Sam.

Dr Wilson’s white coat was open at the front revealing an immaculately tailored suit, tasteful tie and a pink silk handkerchief in his top pocket.

I’m Mr Wilson. I’m the surgeon who operated on you — relieved the pressure on your brain. Mr Wilson (surgeons like to be called ‘Mr’ to differentiate them from ordinary everyday doctors) stood at Sam’s height, dark hair, mildly handsome with an air of confidence that made you feel you were in the hands of someone who knew what he was doing.

The woman standing next to Mr Wilson smiled at Sam.

I like your suit and your wife, said Sam. The woman with the beautiful smile had tears in her eyes and Sam’s limited ability to think, thought that was strange.

Sam’s thoughts were strained through a sieve of pain — a dull ache which would get sharper as the industrial strength painkillers wore off. His eyes were cycling through periods of clarity followed by extended times of looking through thick filmy curtains that weren’t there.

She’s not my wife Sam, she’s yours. This is Scarlett — Scarlett Bennett.

No shit? I don’t think I’m that lucky and while we’re at it, I’d love to know how I got here, said Sam, who promptly fell asleep.

The hospital room had a high tech bed and all the monitors you would expect, making all the usual beeping and clicking noises that hospital machines seem destined to make. The walls were hospital grey, and a reasonably sized window looked out on a view of the hills — a sports oval and a scattering of houses glimpsed through the tall gum trees. A train line ran along the side of the hill, far in the distance. Sam couldn’t see any of these things from his prone position, but he would gaze at them over the next few days before he was sent to rehab.

From his bed he could see the only picture on the wall — a Tom Roberts reproduction, which seemed appropriate because Roberts lived and painted in the Dandenong Ranges, not too far from the hospital, more than a hundred years before.

Sam wondered why he remembered Tom Roberts but was unable to remember what had happened to him and more disturbingly, who the beautiful Scarlett was.

When he awoke again, the room was empty of humanity. Only the machines remained, and the fake Tom Roberts.

Sam tried to sit up, and one of the machines began to emit a frantic beeping sound followed by the entrance of a pretty nurse who seemed way too young.

Sam was commenting on how he felt after attempting to rise to a seated position.

Mother fucker! What the fuck hit me?

Every bone, tendon and muscle on Sam’s right side impressed on Sam that moving around was not a good idea. The industrial strength painkillers were holding the line, but when he moved they were pushed aside in favour of excruciating pain.

With sheer force of will, Sam got himself to a seated position. The young nurse ignored his language and helped him arrange his pillows.

Sorry about that, said Sam through gritted teeth, but it hurts like a mother when I move.

Don’t worry, Mr Bennett, I’ve heard worse, said the nurse while she wrestled with his pillows.

I’ll see if I can come up with a few that you haven’t heard, said Sam.

Not likely, but feel free. You are going to be uncomfortable for a few weeks while your injuries heal. You are very lucky. Your body may be hurting, but none of it is life-threatening. Your head wound, on the other hand, could have sent you off. Sorry, please don’t tell anyone I said that. We aren’t supposed to frighten the patients.

It would take more than words to frighten me, sister.

Nurse. Nurse Jones. Nurse Jones pointed to her name tag dangling at the end of her lanyard. I’m in my final year. If you are still in that bed in six months and I pass my finals, you can call me sister.

Good for you Nurse Jones. Do you have any idea what happened to me? And while you are at it, what happened to my clothes?

Car accident. Someone hit you just behind the driver’s door. A few inches further forward and you might not have made it. Sorry, don’t tell anyone I said that will you?

Your secret is safe. said Sam. And my clothes?

They cut them off in the Emergency Room — covered in blood.

At that moment, Sam thought about his car. They had been together for many years.

What about the Jag?

Not good I’m afraid. I was on duty in the ER when they brought you in. I heard the Ambulance blokes talking. One of them knew a lot about your car — a mid-Eighties Jaguar. He said it was a write-off.

Series three Sovereign. British racing green. Original interior. I loved that car. At that moment, Sam was more upset about his car than his injuries.

There was a short silence. Nurse Jones understood about boys and cars — she had a dad and three older brothers.

I can ask your wife to make them hold onto your car before sending it to the wreckers, so you can say goodbye? You’ll be here for a while and then most likely in rehab.

Thanks, kid, and as an afterthought, You’ve met my wife?

Yes. She was very worried about you. You were unconscious for three days. I like her a lot. Often patients relatives can be caught up in their worry and not treat the staff with respect, but your wife has been very friendly and kind. She brought in chocolate biscuits for the nurses’ morning tea.

I don’t recognise her — do you believe that? I can remember who I am and all sorts of other stuff, but the last year or two is mostly a blank. How long have I been married?

Less than two years, I think. I shouldn’t be the one telling you these things. You probably should be talking to your surgeon, Mr Wilson. He’s a very good doctor.

The bloke in the nice suit?

Yes

Holy mother of God, said Sam as he tried to move to a more comfortable position.

I think your pain meds are wearing off. I’ll speak to Sister. I’ll be back in a minute.

The young nurse was gone, and Sam was left to stare at the print on the grey wall.

He did his best to recall recent events, but there were only flashes. Strong headlights and the sound of crushing metal, the smell of oil and rubber, someone shining a light in his eyes and asking him if he knew his name. Sam was pretty sure he used some colourful language at that point. Did he know where he was? — in a car. Did he know what had happened? — Not really. Then that amazing feeling of drifting away until he woke up in this bed, in this grey room talking to a well-besuited surgeon and a beautiful wife he didn’t recognise.

The young nurse returned with a syringe.

This will help with the pain, but it will probably put you to sleep too.

I don’t give a mild form of expletive little almost Sister. Let me have it.

Nurse Jones smiled, rubbed his skin with a swab and gently administered the contents of the syringe.

The room became very dark, and Sam drifted off to a vivid dream that he would not recall.

~oOo~

Inspector Blank and Sam Bennett have 'history'.

It would be too strong to say they are friends. Sam thinks that Blank is a typical policeman but comes in handy on the odd occasion, while Blank thinks that Bennett is annoying and ‘up himself’, but occasionally comes in handy — like the time he solved a high profile murder while he was on his delayed honeymoon and handed the resolved case to him without asking for anything in return. It didn’t do his police career any harm, but it did make him wonder if Bennett had turned over a new leaf — stopped being a detective. Bennett had said as much — wanted to help his wife run her father’s company, but Blank doubted that the leopard had changed its spots.

Blank was sure that someone had tried to kill Bennett with a car, but his superiors weren’t interested. The major incident traffic squad had conducted a preliminary investigation — it’s unusual for them to be called out unless there is a death — but they thought it was a ‘hit and run’ situation and a search of the records showed that the car had been abandoned months ago — no plates, no owner.    Probably a joy ride gone wrong, was the unofficial verdict, but Blank had that feeling he sometimes got — it didn’t add up.

Blank had been standing at the side of Sam’s bed for several minutes, watching Sam sleep. His policeman’s instincts had scanned the grey room, he noticed the painting and the machines attached to Sam, noticed the view from the window, noticed the blood seeping through Sam’s head bandage.

I’ll bet that hurts, said Blank as Sam opened his eyes.

I don’t know who you are, but almost instantly, I don’t like you, said Sam, who was lying. He did recognise Blank as a police officer, but it took a few minutes before his name came to mind.

They said your mind was gone, said Inspector Blank.

Memory. Not mind. And it’s not gone, it just has a few holes in it.

Like cheese, said Blank.

No, more like a room after you and your colleagues have searched it — shit all over the place and it takes forever to find anything, but most of it is there — somewhere.

Must be annoying.

Yes, you could say that. To what do I owe the pleasure. Inspector Blank?

I thought you said you didn’t know who I was?

It just came back to me, like a bad case of the flu, said Sam as he tried to sit up. Holy Mother of God, said Sam and Blank made no move to help with Sam’s relocation. In fact, he rather enjoyed Sam’s discomfort.

Do you remember anything about the accident?

Not a bloody thing, said Sam omitting to mention the fragments that had come back to him. The nurse said that some mongrel ran into me. A bit closer and I’d have wings and harp.

Your Jag’s fucked, said Blank helpfully.

I heard.

Traffic thinks it’s a joy rider — hit and run. Hit and limp actually, according to witnesses. Didn’t sound like a kid from the descriptions. No prints to speak of — must have worn gloves. Strange that — seems a bit too premeditated for a joyrider. Joyrider is more likely to wipe the car down after the fact, but this bloke didn’t have time — limped off into the distance in a hurry.

DNA? asked Sam.

Higher-ups wouldn’t pay for it. Said it was just a kid being a dick head — not worth the expense. Besides, there was a heap of shit in that car. Hadn’t been cleaned since Menzies was Prime Minister — would have cost a fortune.

I’m worth it, said Sam.

Says you.

Not a kid, you say?

No. The only thing the witnesses could agree on was he was older — well into his thirties — anywhere from six foot two to five foot three — balding with a full head of hair — wearing a jumper, T-shirt or jacket — brown, black or white shoes —I love eyewitnesses. They make my job so much easier.

  So where do we go from here? asked Sam.

  "You don’t go anywhere, except to rehab