MJ texted back a smiley. Junior keyed in another text message, “He said the woman seems to be OK. Dad will tell you all about it over dinner.”
It didn’t take long before his phone buzzed again. “She freaked me out. Been thinking about her. Looked familiar somehow but can’t think why.”
“What’s her name? I’ll see if Google throws up anything interesting. You never know ;-).”
He walked up the stairs just as his father hurried down, his shoulder length hair wet from the shower.
“You smell nice. She’s looking forward to seeing you. Have fun.”
“There’s some bread downstairs in the kitchen and butter and cold cuts are in the fridge if you’re hungry. Sorry, there’s not much else. If I’d known you were coming…”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m grand. Had a burger and chips at the motorway station on the way up. And then MJ and I had a load of biscuits with lots of tea when I got here. Am still stuffed.”
“Right so. Don’t wait up. You look tired.”
Ginnie’s triptych was still on the wall above the bed in his room. Henry had wanted to put it away thinking it would upset Junior every time he visited and stayed overnight, but Junior had insisted that it should stay. He loved that painting. Felt connected with her through it. “I preserve memories through art,” she had told him.
He sat his rucksack down on the bed and removed his laptop from it. It took a while to connect to the internet through the satellite broadband.
He typed Catherine White into the Google search box. Whoa, he hadn’t expected that many hits. The most recent hit was a post by someone called Luce Robbins who had blogged about a Catherine White and appealed for donations to be made at a popular “Mind, Body and Soul” event. There was a photo of the woman and there were links to other articles asking anyone who might know her or might have seen her before she was rescued to come forward.
She had suffered memory loss from head injuries sustained in a suspected hit and run. White may not even be her real name, it said when asked her name after regaining consciousness she answered Cath, but she didn’t remember anything else. The blogger, an aura photography and interpretation consultant, had befriended her and given her this name – both as a means of integrating her back into society and as a symbol of a new beginning.
So that must be why MJ had thought she looked familiar. He scrutinized the photographs. Maybe it wasn’t just that, this lady bore a resemblance to MJ herself. He could well imagine MJ looking like that in twenty years or so.
© Ash N. Finn, 2016