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Chapter 15

Clara woke up and instantly reached for the other side of the bed, only to find that it was still empty – and then she remembered. She had taken John home the previous day, but it was as if he wasn't here at all. The person sleeping downstairs was John, but he wasn't her husband. All those moments they had shared together, all those kisses, they had never happened for him at all. Right now it seemed as if life was playing one of its cruel jokes on her – giving her hope only to take it away again. Would John ever remember? Dr Martha Jones had said he probably would and John had told her the same thing, yet he hadn't really sounded convincing at all, as if he didn't really believe it himself. It had been days and John didn't show a single sign of progress. What would happen to them if he never remembered?

Suddenly the ringing of her phone tore her from her thoughts and Clara reached for the annoying device and looked at the screen, only to realize that she didn't recognize the number that was calling her.

"Yes?" she croaked into the phone in a voice that was still heavy with sleep.

The caller hesitated for a moment. "Hi," came a reluctant voice that sounded all too familiar because Clara heard it every time she spoke.

"Bonnie," she growled and sat up in an instant, "Where did you get this number?"

"Gran," her sister replied, "She didn't want to give it to me, but I practically begged he-"

"She shouldn't have," Clara spat angrily. She would have a word with her grandmother later. "You turned your back on this family when we most needed to stick together. You can't come back now and act as if everything was fine. I can't just pretend that never happened."

"You can't just pretend that I don't exist either!"

"Yes, I can. Don't call me again," Clara snapped and pressed the red button, ending the call without further warning.

Bonnie had some nerve calling her out of the blue and so did her grandmother for giving out her number when she knew exactly how Clara felt about the matter. Angrily she threw her duvet aside and reached for her robe, determined to think about the matter over a cup of coffee

However, when Clara arrived downstairs and stepped inside the kitchen, she found another surprise waiting for her and this time it was a good one. The table was already set with a broad selection of breakfast food and John leaned against the counter, his crutches propped up next to him, and poured freshly brewed coffee into two mugs.

"I remember Dr Jones telling you to rest," she said with a smile and John turned around to look at her.

"Oh, good morning," he said, sounding surprised, "I didn't think you'd be up already."

Clara shrugged. "I have to go back to work today."

"Right," John exhaled sharply and then looked a little uncomfortable, "Uhm, sorry, what was your job again?"

"I'm an English teacher," she explained to him, granting him a smile, "And there's no need to apologize. Especially not when you're making breakfast for us."

Clara walked up to him and took the coffee mugs from his hands before she made her way towards the table. John reached for his crutches and followed her, seemingly relieved to be able to sit back down.

She instantly reached for a slice of toast and started to spread jam all over it when Clara suddenly became aware of the fact that John was watching her, his eyes fixed on her face. She looked back up.

"Is something wrong?" she asked and took a bite off her toast. Clara waited for a moment, chewing her food, and yet John didn't reply. He simply remained staring at her.

"What?" Clara chuckled nervous, "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," he mumbled and quickly lowered his gaze to his plate, but obviously found that it was too empty to serve as a proper distraction.

"You can say it," she prompted him, "Even if you don't remember, we've known each other for years. You can trust me with anything."

"It's just-" he paused, "I was just thinking that-"

"That what?" Clara asked. She had no clue what he was aiming at.

"That you're really pretty," John said sheepishly, his gaze still glued to empty plate in front of him.

She couldn't help the smile that spread over her face when she heard him say those words. John might not remember all those moment they had shared together, but that was definitely a start.

"Oh, uhm, before I forget," he added and at the same time reached for a slice of toast, "Thanks for bringing some of my clothes downstairs. But have you seen my favourite plaid trousers?"

"Your what?"

Finally John looked back up at her and he looked about as confused as she felt right now.

"Please tell me I still have those plaid trousers."

"Well," Clara hesitated and racked her brain for the right answer. She vaguely remembered seeing a pair of plaid trousers in the back of their wardrobe, but she had never seen John wear them. "Yeah, I guess they're upstairs in the wardrobe. I could try to find them after work."

"That's alright. No hurry," he said before he took a sip from his mug, "Would you like me to make dinner when you come home?"

Clara smiled at him in reply. "We can cook together," she determined and decided to focus on her breakfast again. Yes, it was definitely a start.

Walking upstairs with his crutches was easier said than done and John needed quite some time until he had finally reached the top of the stairs. How he was going to get back down was a question for later.

Once Clara had left for work John had started to examine the house, looking for clues, trying to put the puzzle pieces of his life together. Photos of him and Clara seemed to be all over the place as well as some romantic notes that he had found taped to the fridge. It was more than obvious to him by now that before his accident he and Clara had been madly in love and a part of him wanted to be even now. However, there was one thing he hadn't yet managed to find out. The letter and cheque he had carried around on the day of his accident. There just had to be a clue somewhere.

John opened the nearest door and a moment later he found himself standing in what could only be the master bedroom and somehow he hesitated to step inside. It felt a little as if he was trespassing, invading Clara's privacy even though this was his room as much as hers. She wouldn't mind him being here and yet it felt strange. John still decided to have a look around.

The bed was large and of course he found more photos on both bedside tables. When he turned around he also spotted his guitar propped up in the corner of the room and to his dismay it was coated in a thick layer of dust. Had he not played recently? But even if that was the case, he would have to ask Clara to bring it downstairs for him. He could hardly manage the heavy solid body with his crutches, but while he was upstairs John decided he could go on a hunt for his favourite trousers. Clara's reaction to his question had been odd, as if he hadn't worn his plaid trousers in the past few years at all. But that didn't matter right now, the important part was that he soon found them on one of the shelves at the back of the wardrobe.

Luckily the legs of the trousers were loose and he managed to pull them over his cast somehow and as soon as he was wearing them, John felt a little more like himself. Maybe it would all turn out well after all.