I look around. ‘I don’t think I had those. I think my room was just like this.’

Ellie nods. ‘Fair enough. Maybe you’re the minimalist type.’ She pauses. ‘And look,’ she indicates the corner of the room, ‘you had a guitar. Did you play?’

I pick it up and strum a few chords. It feels familiar. ‘Yep. I think I probably did,’ I say.

‘That was something else actually,’ Ellie adds. ‘You didn’t have a phone on you when you were found. Or an iPod or anything like that.’ I look at her blankly. ‘To listen to music on.’

‘Dad and I listened to tapes. There are loads downstairs. You could have a look if you’re interested.’

‘Tapes?’ She sounds surprised.

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you use an iPod or an MP3 player like everyone else? Or even CDs?’

I shrug. I don’t know what she means but I don’t want to say so. Ellie obviously thinks I’m weird in some way and not being able to remember anything isn’t helping. Her phone rings and she wanders over to the window as she talks. She keeps taking the phone away from her ear and frowning at the screen, and I can tell from her end of the conversation that she is struggling to hear. I open the drawer of the bedside table where there are some hair clips (disappointingly plain), hair bands, and a small tape player with a cassette in a plain plastic box on top. An image of myself carefully recording songs from one tape to another flashes into my mind. Casting a glance behind me to check Ellie isn’t looking, I thrust the tape into my trouser pocket. For all I know it could be anything – there are loads downstairs like I said to Ellie – but quite apart from anything else, I want something which feels like it is truly mine.

I look out the window down towards the front door. An image of the boy I saw in my dream pops into my head.

Is this where I watched him from? Who was he? Did I know him? Ellie was asking about friends before. Maybe he was my friend? It’s so frustrating. I just can’t remember.

I open the wardrobe door. ‘Can I take some of my clothes with me?’ I ask. I rifle through the cupboard and have to admit to being a little disappointed. There are very plain jeans, T-shirts and jumpers. No dresses or skirts, and no bright colours. Not nearly as nice as the things I’ve seen people wearing on TV or in the hospital.

Ellie frowns. ‘I’m not sure. I’ll need to check. Better not for now.’

I close the door. ‘OK,’ I say, vowing to buy myself some new, more interesting clothes as soon as I can, but then a thought strikes me like a mallet.