‘All of it. All of you. All of us.’ Then he pulled back and gazed deeply into her eyes. ‘You’re so pale,’ he said and hurriedly pulled out her chair. ‘What have I done to you? Sit.’

She sank into the chair, suddenly glad to be off her jelly legs. He kept hold of her hand as he went around the table to his own chair, watching her the whole time, then caught her other hand so he had all of her fingers – like he was waltzing around her. Her hands looked so small in his. Clasped in his.

Words drifted over her head like feathers falling in a dream. ‘I remember I love you. I remember I want to spend the rest of my life with you.’

It was true. She couldn’t believe this was happening. A tiny voice whispered, Why can’t you believe it? Suddenly, the dream popped like a soap bubble on its way to the sky. She slid her hands from his and sat back. She mentally stepped back as well and stared at him, blowing out a long stream of held breath.

Yes, she wanted to believe him, but … ‘So what dark and dreadful memory stopped you from remembering that before? Why were you so frightened of remembering me?’

His intense gaze captured hers and held it. ‘It wasn’t because I was afraid of us.’ He ran his hand through his hair, tousling it, and she tried not to be diverted by the urge to lean forward and touch him.

‘I remember the crash, the tumbling, the stop, and then I saw you. I thought you’d died. I was conscious the whole time we rolled.’ He leaned forward and very gently touched the pink scar on her forehead, a pale reminder of a close call. ‘The blood,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘The position of the blow in the centre of your forehead. It was so similar to Roslyn. I thought you’d died too. Or worse. That you were comatose, like she was. My brain couldn’t bear it because it was my fault again.’

Okay. She could see it had a form of deja vu horror attached. But … ‘How was it your fault?’ That she didn’t get. She’d been the one driving. The campervan had instigated their involvement.

He threw his hands out, probably aware he had no explanation that would satisfy her. ‘You looked dead. I wasn’t thinking straight. I promised myself I would keep you safe. I failed.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s my job to keep myself safe.’

He squeezed his hair again, took a deep breath and settled. ‘It was my fault that you ended up like Roslyn and I blocked it out. Who knows? Maybe my subconscious decided that if I forgot you then you’d be safe. Safe from dying. Safe from me.’

She could even get that. A little.