I had to stop myself from punching the air with a whoop because I’d remembered. Things were coming back. If I could recall something so obscure, surely the more important stuff would return because the image of Meg White—Jesus, I knew her last name now—was so clear, it was almost as if I were watching the video on TV. As suddenly as it arrived, the image faded, replaced by one of a young girl. Her hair was shorter than Meg’s, and instead of drumsticks she smacked a pair of chopsticks together so hard I thought they’d break, but then that picture blurred and faded, too, and after that...nothing. What did it mean? What did anything mean? I didn’t know, and both my brain and body were so exhausted from the effort of trying to place things, I crawled to the bed and lay down, vowing I’d only let myself close my eyes for a second.

I didn’t wake up until the trailer went over a bump, and I glanced at my watch, struggling to believe an hour had passed. The pain in my head had subsided, and when my fingers gently reached for the cut on my skull, I felt a mass of hair stuck together with dried, stiffened blood. Once again, I tried to force my mind to remember something—anything—but it was as if my existence only began on the beach. I looked out of the back window, squinting as the gray light hit me in the face. The winds had lessened but the rain held steady, bouncing across the asphalt in translucent beads.

As I sank back down on the bed, I noticed the corner of a brochure wedged between the mattress and the wall. I pulled it out. It was a take-out menu for an Indian restaurant, and the names of the dishes and the pictures of aloo gobi, samosas and malai kofta made my mouth water. Until now I’d been able to ignore the gurgling of my empty stomach, let the hunger pains transform themselves into a dull ache, but at the sight of food my gut contracted hard. I pushed myself up and headed for the kitchenette cupboards, where I found half a loaf of bread and strawberry jam. I fumbled with the lid and didn’t bother opening the drawer for a knife, but shoved a piece of bread deep into the jar, groaning as I pushed the food into my mouth.