The woman with the blond hair was his mother. The man with the dark hair, and with the grey on his temples was his father. The little girl, whose name was Ginny, and who seemed to be afraid of him, was his sister.

He knew these things, because they told him. And he supposed they were true.

His name was Matthew, they said, though that didn’t sound familiar. He didn’t know what his name would be, if it wasn’t Matthew, though he did know names. He knew lots of names. Like Tom and Brad and Dale and Mark and Ben. And girls names too. Lucy and Jenny and Sophie and Stephanie and Tanya.

He knew the world. He knew houses. He knew aeroplanes, and fields, and skyscrapers, and lots of things.

But about himself, he knew nothing.

There was a boy, a blond boy, who was thirteen or fourteen, and he came to visit too, though Matthew supposed he must be younger than he looked. His voice hadn’t broken yet.

He said his name was Lukas, but Matthew didn’t remember him, and he didn’t know why a kid would want to visit him, alone, and without his parents.

Matthew wanted to ask the kid, but he thought it might be rude.

‘How do I know you?’ he said.

‘We were friends.’

Matthew didn’t understand this, how they could be friends, when he was a kid, this Lukas, and a little kid too, like a choirboy.

Most of the time, Matthew drifted. He knew he had said things, and that they had said things to him, the nurse, his parents, his sister, and this kid, this Lukas, though all of it seemed like a dream.

When he felt pain, he had a little red button he could press, on his IV cord. And he pressed it often. He could press it every five minutes, they said, if he needed to.

Both of his legs were broken. They were shattered. There had been a car accident they had said.

‘You know he pulled you out of there.’

‘I don’t know who he is,’ Matthew said to his father.

His parents looked at each other, and there was a moment of awkwardness.

‘Matthew, you’d be dead if it wasn’t for him. You would have drowned.’

His mother’s face was pained, as she said this, and Matthew turned away.

‘You’ve known him all your life.’

How could he have, Matthew wanted to say. He was a kid. And there was something about him. Something Matthew didn’t like.

He brought Matthew flowers.

‘I can show you it, if you want,’ the kid said one day.

Matthew frowned, and wondered what he was talking about.

‘What?’ he said.

The kid turned his head around, to see if anyone could hear. But it was a private room. They were in a private room. And there was no else there.

‘My groin,’ the kid said, and swallowed.

Matthew frowned at him, and looked at the kid’s groin. The kid was wearing tight jeans, and it looked like he had nothing, no cock or balls, though he must have done.

‘I don’t want you to come here anymore,’ Matthew said.

The kid swallowed.

‘I don’t know who you are.’

The kid nodded, and he started to cry. Matthew saw that there were tears in his eyes. The kid looked at Matthew. Stared at him. And then he turned around, and walked out of the room.

Matthew sighed. If he remembered the kid, then that would have been something, but as it was…and he had wanted to show Matthew his cock and balls.

Matthew frowned. He had thought the kid might be gay, from the way he looked at him, and now, Matthew supposed that he was. Still, though, Matthew should have said something. He should have said thanks to the kid, for rescuing him, for pulling him out of the car.

‘It was his car,’ his mother said. ‘He’s eighteen.’

Matthew swallowed.

‘His father’s very upset. He doesn’t know why you would have said that to Lukas. You’ve really upset him, Matthew. Can you understand that? He’s tried to kill himself.’

Matthew swallowed again. He felt awful. But…

‘He wanted to show me…He wanted to take his clothes off.’

His mother turned around and looked at his father. His father turned his head away.

There was something. Something they weren’t telling him.

‘Well I suppose he can come and visit. If he wants to. I mean. I don’t suppose it matters. I thought he was a kid.’

‘He’s in the Royal, Matthew. He’s slit his wrists.’

Matthew felt woozy. His head hurt.

‘There’s something wrong with my head,’ Matthew said, putting his hand up, to the bandages, and holding the back of his head. ‘It’s like…’ But he didn’t know what it was like.

His father turned his head around.

‘Dr Mueller’s coming in an hour or so,’ he said.

Dr Mueller? Now that sounded familiar. Something he had to say to Dr Mueller? Or something, something about Dr Mueller.

‘You know you’ve had an operation, Matthew,’ his father said, walking over to the bed. ‘You had a head injury. Do your remember?’

An operation? On his brain?

Matthew frowned.

‘Luckily for us, Dr Mueller agreed to perform it.’