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Stephen Davies looked at this watch – 1.35pm and it was just starting to rain. That didn’t bother him in the slightest; he had just secured the largest IT installation and support contract since joining Fowkes Barrett and his quarterly sales target had been blown out of the water. His August salary would contain a substantial bonus and today’s achievement could even put him in line for the award of salesman of the year. He had almost two and a half hours until his train back to Manchester was due to leave Birmingham – time enough for some shopping. He and Catherine would be celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary on the 23^rd and he wanted to find something special, perfume perhaps or some jewellery – luxuries which he would be able to afford quite easily after the meeting this morning. He stepped into the Pallasades shopping centre, just around the corner from New Street station, as the rain came down in a heavy burst. Stopping at the first news kiosk he picked up a copy of the morning paper, something which he had been unable to do at Manchester in his haste to catch the train.

As he paid the vendor and indulged in a little afternoon chat, he became aware of some commotion a little further along outside of one of the shops. Someone was calling out a name, and he instinctively turned to face the direction of the voice.

“Dad! Dad, it’s dad! Hey, dad where’ve you been?”

A teenage girl was running in his general direction, and like other pedestrians in front of him, he turned to see the subject of the question. There was no-one making any obvious move towards her and he turned back in puzzlement to find the breathless girl standing directly in front of him. Her face was red, her eyes wide open and the smile betrayed her joyous familiarity with him.

“Dad, it’s me Julia. Where have you been?”

“I beg your pardon, do we know each other?”

“What? But it’s me, don’t you recognise me? I’m your daughter – where have you been?”

Stephen was dumbfounded. He had no idea who this young girl was, and yet she called him ‘Dad’. A crowd of onlookers had now started to gather, and a woman with a younger girl fought her way through them and now also stood before him. Unlike the teenager, her face bore a look of complete incomprehension which bordered upon shock.

“Michael?” The question was delivered slowly, quietly and with some trepidation – you could have heard a pin drop amongst the ordinarily noisy early afternoon crowd.

“Yes, my name is Michael. Actually it’s Stephen, Stephen Michael, but who are you?”

The woman, now clearly in a state of shock, buckled at the knees and her fall was broken by the news vendor who had stepped out of the kiosk. Lowering her gently into a sitting position on the floor, he asked one of the bystanders to call for an ambulance. He looked up at Davies questioningly, a deep frown cutting furrows across his forehead. Putting down his briefcase, Stephen knelt in front of her.

“Are you alright?” A lame enough question, but the only one he could think of in the circumstances.

She regarded him silently for a few tense moments and then smiled.

“You’ve come back. At last we’ve found you.”

The girl, who had started the whole thing off, was now beside him with her hand locked tightly in his and her head upon his shoulder.

“I’m sorry” he said “I don’t understand, you must have me confused with someone else – I haven’t a clue who you are.”

By this time two paramedics had arrived, along with a police officer alerted by the commotion. Rosalind Farmer was helped to her feet and into an ambulance where a brief examination revealed nothing more than a mild case of shock. Clinging to Stephen, the two girls followed their mother with the paramedics, and the crowd of onlookers started to disperse. The policeman, however, sensing that something was not quite right, had remained in attendance and was now removing a notebook from his pocket. Stephen stood at the back of the ambulance before the open doors as the crew packed up their kit and prepared to leave. Rosalind, now recovered from her fall, stepped down, thanked them for their time and turned back to Davies. The police officer watched from one side.

“Michael, you did say your name is Michael?” She asked, looking back at her daughter Julia.

“Yes, of course.”

In a flood of tears, she flung her arms around his neck and sobbed uncontrollably. There was nothing he could but reciprocate, and with both children now clinging to him, a fresh batch of passers by smiled in appreciation of some family reunion. The policeman stepped in at this point, and after a discreet cough, asked if everything was alright. Before Stephen could open his mouth, Julia was into full stride.

“It’s my dad, he’s come home. We lost him six years ago but he’s back now, and everything’s going to be OK again.”

“Whoa just a minute, what did you say?” Davies was completely taken aback, and clearly had not understood any of what had gone before.

To him it was a simple case of mistaken identity, but this girl was so sure of her facts that the situation was in danger of getting out of hand. The police officer was now becoming a little more than curious and asked if he had any form of identification with him. Reaching down for his briefcase, he was horrified to discover that it had been removed without him noticing, and with the policeman now busily writing in his notebook, Stephen decided that some convincing action was required. Taking his mobile phone from his pocket he called home.

“Catherine, its Stephen. I’m sorry love I won’t be on the early train, my briefcase has been stolen and my wallet was inside it. Can you get on to the credit card company and the bank and cancel all my cards for me? What? No I’ll have to catch the 8.15 train home. Say goodnight to Annie and Mark for me would you? Ok, see you later.”

“Sir?” It was the policeman. He had finished making notes in his book, and had been speaking to Rosalind and her children.

“My wife officer” he said, holding up the phone “It looks like my briefcase has been stolen.”

“I’m sorry about that sir, but is this lady not your wife?”

“No, and I don’t know what’s going on. I’m sure that she must be mistaken, I don’t even live in Birmingham.”

Now that he seemed convinced that nothing of a criminal nature had occurred, the officer was becoming keen to return to his normal duties. However, Rosalind was not to be deterred so easily. Adamantly pointing out that Stephen was her husband, she told the officer that if he had been speaking to his ‘wife’ at their home he must be a bigamist. This left him with no alternative but to ask Stephen to accompany him along with Rosalind and her family to the local station, where enquiries could be continued outside the public gaze. Seeing that the children were becoming agitated and close to tears, Stephen reluctantly agreed and within half an hour they were all sitting around a table in Interview Room 2 at the Birmingham Central Police Station.

The story of Rosalind and Michael Farmer was indeed a sad one. Married in 1985, they had set up home in the Sparkbrook area of Birmingham with Michael working as head of Hedge Fund investments at Harrington Firth, a company owned and run by Rosalind’s father. They had two daughters Julia (16) and Clare (11), and on the afternoon of January 14^th 1995 he had failed to come home. He had left the offices at lunchtime as normal but did not return, and his absence was only noticed at work the following morning when he missed a meeting with some clients. Despite a missing persons search and appeals in the local media, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, and nothing was heard from him. When the news broke concerning the Barings Bank crash, initial fears that he had absconded in a similar fashion to Nick Leeson were proved groundless after an audit of the company books.

Rosalind pulled a photograph from her handbag and showed it to Stephen. The image before him bore an astonishing resemblance to himself, and he now understood the reactions at New Street station. The detective assigned to the case, Peter Spencer, then took up the questioning and Stephen began to feel that he was being pushed into a very uncomfortable corner. Both he and Michael Farmer had been born on the same day, June 10^th 1965, and apart from their striking likeness, shared similar careers in management. Apart from involving his wife, Caroline, Stephen could not see how he would be able to prove that he had committed no crime. Both his parents were dead, his father in 1988 and his mother two years later. He had married in 1996 and had two children of his own. All of Rosalind’s early good nature had now vanished as she became more convinced that the man before her was her missing husband.

The police had no firm evidence to hold him in custody, so despite Rosalind’s protestations, Stephen was released without any further action being taken. As they left the station, she confronted him again.

“What are you playing at? Can’t you see the effect on the children? Have you no heart?”

“Look Rosalind, I appreciate how this looks, but I am not Michael Farmer. These children are not mine, and I have never seen any of you in my life before. I have to go now, I have a wife and children in Manchester and somehow I have to get home tonight.”

As he left her standing there, Stephen Davies began to wonder about the astonishing likeness he bore to her husband, and although he had not told Rosalind, he knew that he had been adopted by John and Mary Davies shortly after his birth in 1965. They had made no secret of that fact and he had been given all the adoption papers following their deaths. Taking his return train ticket from his top pocket where it had been kept, he boarded the 8.15 Intercity for Manchester and settled back to read his paper.

Caroline had, understandably, waited up for him following a call from the Manchester bound train, and as they sat down to supper, the whole tale unfolded before her. Stephen had never lied to her in all the years they had been together, and she had no reason to doubt him now. Still the uncanny facts of the matter were burning a mark in his brain, and despite the lateness of the hour Stephen opened the family safe and brought out the adoption papers. The facts were clear, he had been born in Salford to a Josephine Patterson, a single mother and Heroin addict of seventeen. Social Services had fostered him to a childless couple in their late forties, and had been happy to proceed with an adoption twelve months later. What he had not spotted until now was the hand written note at the bottom of the second sheet indicating that he was one of two babies born to the teenager. Now it was becoming clearer – Michael Farmer must be his identical twin brother, Rosalind’s husband and the father of her children. This was the information he needed to remove the suspicion from his name and the following afternoon he made a call to Peter Spencer at Birmingham CID.

Unbeknown to Davies, the detective had been making his own enquiries into the matter, his curiosity stung by the unusual circumstances. He too had discovered the adoption of the twins, and now also knew that Michael Farmer had been the victim of an abduction and mugging on the day he vanished from the offices of Harrington Firth. He had been beaten, dumped in Leeds with nothing to identify him, and admitted to hospital suffering from concussion and amnesia. Despite medical care over a number of weeks, his memory had not returned and he was admitted to a long-term medical facility in Armley. Spencer had made an appointment for Rosalind and himself to call the day after next and Stephen determined to go along with them.

The place was situated in a quiet, but slightly run-down area and although the staff were helpful, they could tell the detective no more than he already knew about Michael. To them he was known as Harry as names were given out to amnesiacs in alphabetical order, and was currently tending flowers in the back garden. The manager, Mrs Watson, escorted them through to the rear of the property and was about to call out when Peter Spencer held up his hand and stopped her.

“Let’s try something, shall we?” he said with a smile.

Harriet Watson frowned, she didn’t like her ‘guests’ being upset by strangers, but there was something about this one which told her that he didn’t really belong here. Spencer stepped forward and beckoned Rosalind and Stephen to follow him. At a distance of around six feet he turned and nodded. Rosalind came to his side, took a deep breath and spoke, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Michael, Michael, it’s me love, it’s Rosie.”

The man had been steadily hoeing his way around a large flower bed filled with Dahlias, and stiffened at the sound of her voice. He remained motionless for what seemed an eternity and then slowly turned to face them all. For Stephen Davies it was like looking in a mirror – he was wearing almost identical clothes right down to the trainers on his feet. The empty gaze which moved from Rosalind to himself and back again slowly and almost imperceptibly changed into one of recognition. Suddenly the hoe was gone as his arms reached out to her and tears streamed down his face.

“Rosie? Rosie, oh Rosie where am I? I’ve been so lost.” The rest of his words disappeared into her shoulder as their arms closed on each other for the first time in six years.

“It’s alright love, you’re coming home with me now, and we’ve missed you so much.”

Peter Spencer tugged Stephen’s arm and they went back into the home’s lounge with Harriet Watson. Over tea they went back through the events of the past week whilst Michaels’ belongings were packed up ready for departure, and a tearful Mrs Watson returned as the reunited couple came back from the garden.

“Rosie says we live in Birmingham now, and that you are my brother.” He was speaking to Stephen. “Seems we have a lot to catch up on – thirty years worth by all accounts.”

Stephen smiled, unsure of what else to do. There was no point in intruding upon a family with six years to find again. There would be time enough for that later when he had had the chance to explain his new found ‘family’ to Caroline and the children. Michael had been one very lucky needle in the haystack.

Keyword: Romance Mystery Drama

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Posted by r.e.potter 2008-06-26 14:43:10 .... wow,,this was a strange story. I figured out midway what the confusion was going to be, but the end didn't make much sense to me to be honest. Maybe I read it wrong. But how would he know his wife when he saw her and seemingly have all his faculties, and never just go home for six years. Did seeing her cause him to remember all of a sudden? It never was made clear. Thought the story was entertaining however. I could feel the frustration from the confusion...that would be so weird. + Report this comment
Posted by philneale1952 2008-06-26 16:10:38 Hey Potter It was intended to be odd. A lot of my stuff is based on 'What If?'. Remember "Finders Keepers"? That's a 'What if I went back in time? What if I could change my future life in one single act of passing information? What then?' This one is a 'What if someone out of the blue calls me "dad"? What then?' The story was about memories lost (his twin brother) and memories gained (him) which he never knew he had until that moment of discovery. I didn't feel the need to elaborate on the amnesia, but instead to explore the anguish of the woman and her children as they though the husband/father had returned, only to find that he had not. I laboured on the confusion, and am glad that's what you felt, because the whole story was filled with it from the point at the news stand, right to the end when the hoe fell to the ground. I had a relative who came out of some similar trauma at the sound of something familiar, although not as dramatic as in the story. Pleased it was entertaining. Phil + Report this comment

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