The Man Who Forgot His Wife by John O'Farrell

informative images beside the various settings – a fish, a chicken, but no picture of a depressed person’s head. Pinned on the noticeboard by the fridge was a telephone bill. ‘Have you updated your Friends and Family?’ it asked. I spotted Gary and Linda’s address book and I started to flick through the pages. ‘Vaughan and Maddy’ was filed under ‘V’, neatly typed, with the address set out underneath. Then a green biro had crossed my name out and scrawled a new address sideways down the margin. That had subsequently been crossed out and then another address scribbled in blue underneath that, which was so squeezed in, it was virtually illegible. No one had planned for any separate space for ‘Vaughan’ on this page; it just ruined everything. There was my family’s telephone number glaring at me from the yellowing paper, a series of digits that I must have effortlessly recited a thousand times. I could just dial that number right now and talk to Maddy. Although ringing up my ex-wife at half past three in the morning might not be the best way to reassure her of my sanity.
    My personal effects had been rediscovered in a jacket pocket at the bottom of a bag of clothes and now, seated at the kitchen table, I carefully dealt out the cards from my wallet like some sort of sociological Tarot reader. ‘That’s the Blockbuster video card. It represents stability and culture – a sign that you might be the sort of person who would own a DVD player and enjoy renting movies. Combined as it is with a Lambeth Library Services card and a Clapham Picturehouse membership, this sequence suggests that you are quite a cultured person, although of course there is no card from the British Film Institute or Friends of the National Theatre. The Virgin Active Gym card would at first suggest that you are a health enthusiast, except you have to look at how the card is lying. It was actually stuck inside the wallet with the embossed numbers having imprinted their shape into the leather pocket, suggesting it has never actually been used. In terms of wealth, there is only one basic credit card, not a series of high-status gold or platinum cards. But on the plus side, your Caffè Nero loyalty card shows that you are only two stamps away from a free cappuccino …’
    I took a pen and a notepad and attempted to copy the signature on my bank cards. I could produce nothing even vaguely similar. My phone was completely out of battery, which had been something of a relief to me. I had been frightened by the idea that people could just ring me up; that names would flash urgently on the screen, expecting to pick up where they had left off with me and I would know nothing at all about them. But now, under cover of darkness, I plugged it in and watched the screen come back to life. I had forty-seven missed calls and seventeen messages. I scrolled through my contacts, reading the cast list of the play in which I was about to make my entrance. I tore off a clean sheet of paper and prepared to write down all their names and what they wanted.
    I didn’t recognize the first caller. ‘Vaughan, hi, it’s me, there’s a curriculum problem I need you to sort out. I’ve spoken to Jules and Mike, and if you could check the rota for Day 6—’ And then I stopped it and just pressed ‘Delete All’.
    I rested my forehead on the kitchen table for a while and thought about the ordeal of the day ahead. The court case had not been postponed because I had never been assertive enough to insist that Maddy or my lawyer was informed about my condition. Gary had maintained that we were definitely doing the right thing, and that my life could begin again once this ‘last little formality’ was out of the way. I was to learn the hard way about the wisdom of taking legal advice from a man with an earring.
    I was woken by the sound of some crockery being placed on the kitchen table beside my head.
    ‘Sorry to wake you there, Vaughan, mate. I’m just doing