In 1978, a 45-year-old man named Steve Jones returned home to his family in Childwall, Liverpool after a hectic day at his office in the city. His dog, a great Dane named Leo greeted him in the driveway of his house, and then Mr Jones's 7-year-old son Damon came out of the house with a bundle of drawing he'd done for his Dad in school. Damon proudly showed the sketches to his father, and Mr Jones patted him on the head and said they were great. Father and son - and the family dog, then entered the house, where Mrs Jones was watching the TV.
Sarah was heavily pregnant, and her eldest daughter, 15-year-old Emma, told her father that her mum had been having contractions. Mr Jones panicked and told her to get in the car straight away, but his wife said Emma was talking nonsense; she had only had a slight cramp in her leg; that was all.
The family later settled down to tea, when suddenly, Mrs Jones stood up and with a shocked expression, she said to her husband: "Steve; I think it's time; oh God."
Steve jumped up, almost knocking the table over, seized his wife, and maniacally guided her out of the living room. He was taking her straight to Oxford Street Maternity Hospital. It was a real nightmare; the contractions were getting worse by the minute; the baby wasn't supposed to be due for almost a month.
Steve Jones ushered his wife into the car and gently fastened the seat belt. Emma went to get into the car too, but her father told her to look after Damon and the house. He then sped off up Childwall Valley Road. Mr Jones kept saying "Hang on love! Hang on; you're gonna be all right."
At the Fiveways Roundabout, the couple's car hit a lorry which zoomed out right in front of the Jones's car. The impact sent the car rolling end over on its roof for about sixty yards, and as it came to rest, a taxi also hit the car and spun it round.
Mr Jones screamed; not for fear of losing his own life, but because he saw that his heavily pregnant wife seemed lifeless. Blood trickled from the woman's forehead, and she looked as if her neck was broken. The last thing Steve Jones saw before he blacked out was a couple of upside-down faces peering into the smashed-up car.
Steve Jones regained consciousness a day later in Walton Hospital's neurological department, where he had undergone emergency brain surgery to remove impacted skull fragments.
The surgeon shone a light into the patient's eyes and asked him who he was.
"My name is Steve Jones." said the patient, in a groggy voice. Then his thoughts turned to his wife and her unborn child. Steve said: "Where's my wife? Where's Barbara?"
The surgeon told him everything was fine, and advised him to rest. Outside in the corridor sat Bob Jones, Steve's older brother. As the surgeon came out of the ward, Bob confronted him and the nurse and said: "How is he?"
The surgeon said: "He was asking how is wife was."
Bob looked puzzled, and said: "But he isn't married. As far as I know he isn't even going with anyone named Barbara."
And the mystery of the missing wife deepened as Steven gradually started to recover. Bob listened at the foot of his bed as his brother told him of the events leading up to the crash at the Fiveways roundabout.
Bob thought that his brother was just confused with the head injuries, and he finally had to tell him he was disoriented. Bob said: "Steve. You're a bachelor mate. You've got no family."
Steven sat up and seemed aghast at his brother's assertion. He said: "What's going on Bob? Are you trying to tell me I don't have a family? Why are you saying this? Is it a way of telling me that Barbara's dead? She didn't survive the crash did she?"
Bob sighed and looked down at his hands, then said: "You're a bit confused. Don't worry mate."
Steve got out of bed and said: "That's it, I'm signing myself out."
Bob had to wrestle with him to get his irate brother back into bed. A nurse heard the shouting and came running in with an orderly.
Steve asked for a phone to be brought to his bedside. One was wheeled in an plugged in by his bed. "You'll see who's confused." Steve said, and he dialled his home number. He pictured Emma reaching for the phone. She'd prove he wasn't imagining things. "Come on Emma, answer the phone." Steve muttered. The nurses and Bob looked on with sympathetic expressions. Steven gripped the receiver tightly, but the phone just kept on ringing at the other end - and no one answered it. "They must be at school; what time is it?" Steven asked.
"It's Saturday mate." Bob said, and shook his head with despair.
Steven said: "Look, please believe me. I have - or I had - a wife, a daughter named Emma, and a 7-year-old son named Damon. Please send someone to fetch them. Call Emma's school, please. Better still, I'll phone one of the neighbours." And the patient put the receiver down, then lifted it and dialled again. Almost immediately, a woman answered. It was his neighbour, and elderly woman named Mrs Steele.
"Hello?" Mrs Steele said.
"Mrs Steele? It's me, Steve Jones." said the patient excitedly. At last he was making progress to convince the doubters.
"Oh, how are you Steve? I read about the crash in the newspaper. I called the hospital the other day but they said you were critical." Mrs Steele said.
Steve interposed excitedly and said: "Mrs Steele, could you just confirm something? I know this is going to sound nuts, but could you tell me that I have a family?"
There was a pause, then the bemused old lady said. "Of course you have a family."
Steve shouted out "Yes! I told them but they wouldn't believe me. Please tell me how many there are in my family."
Mrs Steele said: "Well, there's you of course; then there's Bob, and..."
Steve's heart jumped. He said: "No, Mrs Steele, not my family; not my brothers and parents; my own family; y'know - Damon and Emma."
There was a long silence, then Mrs Steele said: "I thought you didn't have a family Steve."
Steven said: "Yes you do know I have a wife and kids. You gave Damon some toffees the other day, remember?"
Mrs Steele said: "I'm sorry Steve, but you're not making much sense. Damon? Who's Damon?"
Steve swore and said: "What are you all playing at, eh? Is this supposed to be some joke?"
Mrs Steele said: "Erm, someone's at the door. I'd er, better go. Hope you get better soon."
And she hung up.
"No, hang on!" Steven said, and he re-dialled, but got an engaged tone. Mrs Steele had left the phone off the hook.
The surgeon came into the room and he quizzed Mr Jones about his non-existent family, and assured him that his memory would soon return. But Steve Jones said that he was not suffering from amnesia, and demanded to be allowed to return home so that he could prove his claims.
The surgeon said that would be out of the question for at least a fortnight. Mr Jones pleaded to be released from the neurological department, but the surgeon said that was impossible. However, he did allow the patient to keep the phone at his bedside to make him feel better.
At 6 pm that night, something quite bizarre happened. A young girl came into the room and gently stroked Steve Jones's face.
He awoke to her touch and saw to his great surprise that it was his daughter Emma, holding a bog bouquet of flowers.
"Emma! Oh I thought I'd imagined you! Where's your mum?" Steve asked, and sat up, so reassured at the sight of the girl. Emma hugged him and kissed him then said: "What's that big bandage on your head for Dad? Does your head hurt?"
"Never mind me love. Where's your Mum?" Steve asked, and clutched his daughter's hands tightly.
"She's in hospital. She's had the baby hasn't she?" Emma said, matter-of-factly.
"But I thought she was - I'm so confused." Mr Jones said, with a tear in his eye.
"You know she's in hospital." Emma said. The girl then got up and went to the foot of the bed to study the progress chart on a clipboard.
"Was it a boy or a girl?" Steven asked. He was immensely relieved that the nightmare was over. Perhaps he'd dreamt the whole episode about his brother and the nurses doubting that his family existed.
Emma said: "Oh stop acting soft Dad. You were at the birth weren't you?"
Steve returned a blank stare.
"You passed out during the Caesarean and hit your head on the bed." Emma said, and she added, "It was really embarrassing.".
The door opened slightly, and a voice said: "Emma Jones? Here a moment please."
Emma said: "What?" and she walked out the ward.
"No don't go Emma. Emma! Wait!" her father got out of bed and hobbled after her. He opened the door of the room and saw that the long corridor outside was empty. Steve was deeply shocked and became unsteady on his feet. He leaned against the wall then slid down it. A nurse entered the corridor and shouted, "Mr Jones!"
As the nurse came hurrying to his aid, Steve blacked out again.
At 10 pm that night, Mr Jones regained consciousness. The surgeon was shining a penlight into his eye. The surgeon said: "What's your name?"
Steve said: "Steve Jones. And I know I'm in the neuro-ward. She came here today. I wasn't imagining it."
In a nonchalant voice the neurosurgeon said: "Who came Mr Jones?"
"Emma did." said Steve, and he angrily pushed the penlight from his face and sat upright in the bed. He said: "Look! Did I imagine them?"
He pointed to the bouquet of flowers lying on the bedside cabinet.
"Your brother left them didn't he?" a nurse said.
"No, he didn't!" yelled Steve, "Ask him if you want. Emma brought them in."
The nurse shrugged, but then she noticed the card with the flowers. Upon this little card was the message: "Get well Dad. Love from Mum, Emma and Damon."
When Steve was later discharged, he went home with his brother Bob and a cousin, and he found the house in Childwall exactly as he remembered. But there were no traces of his family. Emma's bedroom was empty, as was Damon's room. In his own bedroom, there was no evidence whatsoever to prove that his wife had ever been there. No make-up, no wardrobe crammed with her clothes, nothing. And in the garden, there was no sign of the huge kennel Mr Jones and his brother had made for Leo the dog .A telephone inquiry to the vicar who had married Steve and Barbara Jones was treated as a crank call. Steve stormed into a house where Barbara's parents were supposed to live, but the old couple who lived there said that they knew of no Barbara. Nor had the schools Steve Jones visited heard of Damon or Emma Jones. Even the vet who had treated Leo had no recollection of the great Dane.
Not surpassingly, Mr Jones underwent psychiatric observation, and later moved from the Liverpool area because it held too many memories for him; memories of a happy family which had apparently been erased from reality.
If we can discount amnesia and brain injury, how can we explain Mr Jones's traumatic experience? How can we explain the bouquet left by Emma with the hand-written note? Could the answer lie in the nature of the universe? Perhaps Mr Jones was transferred after the crash from some parallel world which runs alongside our one. In this world, perhaps Mr Jones did have the family he spoke of. For all we know, there may now be some other version of you, the reader, in this parallel world, perhaps living some entirely different life with another partner... Perhaps we'll know more one day.
For more strange stories from Liverpool writer Tom Slemen, go to these sites:
www.ghostcity19.freeserve.co.uk
The Liverpool Valentine Ghost
The Devil in the Cavern Club
The Song that can Kill You
The Last Dance
The Welsh Werewolf
The Wail of the Banshee
The Phantom Matchmakers
The Thing in Berkeley Square
The Zodiac Murders Mystery
Cheshire Timewarps
Merseyside Timeslips
The Penny Lane Poltergeist
The Kennedy and Lincoln Coincidences
The UFO that Crashed in Wales
The Mysterious Spring-Heeled Jack
George Washington's Vision of the Future
Mystery of the Liverpool Mass Graves
Was the Titanic torpedoed by a German U-Boat?
The Finger of Suspicion
Halloween Tales
Haunted by his Future Wife
A Marriage Made In Hell
The Enigma of the Green Children
The Dark Side of Rock
The Evil Assailant
Was Jesus an Extraterrestrial?
The Hippy Babysitter
The Sad Spectre of Smithdown Road
UFOs in the Bible?
Mr Boon - Robin Hood of the Victorian Poor
Feel free to e-mail Tom personally with any comments or queries:Tom Slemen
