Angelika was ready to go home, sitting on the bed dressed in yesterday’s clothes and felt uncomfortable. In the handbag she did not have any make-up or anything else to improve her tired look and her shirt, although it was one of her best, smelled of yesterday's drama. There was a trail of dried blood on the sole of the court shoe and dark dog hair on the light trousers.

She would have preferred to call a taxi and go home directly but had no other option than to wait for Mr. Ribera. She did not know where he lived and did not share any details of her life with him. And he had Oliver.


Angelika did not tell Francisco about her life because he did not ask. But even if he did, she could not tell him the truth. Her memory was erased. As if someone highlighted a part of her life and pressed the delete button.

Surely, she knew her address and why she came to Barcelona from Cambridge. The divorce was tempestuous, and Mike became a devil. Fleeing the country was the easiest solution, especially when the employer offered her to run the local office. But after the acquisition by another company, the Barcelona branch was merged and she got fired. That was all she remembered.

Angelika forgot all the months of desperate search for a new job. Yes, she had lots of qualities and qualifications, but after fifty-five she was old and in a different country. Going back to the UK was not her plan. One does not return home as a loser.

The insane time of bad investments and loss of all savings was also mercifully erased from her memory. With the renegade part of the past, her insecurity and self-confidence on the verge of collapse was also gone.


The door opened and Francisco Ribera entered the hospital room with car keys in hand and outstretched arms as if he had arrived to pick up a best friend.

“Your driver is ready, señora Angelika. Ready to go? Shall we pick up Oliver first or do you wish to go straight home? I do not mean to be intrusive, but you will have to give me the address." His tone was light, cheerful and soothing. Angelika felt grateful to the man.

“I cannot wait to see Oliver. Was he a good boy?”

“He did not eat anyone, do not worry,” chuckled Francisco.

“I am pleased to hear that. But I would prefer to get changed first. I do not feel very comfortable, to be honest. Is it a big trouble?”

“Oh, not at all, I assumed this would be the case. I will drop you off and later we can have lunch with Oliver. No drama and thieves this time,” said Francisco convincingly but sought reassurance in her face.


The apartment seemed strange to Angelika, even though she knew she lived here, and all the things were familiar. But the mood was different and unpleasant. And except for the low hum of the refrigerator, there was silence. Even the wardrobe and chest of drawers were organized in a strange manner. The clothes she usually wears were out of reach at the back and underneath, while shabby trousers, joggers and T-shirts close at hand.

Angelika opened the kitchen cabinet and took out a tin of coffee beans, opened it and sniffed at the content. "Ehhh", she blurted out. "What kind of substitute is this? Didn't I buy a proper coffee?"


A ray of sunlight lit up Oliver's hair on the floor and sofa and revealed a thin layer of dust on the dining table. The ironing basket was overflowing. She hated ironing. Angelika picked up a phone from the charger and scrolled down the list of contacts.

“Hello? María? It is Angelika here. When are you coming next time? I was in a hospital and kind of lost track of time.”

“Señora Angelika? Are you ok? “

“Yes of course, I am well, thanks for asking. It was just a little accident, nothing serious.”

“I am pleased to hear that. How can I help you? I do not work for you any longer, you know?”

“What do you mean by that? When did you finish? I do not want to lose you. It is difficult to find someone reliable and responsible.”

“Ehmm…. You fired me a long time ago when you lost your job.”

“Did I? What a stupid decision,” Angelika said in shock. “Can we rectify it? I really need you.”