by Mairi Chong
The afternoon was turning to evening far earlier than it should. A wind had picked up and brought with it a chill of fine mist. Head down, she marched onwards, a little unsure as to where this route might come out. She was almost turning back in the direction of the high street once again when the jangle of live rails began. Instead, she waited. The rails sang louder. The train swept into sight and the breeze lifted further, buffeting her backwards, making her lose balance slightly and step away. Once past, she followed the lights as it wound its path out of the town and towards the open fields, convoluting and writhing through farmland and countryside.
Holly shook her head. What was she doing here anyway? Shouldn’t she be on that train, travelling north, back to her real home? She plunged her hands deep into her pockets and began to walk once more. The flats on either side were rundown and neglected. She came level with what must once have been a shop. The windows were now boarded, the mesh-wire rusted and graffitied. She looked up towards the end of the street. A sign was positioned at the corner and she could only just make out the words. Broad Street. Of course. She had inadvertently fallen upon the place where Neil had once had his old antique shop.
She found herself looking then upwards to the embankment that Neil had described. Above and to the right, lay the old psychiatric hospital. Impulsively, Holly changed course and plunged knee-deep into the damp grasses. The hill was steep, and at times, she had to lean forward and grab at the grass to gain better purchase. Finally, breathless and in awe, she stood and surveyed the carcass of the old building. The perimeter of the ruined hospital was now fenced, with signs displayed at regular intervals threatening potential intruders that the land was patrolled regularly, and trespassers would be prosecuted. The buildings themselves loomed dark and imposing.
She stood for some time considering the scene. The tragedy had clouded her thoughts ever since hearing of it. It had become an obsession with her. Even standing there, despite not knowing in which building it had occurred, she could sense the horror of that day. All those years ago. This was why she had come to Glainkirk. The charity shop, she had known was important, but it was in the crumbling wreckage of the old hospital, where her answers lay, long since buried with the charred embers of that terrible night.
8
Cathy pulled up the top of her dress for the umpteenth time as she stood at the top of the steps.
‘Stop fidgeting. I’ll keep a lookout in case you expose yourself in public if that’s what’s worrying you.’
She gave her friend a withering look, and the two women, accompanied by a very dapper-looking Saj, walked into the hotel.
She hadn’t found a chance to speak to Suzalinna about her troubling consultation the previous week. In truth, Cathy had gone about her business, still stunned by what Mrs Scott had said, and perhaps a little disbelieving. At the time, she had tried to push for more information, but Elizabeth Scott would not disclose names or go into detail. She said that she needed to talk it through with the person concerned. They had had a fine time of things, she said, but now that she was dying, she said that she couldn’t leave this world with the injustice of it still burdening her.
‘You are my insurance policy. I have no intention of dying sooner than I have to, but I’m no fool, and I realise I’ve only got months rather than years. I feel happier knowing that I’ve at least spoken to someone. It’s the charity shop, you see? That’s where the worry lies. I’m old. Perhaps I’ve been too weak. I’ve allowed it to go on for far too long. If you’d just take a look, I’m sure you’d understand.’
Cathy didn’t know what to say. Before leaving, Mrs Scott had asked once more if she would at least agree to the fundraising. There was a new year’s tombola and they were looking for donations. If a highly respected member of the community came and drew the winning tickets it would undoubtedly be an advantage. She must have seemed hesitant because when she looked up, the old lady’s expression was anguished and her eyes watery.
‘I don’t think you quite understand,’ she had said in a choked whisper.
Cathy raised her eyebrows.
‘I’m not one for melodrama, believe me, but I was a nurse. Please, Doctor. Please believe me when I say that I remember things even now. Oh Lord, if you knew! But I can’t talk like this. I told myself I’d give them their chance to do the right thing. If they won’t, if they refuse,’ Mrs Scott said, her voice dropping, ‘I must ask, I must beg, that you’ll help. I might not have it in me.’
Cathy could make little of this, but before Betty left, the old woman had composed herself once more.
‘Thank you for your understanding,’ she smiled weakly. ‘It would put my mind at rest, far more than I can tell you if you’d come. Don’t let it trouble you for now though. I need to approach the interested party first, and then I’ll talk again.’
But Cathy had worried, as anyone in her position might. She had worried about what Betty Scott had said. The whole consultation had been very unsettling. What on earth had she meant by ‘disturbing and dangerous?’ Cathy’s brow furrowed in recollection.
‘Smile,’ Suzalinna said, cutting into her thoughts. ‘I promise it won’t be that bad.’
They had taken a taxi to the place. The Georges was a little out of town. Perhaps three miles or so; a country retreat that had once probably belonged to some Lord or other, but had more than likely cost too much to maintain as a family home. The drive, lit on either side at regular intervals by lanterns, swept up to the building, which itself was accented, by orange up-lighters.
As they handed in their jackets, Cathy decided that she must put her concerns over the old lady’s story to the back of her mind for that night at least. She had already spotted several groups of well-heeled people. Most of the women wore dresses either decorated by sequins or velvet. Everyone seemed to be clutching a glass of champagne and talking excitedly.
‘Oh shit!’ she hissed, suddenly recognising a face. ‘Look who’s over there.’
Suzalinna laughed. ‘Not changed much, has she? Come on, we’d better go and say hello until someone more interesting arrives.’
In the end, the evening wasn’t so bad. They had been seated at a table with five other medics, several of whom Cathy couldn’t remember, probably because they had only joined the class in their third year when all of the students were beginning to do work placements. To the left of Cathy though, was a girl she had known, called Sally. It turned out that she had moved down to London and was now a respiratory consultant in a large teaching hospital.
‘Funny, looking around at all of us now we’re grown up,’ the woman said to Cathy.
‘I know,’ Cathy said. ‘I feel like a fraud still. Imposter syndrome.’
Sally laughed. ‘I get that all the time. Half of my foundation year twos know more than me because they’re swatting up for college exams.’
‘Are you married now then?’ Cathy asked. ‘Weren’t you dating someone all through Uni? I forget his name. Wasn’t it Alexander, or am I thinking of someone else?’
The woman laughed. ‘I can’t believe you remember. Yes, but we split up. He wasn’t keen on London when we moved down together, and his work was taking him in a different direction. I think he quit the police in the end,’ she said. ‘No idea what happened to him. I am married now though. Two kids. Twins. Bloody nightmare, but London’s very different. It’s not unusual to get in nannies. We’ve got a Romanian girl living with us. Chris works away a good deal. Pharmaceuticals. I know,’ she laughed at Cathy’s expression. ‘He hates it, but the money’s good. He’s a medic too but went over to the dark side in an advisory role. What about you? Husband? Kids?’
At that point, the conversation was interrupted. A flashy-looking and distinctly orange woman came over from another table.
‘Suzalinna! Cathy! All these years and look at you both. Still thick as thieves.’
‘Hi Clarrisa,’ Suzalinna said rather coldly. ‘How’s life then?’
‘Fabulous darling,’ Clarrisa said
and laughed. Every inch of her seemed to glitter, it was like she’d sprayed herself in the stuff. ‘How’s A and E anyway?’ she asked. ‘I heard you were the first in the year to get a consultant post. Well done. I took longer. Got my membership to the college the second time though, which isn’t bad. I think most give up after the fifth attempt at the surgical entrance exam. Everyone knows they have to make the surgery assessments more rigorous though, obviously.’
‘Oh, so you went for surgery then, did you?’ Cathy asked.
Clarissa turned and swept her blonde mane of hair back over her shoulder. ‘Oh, surgery from the start darling. I was sure.’
‘You were keen on gastro, I remember,’ Cathy said.
An expression of annoyance flashed across Clarissa’s heavily made-up face. ‘Ancient history. Bloody medics,’ she said shortly. ‘Married a surgical professor in York. You were paddling about in GP-land though, I seem to remember. Nice. Not unexpected. Heard you’d not been so well though recently.’ Before waiting for a response, she turned back to Suzalinna once more.
Cathy rolled her eyes at Sally. ‘Nothing changes,’ she mouthed, and her comrade laughed.
‘What did she mean about you being unwell?’ Sally whispered.
‘Oh, I’ve no idea how she heard, but you know what gossip’s like. Bipolar. I took some time out and I’m thankfully back at work again these last few months.’
The woman nodded. ‘It’s very real. Mental illness amongst doctors. I don’t think we look after ourselves well enough. Back in our junior house-officer days, do you remember how harshly you’d be looked upon for taking a single day off sick? It was as if you were dumping on the rest of the team.’
Cathy laughed. ‘Not just that, but the ward rounds.’ Cathy looked skywards. ‘Oh, the pressure of having everything in perfect order for the consultant.’
‘My rounds aren’t like that,’ Sally reassured her.
‘I’m glad to hear it, but it used to be par for the course to be ritually humiliated in front of a surgical consultant. Remember the guy who used to throw folders at us when we got the answers to his questions wrong?’
Sally laughed.
‘Tough times. I’m sorry you’ve been unwell though,’ she said. ‘I remember during our psychiatry block, the lecturer saying that out of our year, at least two would end up being schizophrenic, many more: bipolar, and almost all of us would have undiagnosed personality disorders.’
Cathy smiled. ‘I remember that too.’
She looked around the room, a sea of glowing faces. All brilliant, intelligent people, all making a difference to the world. All apparently living altruistic, fulfilled lives. Cathy wondered as she watched the others laughing around her, how many were, in reality, struggling to stay afloat. She thought again of her worrying patient. How many people were there out there? People, who superficially looked normal, but were in fact, concealing something? If Elizabeth Scott was to be believed, then someone in Glainkirk was pretending to be quite ordinary, but the old woman had perceived something unusual. Something warped and distorted. Cathy hoped with all her heart that she was wrong.
9
‘When did you say it was again?’ Holly asked, stalling for time.
Carol looked at her with obvious exasperation. ‘The eighth. Wednesday. I’ve already checked prices and it’s only four pounds for a starter and seven for a main. It’s quite low-key.’
Holly looked around the kitchen. It was a chaos of boxes, stacked high on the shelves. A transparent, plastic container beside her held crockery, the old-fashioned kind. The edge of the plates was rimmed with chipped gold-paint. Finally, her eyes settled on Carol’s mouth. Her lips had receded. All but disappeared with age, and her mouth was dry. The skin around it; puckered and wrinkled, sucking her teeth inwards. Perhaps she would eventually swallow herself.
‘Carol,’ she said definitely, trying to suppress a smile. ‘I’ve not been here that long …’
‘Alex’s coming.’
Holly sighed. ‘Sure, put my name down,’ she said, but both of them knew that she had no intention of going. ‘I’ll go home and check my diary.’
‘It’s this coming week,’ Carol said desperately, ‘I need a definite …’
The back room was like a safe-haven in contrast to the torture of the kitchen interrogations. Carol had had a bee in her bonnet over the ridiculous meal for what seemed like weeks. It had been going on since well before Christmas. Even lumpy Tricia, who had agreed initially, said that it was going to be awkward. A little celebratory meal, Carol had repeated. Just a small thing. At first, Holly had thought she meant that the charity was paying, but when she began listing prices, and quoting options on the menu, her heart sank. Not that she would have gone anyway, even if it had been for free. After much toing and froing over dates (Betty was tied up with her church group on Thursdays, Tricia had her old folks’ home and her befriending on Tuesdays or Saturdays, or something) the pre-Christmas assembly had been abandoned. Holly had celebrated hearing this, only to be disappointed by Carol’s later announcement; that she planned to organise another event in the new year.
All in all, the morning hadn’t gone as planned. She had hoped to leave the shop early and make a short trip to Forkieth to do some research. The draw of the library felt like an ache now. Despite turning her back on her studies, she still felt that in whatever town she ended up, it was here, surrounded by books, that she could feel at home.
Almost as soon as she had arrived at work however, she was disappointed. Signing in, she saw that both Neil and Alex were away, and Betty had scored a line through her name for that afternoon, with ‘hospital appointment’ scrawled in a tremulous, spidery hand. Another one? Perhaps something was wrong with the old woman after all. She had been watching Betty more recently, noting her wide gait and shrinking frame. Maybe her suspicions were correct. She had always been good at noticing details, she’d often been told that.
Carol had explained from the beginning that the shop needed at least three people to be there at all times, and she required plenty of notice if people couldn’t come in. Holly did wonder for a second or two if she might force upon Carol the indignity of shutting up shop early. They were volunteers after all with no obligation to stay in the place if they didn’t want. She could easily feign illness. She knew all of the symptoms to make it just a little too uncomfortable for Carol to ask any detailed questions. But Holly supposed that part of her, although keen to do her research, recognised that the implications might be enormous. Perhaps, in a way, she was fearful of finding the specifics about the psychiatric hospital horror too easily. She thought of the papers on her kitchen table. She had turned them over and over since her father’s death. God knows how her family thought they could keep the truth from her. Just a first name. Elizabeth. Just a place. She’d never even been to Glainkirk before, not once. No one had mentioned the place in her whole life. Why there and who had it been? An inpatient? A nurse? The fire coinciding with the date seemed too much to ignore. Maybe that was why she didn’t push to leave early that day. It was why she had come here, but she was afraid of what she might find.
As it turned out, her day was eventful anyway. Carol, having become incensed by multiple trips to the council dump with her own car, had apparently persuaded the charity bosses to agree to the hire of a private skip, hoping that they might clear some of the larger, more cumbersome items that simply wouldn’t shift.
The skip-hire company had not confirmed a date or time for delivery, and to Carol’s obvious dismay, they arrived unannounced and, on a morning, when she was short-staffed with only Betty and Holly, with her.
‘We can’t leave only two in the shop. It’s against the rules,’ Carol said to the driver, who stood by the front desk holding a paper for her to sign. ‘I’ll have to …’ She looked around wildly.
Betty was, as always, by the till. She smiled nastily, apparently enjoying the other woman’s dilemma.
Carol’s frantic gaze fell on Holly.
‘Just show them where you want it. You’re only going out for five minutes for God’s sake, Carol.’
Carol looked torn for a second, but the driver, a burly Neanderthal, was picking up a loosely packed box of Christmas cards from the front desk, disturbing Carol’s carefully crafted display. This seemed to settle it.
‘I’ll be quick,’ Carol said, moving suddenly. She paused for a moment and clutched onto the desk.
Holly, despite her dislike for the woman, took a step forward, fearing that Carol might be about to faint. ‘Sit down a second. Your blood pressure dropped,’ she said.
‘Just moved too quickly,’ Carol said, her face insipid. ‘It happens. Old age.’
Carol scuttled through the shop, and returning from the back with her winter coat, dived out, followed by the brute.
‘Postural hypotension,’ Holly muttered under her breath, but no one heard.
The shop fell silent. She and Betty looked at one another. They rarely conversed. Holly marvelled at Betty’s continued obstinacy, coming in day-after-day, despite Carol’s repeated attempts to overthrow her from her preferred position. They stood there for some time. Holly studied Betty’s hunched shoulders, her face; crumpled and worn. She wondered what kind of life must have led to so many lines. What sights had those clouded eyes seen?
The old woman shrugged, as if in answer to her unvoiced question, accepting their lack of communication without the embarrassment of youth. Oddly, it didn’t trouble Holly either. She felt as if she could stand wordlessly forever. Rarely did one get an opportunity to study someone with their full complicity.
The old woman blew a strand of hair that had rested on her forehead upwards, parting the corner of her creased mouth to do so. She cleared her throat; a reedy rasp of phlegm. Holly wondered if Betty was gravely unwell. She waited. Her mouth was dry. Instead of speaking, Betty produced from below the front desk, several plastic bags. Slowly and methodically, she laid them out on the desk, and taking the first, she began folding the cellophane over and over. She re-met Holly’s gaze and a smile pricked her non-existent lips. Her hands, although feeble, moved with assurance. Holly watched, mesmerised. She wished she could reach out and touch, to feel the gnarled and twisted junctions of her wrists and fingers.