The Other Girl

by C D Major

  ‘Clive,’ she whispered, finding herself unable to look up at him, focusing only on the hand holding the knife. The black hairs were even on the backs of his hands.

  ‘What’s that?’

  She swallowed. ‘Clive, please, I want to talk to Clive.’

  ‘The old man, eh? Got a thing for an older guy?’ He laughed at his own words and turned back to shout across the room, ‘Hey, Clive, one of your girlfriends is visiting.’

  She felt her cheeks get hot, only just realising what he meant by the words. Wanting to tell him she wasn’t Clive’s girlfriend. She’d never been anyone’s girlfriend.

  Clive shuffled towards the door, his thick eyebrows knitted together as he came outside into the corridor. ‘Edith.’ The lines on his face seemed even deeper when he smiled. ‘You here looking for treats?’

  She shook her head, feeling better now Clive was standing in front of her; she didn’t mind looking up at him.

  ‘Well, then, what is it?’

  The words spilled out of her in a rush. ‘It’s Bernie’s birthday in seven days, one week, and I want her to have a cake. Would you make a cake?’ She stopped, panting slightly.

  He lifted his eyebrows, like hairy grey caterpillars. ‘A cake?’

  He sounded unsure; she felt her heart pitter-patter. It wouldn’t be the same without a cake, with candles Bernie could blow out.

  ‘With candles, sixteen candles,’ she whispered, holding herself tightly. He had to agree. She had it all planned.

  ‘Candles, too.’ Clive chuckled at that, a low sound that bounced round the corridor. The noise made her frown. Was he laughing at her? Was that good or bad? Clive had always been kind to her, sneaking an extra sausage roll because she’d told him they were her favourite, waving at her when she passed by the kitchen garden.

  ‘Even with a war on, eh?’

  She wasn’t sure what that meant; felt her face fall.

  Clive smiled. ‘I’m joking, love. ’Course I can. Do you want to help me make it, Edith?’

  ‘I’d love to make it,’ she said, picturing an enormous sponge cake coated with jam, sprinkled with icing sugar.

  ‘Well, I can get all the things we need. How about you come along and make it on the Tuesday so it’s nice and fresh for her birthday. How does that sound?’

  She was nodding as he spoke, grinning now, feeling her mouth stretch across her face.

  Clive was laughing again. ‘Never seen someone so happy about a cake. That’s made my day, that has. You’re a good girl, Edith.’

  She felt lighter on her feet as she left, remembering to spin round and thank him halfway down the corridor.

  ‘I’ll see you Tuesday, Edith, in your breaktime. Three o’clock, yes?’

  ‘Three o’clock,’ she called back. ‘Tuesday, three o’clock, Tuesday, three o’clock,’ she said again as she turned back.

  She’d get Nurse Shaw to remind her, too. Tuesday, three o’clock.

  After that she made sure to keep things extra quiet, felt the secret glowing inside her every time she looked across at Bernie.

  ‘What is it?’ Bernie asked. ‘Why are you smiling at me like that?’

  ‘I’m not smiling,’ Edith said, pushing the smile down. Of course she was smiling. Bernie would have her birthday party, a surprise. There would be a cake with sixteen candles.

  She could barely sleep the day before. They’d made a big cake. Clive took it out of the oven, golden and perfect, and she’d been allowed to spoon the jam on. He’d coated it in a thick cream topping and produced sixteen candles which he let her place all over the top of the icing. She pictured Bernie leaning over the tiny flames and blowing them out.

  On the morning of her birthday Edith tried not to fidget with the excitement in her chest. Bernie was combing her hair on the edge of the bed, a long, dark-brown curtain. Edith wanted to say ‘Happy Birthday’, but knew she had to pretend it wasn’t a special day for the surprise to work. They took their medication and went out to work in the flower garden.

  Afterwards Bernie went to see the new doctor, the one who had joined the orchestra. Edith didn’t think he had noticed her; he never looked her way. Pushing open the door to the dayroom all other thoughts were forgotten as she gasped. Nurse Shaw had kept her promise: the room was lined with bunting, faded cotton flags in different colours on ribbons all around the walls, the cake perched on a china cake stand in the centre of a table.

  Nurse Ritchie bent over it, huffing and muttering as she burnt her finger on a match. ‘What next?’ she’d said, picking up the box and drawing out another one.

  Donna stood nearby, her back resting against the wall, watching everyone, her left eye fluttering at intermittent moments. She lit on Edith and today Edith tried to lift her chin, tried to return her gaze. Shirley and Martha moved across to stand either side of Donna. Martha looked skittish, eyes darting to Donna and then the table. They seemed to be waiting for something, too. Edith didn’t want to think about them now, tried to focus on what she had to do. She looked at the clock, mouthing the numbers, remembering where the hands should be. Bernie would be here very soon.

  Nurse Shaw appeared in the doorway, more women filing past her to get inside, and Edith sucked in her breath as Nurse Shaw nodded at her: the signal. Moving across to the table, the sixteen candles glowing orange, Edith lifted up the cake stand ready to do what she had planned.

  There was a shout from somewhere, a scuffle, and Nurse Ritchie wheeled round, the box of matches left on the tray as she moved to see who was making a fuss.

  ‘Ready, ladies?’ Nurse Shaw called out from the doorway in the same moment. ‘Edie?’ She nodded at Edith who nodded quickly back, feeling a flush of warmth. The excitement she had woken up with that morning took over, nerves pushed aside, Donna and her gang forgotten as she moved over to the table to lift the cake.

  Then Bernie was there, back from seeing Doctor Harris, not picking up on the nervous energy in the room.

  The cake was heavier than Edith expected and she was careful. The crowds parted and Edith could see Bernie surrounded now by women wishing her a happy birthday. Nurse Shaw opened her mouth ready to start the singing and Edith knew she had to join in and then the rest of the room would too. She had only taken two steps forward when it happened, so quickly. She stumbled on something, felt a hand in her back as she tripped and then she was falling forward, the world tipping slowly sideways as the cake left her hands, a pain in her left arm, her head hitting the floor, the top of the cake, icing in her curls, the sponge broken into bits, the clink as a hundred matches scattered on the floor.

  She lay there, aching, watching Donna melt behind Shirley on her right, a smirk on her face as she slipped round her; Martha, a quick nod as she straightened up, reaching for something on the floor.

  A hand on her back, or a foot that had tripped her. There had been too many people milling around; no one had seen. She felt a hand now on her shoulder, Nurse Shaw’s voice in her ear. ‘Edie, are you hurt?’

  She didn’t speak, couldn’t, felt her face pressed to the floor, seeing the cake in pieces in front of her, the matches scattered across the floor. Someone, Donna, had started to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ in a sugary voice. Two other voices joined in. Edith moved her head: Bernie stood looking down at her, her face white. Edith’s arm throbbed, her face and hair covered in crumbly stickiness. She could feel it all stuck to her cheek. Bernie hadn’t even seen the cake, would never know what it had looked like.

  She didn’t know why she started laughing.

  Chapter 30

  NOW

  Declan hadn’t slept that night. Instead he spent it rereading her bare notes, searching for articles or references in books to things he barely dared think were possible. He frowned at them, scattered now in a large ring around him, his legs cramping from kneeling amongst them for so long. He was frustrated by the large gap in Edith’s notes, knowing he was missing information from her first few months in the asylum.

  He needed proof. S
omething that could support the things she had detailed as a child.

  He needed to ask Edith. He wanted to describe the house to her, try to summon up some of the memories she had spoken about all those years ago. He wanted to know if they were truly faded or gone. He wanted to help her remember, see what more she might say.

  He must see her immediately.

  He dressed quickly, pulling on his socks and shoes, straightening his tie, redoing the buttons on his shirt, fumbling with them as he looked around for a different pair of trousers. Flattening his hair with one hand he cleaned his teeth with the other, feeling his stomach whirling like the water moving down the plughole.

  Winding down the stairs from his room he almost missed the scene below. In-patients were moving back and forward, clearing the site of the charred ward. Edith’s old ward. It seemed the investigation had changed pace, or they had their answers, as twisted metal, damp lumps were wheelbarrowed away. A small crowd stood a little way off, staring at the site, a place most people turned away from as they moved past, not wanting to remember that thirty-seven women had lost their lives, packed so tightly together. Declan held a hand up to the narrow window, grateful again that Edith had got out. Now he needed to help her even more.

  He could barely eat and felt a sense of purpose as he strode along the corridor, nodding with authority at Nurse Ritchie who gave him a small, surprised frown in return. He moved into his office, placing Edith’s folder on the desk.

  A sound behind him made him turn. It was Nurse Shaw tapping lightly, a small tray in one hand.

  ‘I brought you a coffee, Doctor.’ She lowered the tray on to the desk, removing the cup.

  Declan thanked her distractedly.

  She didn’t meet his eye. ‘Just avoiding changing the bed pans.’

  ‘A nurse’s life, eh?’ For a moment he wondered where this new confidence had come from, to tease as if he really were the man that filled this white coat.

  He went to sip the coffee as she stood, the tray at her side. ‘About last night – I shouldn’t have said anything, about Edith, I mean,’ she blurted.

  He lowered the cup. ‘Oh no, on the contrary.’ He swallowed down the brief swell of panic as he thought of Edith’s name on that list. ‘I am grateful that you did.’

  He noticed her face relax, a tiny lift of her mouth. ‘I’d better be going. I’m sure you’re busy too, and Doctor Malone will no doubt be wanting me shortly.’

  Declan burnt his tongue on the liquid, the cup sloshing slightly as he pulled it away from his mouth. ‘Doctor Malone? I thought he was away in Wellington?’

  ‘He got back this morning, Doctor, just before dawn – gave the night nurse quite the fright apparently, thought he was a ghost.’ She leaned towards him a fraction. ‘I think she might have been dozing.’

  Declan failed to pick up on her jovial remark, didn’t react, his mind whirring. Doctor Malone was back. Already. What would this mean for him? He thought of the file on his desk, a file he now must return; the questions he had intended to ask Edith that morning. He placed the cup on the desk unseeing. Nurse Shaw was still talking but he couldn’t concentrate at all. He felt the weight of the news push him hopelessly into his chair, his earlier confidence seeping away.

  ‘Doctor Harris . . . Doctor, is everything satisfactory?’ Nurse Shaw hurried around the side of the desk to hover beside his chair, just as a sharp knock sounded and a wave of pipe smoke entered the room.

  ‘Harris,’ came Doctor Malone’s voice.

  Nurse Shaw leapt back as if she’d been scalded, eyes wide as she spun to face the door.

  ‘I . . . oh.’ Doctor Malone stopped, mouth open as he took in the nurse standing so close to Declan. ‘Sorry to break up the tête-à-tête. Nurse, do you not have somewhere you need to be?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Doctor Malone,’ she replied, her head lowered as she passed him and exited into the corridor.

  Declan remained in his chair as Doctor Malone stepped over to his desk.

  ‘Thank you for holding the fort, so to speak,’ Doctor Malone said, striding over to the filing cabinet and opening it up. ‘Busy day getting back on track. I trust you’ve made thorough notes.’ He looked at Declan over half-moon glasses as he piled up a few folders in his arms. ‘We’ll return to life as usual, then, Doctor.’

  Declan didn’t know how to react, watching Doctor Malone push back the filing cabinet, turn with the armful of files.

  ‘Sir . . . if you need more time . . .’ Declan waved a hand, trying to conjure up something on the spot.

  ‘You’d best get on, Doctor, first patient will be due any moment,’ Doctor Malone said, staring pointedly at the clock on the wall above the door before he left the room.

  Declan leaned back in his chair, resting his head against the leather. He shut his eyes, mind racing as he tried to think what to do.

  He needed to talk to Edith. Pushing his chair back, ignoring the time, he hurried out of the room.

  The dayroom was quiet, a group of patients bent over a jigsaw puzzle that had barely been started, some milling around the table where drinks were laid out waiting for them. For a second he thought she wasn’t there; then he saw her, sitting in the chair by the window, staring out over the lawn. He felt his heart lurch. Hurrying across to her, he realised he didn’t actually know what he was planning to say, just that he needed to seize an opportunity to speak with her.

  She seemed smaller, younger, lost in that chair. He bent down beside her and it was a moment before she turned and noticed someone was there.

  ‘Doctor.’ She smiled suddenly, as if she had been far, far away.

  ‘Edith, good morning, I’m glad I caught you . . .’ His breaths were short, heart hammering.

  Edith was looking over his shoulder, a small frown forming on her face.

  And then he understood why: Matron was calling out his name. As he started, he caught the eye of Nurse Shaw in the doorway. She was standing stock-still, a tray of small paper cups in her hands, looking at him and Edith. He felt himself fidget, as if she had somehow caught him doing something he shouldn’t.

  Matron marched over. ‘Doctor Harris. Tom Barton has seemed very troubled over the last day or so – his temper is worse; I was hoping Doctor Malone could see him but he is under pressure to catch up with everything and I was wondering if you would agree to . . .’

  Matron’s words faded as Declan watched Doctor Malone appear in the doorway. Behind him, Martha squeezed past him into the dayroom, her eyes bright, an excitable expression on her face. Declan watched her as she scooted quickly into a chair nearby and started playing with a pack of cards, laying them out in rows, her eyes down as Doctor Malone called out, ‘Edith Garrett!’

  Martha bit her lip, looked across at Edith.

  What was going on?

  Edith looked towards the door, the small smile already faltering. She didn’t move.

  ‘Edith,’ Nurse Shaw repeated, ‘the doctor is waiting.’

  The smile disappeared completely from Edith’s face, her gaze resting on the imposing figure of Doctor Malone in the doorway. His mouth was set in a grim line and Declan felt a stone of fear rest in his stomach.

  It seemed that Doctor Malone was restless, his fingers rubbing together as he watched Edith cross the room. He turned, a man used to being followed, and Edith made little quick steps to catch him up, looking worriedly back at Declan who was left standing, helplessly rooted to the spot. It was only when he followed them both out into the corridor that he noticed the policeman standing a little way off. What were the police doing back here?

  Declan itched to follow but Matron chased him into the corridor to talk to him again about Tom Barton. He agreed to see him, his mouth moving with the words as he watched Edith, Doctor Malone and the policeman disappear around the corner.

  He tried to concentrate but for the rest of the morning he couldn’t sit still, couldn’t focus on the patients in front of him, almost prescribing the wrong medication for one, mixing up the
notes on another. He kept thinking of Edith, sandwiched between the two men, alone as she faced them. What did they want? Why had they been clearing the scene? What conclusion had they reached?

  The dining room was full of it at lunch; patients and staff huddled over trays exchanging looks and whispers. Martha sat surrounded by in-patients, appearing to hold court as she spoke to the gathering masses, one kneeling on the bench, others leaning across to catch every word. Declan frowned as he slid his tray down on the table, interrupting two nurses sitting side by side, who immediately clammed up when he sat down opposite them.

  He could hear indistinct words. He thought he heard Edith’s name, moving in a whisper around him, and then wondered if it was simply because she was still on his mind. He felt guilty then, knowing he was thinking too much about her, not focusing on others in the same way. Then he thought of the list. Imagined her lying on a trolley, waiting to be put under. How long did he have? He went to cut a piece of the pie on his plate, his knife hovering over it.

  Nurse Shaw was moving towards him, skirting round empty chairs. She stood at his table, leant towards him. ‘Have you heard? It seems Martha remembered something.’

  Declan looked at her keenly. ‘Remembered what?’

  ‘A patient, with a match – she told the police it was Edith.’

  Declan stopped chewing, swallowing the meat and pastry, its bulk almost lodging in his throat. ‘Edith,’ he repeated.

  Nurse Shaw’s expression changed again, reminding him of the previous evening. ‘Martha didn’t want to say anything but she was told she had to, if people were at risk.’

  ‘But surely no one would believe it?’ Declan scoffed, wanting it to be a joke.

  Nurse Shaw crossed her arms. ‘No one really knows what to believe.’

  Declan looked around, at the whispered talk at the tables, imagining them all sharing this piece of news. ‘You don’t believe it, surely?’

  He remembered her soft expression as she’d talked about Edith, someone she had wanted to protect. Her Edie. What had changed? A look passed across her face then, a hardening, and Declan knew Edith had lost this ally.