by H K Thompson
I made my way back along the road to the track. By this time the light was slowly beginning to fade and I started to feel worried that I’d left it too late to visit. I think really that I was anxious about seeing Stephen, that actually I’d put it off and left it too long. I’d had most of the day to get het up about it. I felt annoyed that I’d done that. As I got close to the cottage I could see the old wrecked van outside the house but there was another car there, a big, flashy four by four, black and shiny. I’d been walking rather boldly down the centre of the potholed track until I saw the other car. I moved to the edge of the track. I was puzzled by the presence of other visitors. It was so unexpected.”
Evelyn was concentrating hard on the story. She suddenly remembered that time had gone on and looked discreetly at the clock behind Tess’s shoulder.
“Tess, we’ve run out of time. We must stop. We’ll meet again on Thursday.”
The session was over and she had an informal lunchtime liaison meeting with Ann McKenzie in The Fensham Tea Room. She wrote her notes on the session and left the house by the side door.
Chapter 16
Meeting Ann McKenzie was a welcome break as usual. Evelyn made it into time off or time out even if she and her police colleague were invariably talking about work. She found a parking space in the Square – a novel rarity – and made for the tea room through a sudden downpour of cold and drenching rain. She had no mac, only her umbrella, which meant wet legs. The tea room was warm and inviting and there was a log fire burning in the hearth. She found a table adjacent to the fire, took off her damp jacket and sat, drying, in her captain’s chair. She rested her elbows on the polished wooden arms as she read the menu in anticipation. No sooner had she put down the menu than Ann McKenzie came through the door, brushing off the water from her coat onto the mat. She noticed Evelyn’s hand raised in signal and walked towards the table.
“That fire looks inviting,” she said, smiling. “How are you? Good to see you.”
“I’m fine,” replied Evelyn. “It’s wet out there now. And cold.”
Ann McKenzie took off her coat and sat facing Evelyn. Evelyn offered her the menu and said: “Hungry? I’m starving.”
“Yes, I could do with lunch. We’re very busy as usual. It’s been bedlam over Christmas and New Year. It always is, mind you.”
She wiped the side of her neck absent-mindedly with her hand, where the rain had dripped inside her collar.
“I don’t mean to launch straight in, but I had an email this morning, as it happens, from Alun Davies, the Inspector from Dyfed-Powys Police.”
“Yes, I remember you talking about him. Was he in touch about Tess? Any pressure?”
“Not exactly pressure, but his Super is beginning to ask questions about the situation vis à vis Stephen Dawson’s murder. Obviously, they want some progress now so he contacted me to sound me out about what’s happening with Tess Dawson and whether he could come over and question her at our earliest convenience. He has to do it.”
Evelyn steepled her fingers and pressed her lips onto them thoughtfully.
“I have the Board meeting tomorrow. I’ve been invited to attend so that I can be there when Tess’s situation is discussed. We’ve both known for a while that Peter Archer doesn’t want her to stay at the unit. He thinks that she’s a malingerer who’s probably guilty of more offences than those that sent her to Wellbridge. And by virtue of that unproven possibility he believes she also killed her brother. You know how he thinks. I think he’s begun to see her as a bit of a psycho who should be locked up somewhere secure where he doesn’t have to be concerned about her. She’s just too complicated a case for him and he feels, I’m pretty sure, that the Stephen Dawson business is some kind of sword of Damocles hanging over his head and, more importantly, his reputation. Anyway, I think he’ll do his very best to get her transferred.”
“Oh dear,” said Ann. “What with that and Alun Davies getting in touch, things seem to be reaching a bit of a crunch point.”
“Actually, Ann, if you can stall just a little bit longer, say a week or, even better two, and I can argue my case tomorrow, I think we can hold things off just long enough to give Tess time to reach the end of her story in the session. You see, there’s been some real progress since we last spoke. We were on the verge of something before Christmas but now she’s in full flow and it feels as if she’s reaching a point in the events in West Wales when things will become clear. I just need a little more time. I think I’m going to learn something about Stephen Dawson’s death quite soon. I shouldn’t be telling you this but I think you need to know so you’ve got something to go on, especially as I’m asking you to get me more time.”
“Alright. I’ll see what I can do. I’d be surprised if Alun Davies would be able to arrange anything with us straight away. I get the impression that Tess just isn’t that much of a priority for them and they’re pursuing other lines of enquiry still, particularly the drug angle. I’ll give him a proposed date today for, say, two weeks today. You can put that in your diary and I’ll let Peter Archer know when it’s confirmed. Is that OK?”
“Thanks. And I’ll let you know what happens at the Board meeting tomorrow and what further progress is made with Tess.”
Evelyn felt relieved. Ann McKenzie was a friend to the residents of Wellbridge House. Sometimes theirs felt like a small and benign conspiracy in the cause of truth and justice, their unspoken and rather grandiose mission. They shared a belief that things were never black and white and that the way to the truth was sometimes dark for long periods of time. They seemed to believe that there would be resolution but rarely the one hoped for. They were both idealists and, at bottom, dreamers who dreamt of a better world. All that they had to tolerate was the constant disappointment that life did not deliver happy endings and that everything was compromised and imperfect.
“Shall we order, before I pass out?” Evelyn said, smiling.
“It’s good to get business out of the way first, for a change. What are you having?”
*
The morning of the Board meeting arrived and Evelyn stood at her kitchen sink surveying the garden and watching the birds feed on the hanging seed and peanut feeders. She was concentrating, gearing herself up for the event to come. She was anticipating the people who would be there and their probable attitudes to Tess Dawson. Generally the Board members were well briefed about the residents at the unit. Each of the five members had met them all at one time or another and they had been kept in touch with the progress that each resident made or the misdemeanours they committed. They were asked to feed in their opinions on a particular individual and on situations that were proving tricky for the staff. By and large they were a valuable layer of advice and perspective on the unit and they were, as a group, as adept at advising on the fabric of the building as on the residents.
Their collective attitude to the Director was, for the most part, workmanlike and professional. It was difficult to tell what the Board members really thought of Peter Archer. Sir Alex Tomkins OBE, Chairman of the Board, used his extensive knowledge of the mental health dimension of penal institutions to good effect, and it was clear that the Director found that intimidating. He felt at a disadvantage to the Chairman and his ambivalence about psychology made him feel inadequate in comparison to Sir Alex’s ease with it. Added to that, Sir Alex’s role in the setting-up of Wellbridge House gave him an authority and credence that contributed further to Peter Archer’s sense of inadequacy. Rather than utilising Sir Alex’s knowledge and expertise, the Director tended to polarise with it, creating tension and sometimes making the Board less productive and creative than it could have been.
Interestingly, in the light of the friction between Board and Director, the minutes of the meetings were kept very concise by Sir Alex himself, a quirky but effective way of keeping what happened at the meetings confidential. It was generally believed by the Board members that this unusual practice had a great deal of wisdom to it, not least in preservin
g some authority in the Director in the eyes of staff and residents, despite his habitually unhelpful way of behaving. Peter Archer was a burden for the Board but, in a generally good-natured way, they tolerated him and made the best of it.
The other four members were an interesting group. There was a forensic psychotherapist from London, Simon Cooper, who was possibly the most erudite and theoretically informed individual in the field that Evelyn had come across. She found his mind elegant and his perspectives and interpretations invariably well argued and illuminating. He made Freud modern and fluid, retaining the deep insights that Freudian theory lent to any analysis whilst articulating it with lightness and sometimes humour. Sir Alex indulged him like a favourite son, inviting his input and always praising his perceptions and acumen.
Next there was Angela Norman, who in the past had served on the front line as a psychiatric nurse and who had worked her way up the mental health hierarchy and now occupied a position at the top of a National Health Trust. Her understanding of the grassroots of mental health work, combined with her experience within a bureaucracy, were invaluable assets to the group. Evelyn could sometimes discern that Angela Norman’s impatience with Peter Archer also had a wariness to it and Evelyn found her astuteness reassuring. Angela Norman was the person Evelyn would be most likely to consult should there be problems at Wellbridge House that required a Board member viewpoint. She had, in fact, done this in the past and her advice had been freely given and helpful.
The fourth member was Hazel Simmonds, a district councillor and the liaison with the local authority. Initially, and now several years ago, the local council had been hard to persuade that Wellbridge House would sit comfortably in an area that was wealthy and middle class. Fensham was a well-to-do market town in the shires and there had been a great deal of opposition from the surrounding community. Anything psychiatric or penal lowered the tone. Hazel Simmonds had always supported the project and retained her seat into the bargain. She had done a remarkable job in selling the project to the local residents. It was her hard work that had even resulted in local involvement in an annual fundraising event to provide improved facilities for the residents.
The fifth member was Richard Rowntree, a local businessman and the closest the Board came to a right-winger. He always took a hard line on any matter regarding bad behaviour. He had been the only advocate in the past for the removal of one or two residents from the unit. He was impatient and invariably saw things in black and white terms. There was, however, one very interesting fact about Richard Rowntree. His daughter, Annabel, had been arrested about two years previously for possession of small amounts of cannabis and cocaine, when she was fifteen. Evelyn had seen him at a Board meeting shortly after the arrest (although Annabel had been released by that time) and he had clearly been shattered by the occurrence.
She had got the impression that he had been forced to embark on a soul-searching journey as a father and as a human being that had almost certainly resulted in the formation of a slightly less black and white and authoritarian approach to life. He had also become increasingly interested in the analyses that Simon Cooper usually shared at some point during the course of a Board meeting. In fact, his attitude to everyone on the Board had broadened and deepened in the time since his daughter’s trouble. Rather than behave in an abrupt, dismissive and defended way he had become more open to ideas that hitherto would have lain outside his worldview. He had latterly done some useful fundraising for the unit and was now considered by everyone to be on board.
All in all Evelyn liked the Board members and felt confident enough that there would be fairness and open-mindedness towards Tess. What they would make of Peter Archer’s anticipated opposition to her she had yet to find out. She emptied the boiled kettle into the teapot and sat down at the kitchen table to eat her breakfast. Time was getting on and she had chores to do before she left.
*
Evelyn had her usual busy morning. As the meeting was scheduled for 1.30pm she had no time after her last morning session to write up her notes. This was a rare deviation from her discipline and, as she walked towards the boardroom, she felt uncomfortable at not having completed her work for the morning. She made a mental note of the main points of the session to consciously fix them in her memory and then turned her attention to the next hour or so. She had been given a copy of the agenda by Mona at her mid-morning break. Tess, she pointed out, was third on the agenda, which would mean that Evelyn could leave the meeting after that item. The first two items were administrative.
Later, as she made her way to the meeting and approached the lobby outside the boardroom, she could hear a small hubbub of voices and the rattle of cups and saucers. The members were gathering and chatting, catching up on recent personal and professional occurrences and exchanging thoughts about Wellbridge House matters. As Evelyn arrived in the lobby, Peter Archer came through the door that led to his office, greeting everyone ostentatiously. He shook each member’s hand, giving Evelyn only a cursory glance and fleeting smile. There was a lapse in his effusiveness reserved especially for her and he turned his back and entered the boardroom, chatting animatedly and for effect to Sir Alex. Evelyn followed them in, greeting the other members.
She took her place sitting between Hazel Simmonds and Richard Rowntree and poured herself a glass of water from the jug. Her mouth felt dry. The fact that the Director had all but ignored her and, in his own inimitable way, put her in her lowly place filled her with a measure of nervousness about what was to come. She knew that it meant conflict and, whilst she knew she had the measure of him, she also knew that conflict with Peter Archer was usually bloody and painful.
The Director had taken his place at the end of the polished board table, facing the Chairman and to Evelyn’s left. She sat opposite Simon Cooper and Angela Norman, with Sir Alex to her right. She smiled at Angela and Simon who welcomed her warmly to the meeting and expressed an interest in the situation with Tess. They looked forward to the review and discussion. Sir Alex called the meeting to order and began working his way through the agenda. Minutes of the last meeting came and went without amendment and were signed off. Next, an announcement about Peter Archer’s holiday dates for the coming year and periods of time when he would be away at conferences over the next six months. He told the Board that he was a keynote speaker at the upcoming Home Office conference on prison reform, with special reference to the role of Wellbridge House in progressing the debate about the use and efficacy of psychology and psychotherapy within the prison population. Evelyn caught Simon Cooper’s eye at this disclosure. His look of bemusement was unmistakable and Evelyn raised her eyebrows discreetly in wry acknowledgment. He smiled and resumed his gaze on the blotter in front of him. She knew she had an ally, as she would have expected from Simon.
Over the last three years since he had joined the Board she had had several discussions with him. They had all been enlightening and all demonstrated his understanding of the underlying pathology of residents. He was a genuinely empathic man and, she suspected, one informed by his own demons. He had the uncanny and disarming capacity to be unashamedly honest about his own frailties and shortcomings. This both sometimes surprised the other Board members but also endeared him to them. It made Peter Archer envious.
“Now we come to the matter of Tess Dawson,” said Sir Alex. “Peter, would you introduce this item and, as I’m sure you’re all aware, Evelyn is here to speak to the subject in due course. Peter, could you outline what this issue is about?”
He looked at the Director along the length of the table. Peter Archer smiled in acknowledgment and, putting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together, closed his eyes in studied concentration for a few moments and began:
“I put this matter on the agenda for today because I am increasingly of the opinion that Tess Dawson is no longer benefiting from what Wellbridge House can offer and is, in my view, taking up a valuable place here that someone else could use to much greater advantage. When she
first came here she clearly met our criteria for admission, especially that she was a distressed individual for whom conventional imprisonment would have been very detrimental. It was thought that the opportunities that Wellbridge House offered for the rehabilitation of offenders would allow her to undertake some curative therapy in a supportive environment that would eventually lead to her re-entry into a normal life in society. She was never regarded as a danger to others although I have always believed that the circumstances of her child’s death were never investigated thoroughly enough and that she may have been given too much benefit of the doubt.”
Evelyn felt a wave of anger rising in her as Peter Archer spoke. It was this powerful inclination in her that had exposed her on many occasions to the ruthless machinations of the likes of the Director. Sometimes she had been able to control herself, harness her anger to her ability to reason and argue her corner effectively. At other times her own anger had defeated her and rendered her speechless and helpless. Once, a long time ago, it had ended in tears for her as she had fled to the toilets and shut herself into a cubicle. This time his treachery made her gasp, straighten and regain her concentration, preparing herself to speak. She focused again on his words, annoyed that her thoughts and her attempt to regain a calm state of mind had made her miss part of what he was saying.