by Jodi Taylor
‘Yes, I understand that vivid dreams are a side-effect, both during and after the coma.’
‘Very vivid.’
‘Did you ever feel the dreams were more real than reality itself? That the dreams were real and reality was a dream?’
‘Yes, very much so. It’s unnerving.’
‘I imagine it must be. If it’s any consolation, firstly, it’s normal for this experience and secondly, they will slowly cease, if they haven’t already begun to do so.’
‘Yes, it’s nowhere near as bad as it was.’
‘Tell me, you’re the first patient I’ve ever had with this particular condition, were they narrative dreams? Was there a story? Or a connected theme? Or just the usual jumbled collection of thoughts and experiences?’
‘Oh, definitely narrative. I’m not saying each one carried on from the previous dream, but there was certainly a common theme.’
‘Really? That’s most interesting. How much of them can you remember?’
‘Less and less as time passes, but there are some highlights – if that’s the word I want – that I’m never going to forget.’
‘Can you give me an idea?’
Leon stared into the middle distance, eyes unfocused and his voice as far away as his thoughts. ‘Lights. Voices. Rain. A shouting crowd. But not hostile. My clothes are stiff and heavy. People around me. I know them. Glittering fabric. Mist. Waiting.’ He frowned. ‘Buildings. A town.’
‘Do you know where you are?’
‘Scotland.’
Dr Knox sat back thoughtfully. ‘How very interesting. Do you know when?’
Old training dies hard. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, this is fascinating. We’ll leave it for now, Mr Farrell, but I hope to pick this up again, soon.’
I was a little surprised he let it drop, but Leon nodded, leaned back and closed his eyes. A few seconds later, he was asleep. I looked at Dr Knox, who laughed ruefully and said, ‘Am I that boring?’
‘He does this sometimes. He’ll be back in about twenty minutes, and he just picks up where he left off.’
He smiled. ‘He’s lucky to have you.’
‘Finally! A doctor I can agree with.’
‘Shall we step outside? It’s lovely in the garden and then we won’t disturb him.’
He was right. The little walled garden was lovely. Thickly planted with roses, lavender, geraniums, and others I couldn’t name. A little gravel path led to a small fountain. The tinkle of water and a lazily droning bee were the only sounds I could hear.
We sat at a small table.
‘Yes, I love my garden and thought it would be nicer for us both if we fenced out here.’
‘Fenced?’
‘I’ve had a telephone conversation with Dr Foster, who says under no circumstances am I to allow myself to be intimidated by you, and, I warn you now, if you start to get out of hand, I will hit you with a chair. Just so you know.’
‘Duly noted.’
‘I gather he’s not the only one who’s had a tough time recently.’
Not hearing a question, I didn’t reply.
‘What happened to your face?’
‘I was attacked. All healed up now.’
‘Yes, you can barely see the scars any more.’
‘And soon, you won’t be able to see them at all.’
‘Is that what they told you?’
I was certain my expression didn’t change for even a fraction of a second, but I felt the skin tighten around my eyes. I did not like this man. The smiling charm had disappeared and something else had taken its place.
Forcing myself to smile, I said, ‘Oh, I never make the mistake of believing anything doctors tell me.’
‘How wise,’ he said lightly and now the gloves were off. I felt a bit like David and Goliath and unfortunately, this time, Goliath just rolled right over the top of me.
‘So, tell me about your family.’
‘I’m afraid I haven’t seen them for some time.’
‘Why would you be afraid? Do you regret you haven’t seen them for some time, or do you fear your family?’
‘Neither.’
‘Then why say you’re afraid?’
‘A figure of speech I utilised to soften the blow.’
‘The blow?’
‘You make your living by restoring people to what you consider to be normal behaviour, an occupation I consider to be irrelevant at best and dangerous at worst. Naturally, I’m far too polite to say so and was simply attempting to convey my – lack of faith – in your profession without hurting your feelings.’
‘I’m not sure you achieved your objective, but you must be accustomed to failure.’
‘Oddly enough, making a practice of avoiding the medical profession, politicians, bankers, and similar people has given me a healthy relationship with success.’
‘You have a strange definition of success. You have no contact with your family, were nearly expelled from school on several occasions, there are multiple disciplinary sheets on your file, you are unable to form close relationships, no husband, no children – no living children, I should say – and yet you consider yourself successful. Do you think others share this view? Dr Bairstow for instance?’
‘I have no idea. Perhaps you should ask him.’
‘Perhaps you should consider who sent you here.’
I felt the ground fall away beneath my feet. Surely, Dr Bairstow wouldn’t … If I trusted anyone in this world … Everything I’d ever known … Everything I’d built my life around … Old insecurities never go away. They just lurk in the background ready to jump out when you least expect them … And when you least need them …
We stared at each other for a while. The bee staggered groggily past.
And then, having goaded me into unwise speech and undermined the foundations of my entire world, he switched again, and the smiling charmer was back.
‘Well, you do give as good as you get, don’t you? I wouldn’t want to cross your path on a dark night,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Don’t worry. All done.’
Slowly, I let myself relax, leaning back in my seat. I could feel sweat in the small of my back. I closed my eyes and felt the sun on my face. It was all very peaceful.
‘Does he know you’re a cold-blooded, murdering bitch?’
My eyes flew open. I lurched forwards. He was scribbling in a file, a small smile on his face. He looked up. ‘What?’
‘What …? What did you say?’
‘I said, “Don’t worry. All done.”’ His eyes slid past me. ‘Ah, Mr Farrell, you’re with us again.’
Shit, shit, shit …
My innards turned to ice. I stood up. He was standing just inside the French windows. He looked shocked and disoriented. I hoped to God that it was only because he’d woken up suddenly in a strange place.
I needed to get away. Averting my face, I said, ‘Will you be OK here, on your own?’
He didn’t speak, but nodded.
‘I’ll see you later, then.’
He made no reply and I made a huge mistake. I turned and walked away. I should have stayed and toughed it out, but everyone’s wise with hindsight.
I nodded to Dr Knox, who was looking at me in a way I didn’t much care for, and left as quickly as I could. I spent about twenty minutes wandering around the gardens until I felt a little calmer and returned to the main building.
Back in my luxurious room, and mindful of Dr Bairstow’s instructions, I decided to try out the bathroom facilities. I had a long, hot shower, anointing myself liberally with all the expensive unguents I could find, a few of which I subsequently discovered to have been mouthwash. I took my time, basking in the unexpected luxury of it all, and pushing the events of the afternoon to the back of my mind.
Relaxed and tranquil once more, I wafted back into the bedroom in a cloud of fragrant steam, let down my hair, and brushed it out with long, slow strokes. I took my time, remembering some things, anticipating others, thinking thoughts. Occa
sionally, I grinned to myself.
I caught one last glimpse in the mirror. Even I had to admit I didn’t look too bad – flushed cheeks (from the shower, obviously), bright-eyed and ready to go.
I heard movements in the next room. He was back. Carefully arranging the towel so it would easily fall away, I took a deep breath, lifted my chin and stepped through the connecting door.
He was on the bed reading, propped up on pillows. We looked at each other.
I let the towel fall.
The silence went on for far too long.
After a while, it dawned on me that I wasn’t being fallen upon. Doubt and uncertainty crashed down upon me. He didn’t move at all. I felt a cold that had nothing to do with being naked. What had he heard? Or worse, what was he seeing?
Suddenly, I saw myself through his eyes. Not young any more. Not old, but definitely not young. Scars everywhere, thickening waist and hips, cellulite, stretch marks.
For God’s sake. What had I been thinking?
He spoke.
He said, ‘I don’t think so, Dr Maxwell, do you?’ and returned to his book.
I was still standing like a pillar of salt. I hadn’t moved. I couldn’t move. I had to move. Move, you stupid pillock, Maxwell. Are you waiting for him to change his mind? Move!
No power on earth could have made me bend and pick up that towel. Holding tight to the doorknob, I stepped back and closed the door behind me. After a moment, I locked it. After another moment, I remembered to breathe in.
Hanging off the back of the door was a towelling dressing-gown. Soft and fluffy, like the towels. I put it on and buried myself in its warm depths. There was water in a small chiller and with shaking hands I poured myself a glass. I sat on the bed and leaned back against the headboard. Somewhere in the building, something chimed. Two o’clock. Nap time for the kiddies! I started to think again, but before I could do anything, I heard Dr Knox’s voice in the corridor. I grabbed a paperback and lay back.
He knocked. I didn’t answer. He knocked again. I called sleepily, ‘Come in.’
He stuck his head round the door. ‘I’m sorry. Did I wake you?’
There’s something inside me that responds to an emotional crisis. I smiled guilelessly. ‘No, just dropping off.’ My voice was perfectly calm and my hands quite steady.
‘Well, I’ll leave you in peace. Have you seen Mr Farrell at all?’
‘I think I heard him moving around next door about ten minutes ago.’
‘Ah, he’s back safely then. I’ll leave you both in peace and see you at dinner this evening.’ He closed the door quietly behind him.
I sprang off the bed, opened the door a crack and watched him stride off and round the corner, talking on his phone. Shutting the door, I thought for a moment. I was out of here! My first thought was to do the thing with the pillows so it would look as if I was still in bed, but that never looks real. Besides, this was a loony-bin. Admittedly, their clientele only consisted of the industrial, religious, and political leaders of our nation so they wouldn’t be expecting too much in the way of brains, but I was sure they’d be a bit more rigorous than that with their checks.
I scattered stuff around the room, pulled the bedclothes back and laid the dressing gown untidily across the bed. I hid the Red House sweats in the wardrobe and dressed in my own clothes. The car keys were on the dressing table. Of course, they’d given them back to the driver, not the owner. Good for them.
At the door, I turned and checked the room. It really did look as if I’d just got up, but not gone far. They’d waste a few minutes thinking I was in the bathroom, then maybe some more time looking around the building – I might have gone to explore. They might even search the grounds before thinking to check the gate. I know, voluntary patient and all that, but I didn’t mind betting that, when the chips were down, Knox would find some way of keeping me here, and it was a nice place – I really didn’t want to have to torch it.
The corridors were deserted, patients in bed, staff putting their feet up and having a cuppa. I tripped lightly down the stairs, car keys swinging from one finger and stopped at the desk. The orderly, Paul, wasn’t there and I was sorely tempted to keep on going, but I didn’t. He came back with a file.
‘Can I help you, Dr Maxwell?’
‘Yes, do I need to sign out?’
‘You’re leaving us so soon?’
‘Well, I stayed until he fell asleep. While I think of it, can you tell me what the visiting hours are, please?’
He handed me a small brochure. ‘Visiting details on the back.’
‘Thanks, this is just what I need.’
‘If you give me your keys, I’ll get the car brought round for you, miss.’
No, no, no, no …
‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’
He disappeared. I heard voices.
Come on, come on. I was sick with anxiety.
He reappeared. ‘If you could sign here, please.’
I signed out and put the time. ‘Are there contact details in this brochure?’
‘Yes, on the back. You can telephone at any time; someone will always be available. You can’t call him directly, of course, no mobiles allowed to our guests, but there are patient telephones, so he’ll be able to telephone you.’
‘Excellent.’
‘Anything else, miss?’
‘No, I think that covers just about everything.’
Come on, come on. All it would take would be for any member of the medical staff to walk across the hall.
‘Here’s your car, miss. Safe journey.’
‘Thank you. See you tomorrow.’
The hell they would.
As I turned away, he pressed a button on his call set. I guessed it was to tell the gate to let me through. I was so glad I hadn’t just walked out. I’d never have got through the gate. I walked slowly down the steps. An orderly handed me the keys.
‘Thank you. See you soon.’
I climbed in. The car started easily and I trundled slowly down the drive. My heart was thumping a little, but the gates opened for me. No one prevented my leaving. I eased the car out into the road and was away.
Now, I could allow the hot, bitter humiliation to roll over me in waves.
I don’t think so, Dr Maxwell, do you?
I swallowed bitter bile and fled back to St Mary’s. I wanted to be home, to pull the comforting routine around me like an old blanket and bury my head and cry.
I was roused from this unpleasant state of self-pity by a big bump. I’d drifted too far to the side of the road and hit something on the verge. It made me start thinking properly. I wasn’t going to slink, pitiful and sobbing back to St Mary’s. I was going to do what I always did in a catastrophe. I was going to do some damage.
I took the next turning to Rushford and pulled into the multi-storey car park. There was a hairdresser’s just over the road and yes, they could do me now. I told them what I wanted and settled back while they got on with it. I left the salon with a tiny, chic little ponytail bouncing and swinging as I walked. I loved it. Female historians have yards of hair. It’s in the rules and regs. This was about as radical as I could get and still not be handed my P45. I got out of Rushford without much mishap and headed for St Mary’s.
Now for Stage Two. I waited until I was off the main road – I didn’t want to be arrested until I’d finished. For starters, I ran the car up onto the grass verge. There were several bangs as it connected with boulders and branches, but there didn’t seem to be a great deal of damage. Curse this superb German engineering!
I changed down to second, put my foot down, and watched the rev counter climb. By now, even I could hear the engine complain. However, it was whingeing in German and I was listening in English, so much good it did.
I don’t think so, Dr Maxwell, do you?
Two very large boulders blocked the entrance to a forest track. I pulled up and reversed back into them a couple of times. That felt good. There were tinkly noises. There were
some very satisfying graunchy noises. I turned around and drove into them front first. More noises. I pulled alongside the poor abused boulders and slammed the driver’s door into them a couple of times. By now, I was getting hot and tired. It took several goes to inflict any sort of damage at all to the door panel. Bloody Germans!
I got out and looked at the results so far. Lights gone on one side, boot caved in. Ditto the front. Water dripped down into a puddle, so the radiator was shot. The driver’s door – finally – was nicely dented.
I frowned. Not a lot to show for all that effort. I picked up a rock and chucked it at the back windscreen. It just bounced off. Unbelievable! In a spurt of temper, I raised it above my head and hurled it with all my might. The glass crazed. That would have to do.
I had another idea. Pulling the travel rug off the back seat. I tugged on the bonnet catch. Using the rug, I got the oil cap off. The engine did start, but it definitely wasn’t as enthusiastic as it had been. I shoved it into gear and we clanked our way down the road. Lights on the dashboard winked and flashed. Not my problem. I think I’d lost a part of the exhaust somewhere along the way, because by now we sounded like a tank, and something was dragging along the road behind me. There was the odd spark. Steam hissed from under the bonnet. Black smoke billowed from somewhere and there was a bit of a funny smell. Probably because I was still in second gear.
People came out to stare as I drove through the village.
I drove nonchalantly up the road and through the gates, waving cheerfully at Mr Strong’s worried face. The engine was really straining as we crawled up the drive. The noise was tremendous. Still, not much further now.
I don’t think so, Dr Maxwell, do you?
Over to my right I could see the Friday afternoon football match had halted through lack of interest. Everyone was watching me instead. Even the Boss was out on his balcony. I suspected there had been telephone calls. I couldn’t see the expression on his face. At the end of the drive, I should turn left and go round the side of the building to the car park.
I turned right.
The car was now making legitimate complaints in a language even I could understand. We banged along the terrace. There were a few people sitting at the tables watching the game and enjoying the sunshine. They stared, mouths open.