The Division Bell Trilogy

by Rachel McLean

  But they weren’t finished. Sally had stood up and was in the process of dragging her chair back.

  “Sally, what are you doing?” Mark asked.

  “What does it look like?”

  “It looks like you’re trying to leave the group.”

  She barked out a laugh. “Yes. Well done. How can I accept the support of this lot? You’re scum, the lot of you.” She pointed at Paula. “Her, and her bloody lefty organisation.” Then she moved her finger to Bel. “Her, fucking terrorist. And this one,” she was staring at Maryam now, “who hid her little terrorist friends. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

  “Now then, Sally,” urged Mark, approaching her. “Let’s not—”

  “Oh, fuck off,” she said. “I don’t want any part of this. Put me in with my own kind.”

  Jennifer saw Mark swallowing. “Come back, Sally. Rejoin the group. That’s not a request.”

  She sneered at him. “How are you going to make me?”

  He headed towards the door. A panic button had been installed since Rita’s outburst; if he hit it, the orderlies would appear, ready for challenge.

  “Alright!” Sally shouted. “I’ll be a good girl.”

  Jennifer smiled. Sally was all talk.

  “Good,” said Mark. Sally had left her chair to approach him at the door and so he nipped around her and grabbed it, placing it back with the group. This time, it was where it should be: between Maryam and the empty chair for Rita.

  “Well done, everyone,” said Mark. “That’s it for today. Let’s move all the chairs back to the centre for the next group before we leave.”

  He walked out, Sally staring after him with incredulity. She stormed out behind him, not moving any chairs.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The room was damp, and smelt of stale urine. Rita slept on a thin bed wedged into a corner next to a sink that was stained with years of water deposits. On the other side of the room, just inches from the foot of her bed, was a toilet. She guessed this had been a bathroom once. Now it was a cell. The floors and walls were covered in black and white tiles that made her voice echo when she shouted out and her fists smart when she drummed them against the cold porcelain.

  From time to time she heard movement outside the door. She huddled into herself whenever someone passed, hugging her knees to her chest as she sat on the bed. Waiting. But four times out of five the footsteps would pass and she’d be left alone.

  At first the orderlies had come frequently, sometimes to bring her food, sometimes to punish her. Her arms ached from being yanked from the bed. Her ribs bruised from the punches that Tim had landed on her.

  “You’re like a feral animal,” he’d told her. “It would be kinder to put you down.”

  His words made her tremble. No-one knew she was here. She wondered what her group thought of her being taken away like that. If they were relieved to be rid of her, or if they were asking where she was. She doubted it. They were better off without her.

  The only people who came were the four orderlies. Sometimes it was Tim and Roy, but sometimes – thank God – it was Leroy and Mary. She’d been startled to see a female orderly, and wondered how she felt about keeping all these women in order. But Mary had been businesslike. Making it clear that she’d go easy on Rita if she cooperated.

  And cooperate she did. Terrified of more beatings, she’d behaved like a meek child every time the door had opened. Shivering on her bed, she’d wait until she knew what they were here for, then do just as they asked. She hated herself for it. But her body couldn’t take any more punishment.

  Right now she was lying on the bed, trying to sleep. The room was dimly lit twenty-four hours a day, making it difficult to judge night and day. Sleep eluded her; it was hard to relax when that door could open at any moment. She clenched her eyes shut, willing herself to sleep. She needed it; her body needed to repair itself, and her mind needed a route out of the torment.

  There was a sound beyond the door. She lifted her head from the thin pillow, torn between fear and fatigue. There it was again, the sound of a foot moving on the floor outside. Its owner was standing still, not walking, but shuffling, as if waiting to come in.

  She sprang upwards and backed towards the corner, pulling her knees up. Her clothes felt damp and grubby and her hair fell in greasy shards in front of her face. She tried to tuck it into her collar.

  The door opened and she held her breath, hoping it wouldn’t be Tim. She was sure he enjoyed hurting her.

  It wasn’t Tim. It was Dr Clarke. She let relief wash over her, immediately replaced by anger.

  “Why have you put me here?” she said. She’d been trying to shout but her voice was hoarse and dull. She gulped in air and then gagged; this room stank.

  He wrinkled his nose, glancing at the toilet.

  “I’ve come to see how you are,” he said. He closed the door behind him and kept a hand on the doorknob.

  “I’m not going to attack you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she muttered.

  He didn’t move. “How are you, Rita?”

  “How do you think I am? Your thugs have been beating me up and I’ve been shut in here for goodness knows how long. And you want to know how I am.”

  He sighed. “You look terrible.”

  “Of course I bloody look terrible.”

  There was a pale patch over the sink where a mirror had once been, but it had long since been ripped off the wall, the only evidence the spots where the plaster had come away. But she didn’t need a mirror to know how she looked. Sleep deprived, unwashed and miserable.

  “Have you been behaving yourself?”

  She gulped. “Yes.” It was true. Or at least, it had been for the last few visits.

  He arched an eyebrow. “I’ve heard otherwise.”

  She shrugged. “I’ve seen the error of my ways. Ask Leroy. He’s been in here the last few times. I’ve been good. Done as he said.”

  “And what has he said?”

  She frowned. Didn’t he know? “I dunno. Stay there, don’t move. Eat this. Use the toilet. The sink. There’s no water supply, you know.”

  He nodded, his nose wrinkling. “I’ll see if I can get that fixed.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier just to let me out?”

  She willed herself to stay calm. Angry outbursts hadn’t helped so far; maybe reason would. But she couldn’t bring herself to roll over and do everything this man said.

  He stepped towards her, his eyes on her hands. She tucked them under her legs and pulled closer in to the wall. The tiles were cold, with a thin layer of mould. If she hadn’t already got pneumonia, she would soon.

  “Take a seat,” she said, nodding towards the end of the bed. He hesitated then perched on it, brushing his hands on his trousers.

  “Ask the orderlies,” she said. “I admit I fought them when I got here – no more than they fought me, mind. A lot less. But now I’m being a good girl.”

  “Your tone won’t work with me, Rita.”

  “This is as good as I can do.”

  “I know. That’s what bothers me.”

  She reached deep inside herself. Did she have the capacity to become a meek creature for him? Could she play that game? And if she did, would it work? She thought of Jennifer, playing along, doing everything he asked her. Calling him Mark. Look where that had got her.

  She shook her head. “Sorry.”

  He stood up, looking more sad than angry.

  “I need to see more evidence of good behaviour. I need you to sort out your attitude towards me. Then maybe we can go back to having a couple of one-to-one sessions. See how you get on.”

  “I need to get out of here. Can’t you see what they’re doing to me? Those dogs you call orderlies?”

  He didn’t look at her.

  “Prove yourself to me, Rita.”

  He didn’t wait for her answer. Instead, he made for the door, not looking back while he closed and locked it. She stared at it, wishing she knew what to
do.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Their little table was like an island of stillness surrounded by the motion of other inmates shifting around the dining room. Women came and went, picking up their breakfast, eating and then heading out again.

  But Jennifer, Maryam, Bel and Paula stayed put, huddled at a table against a wall. It was set slightly apart from the others, in an alcove. The enclosed space still smelt of institutional cooking, as did the whole room.

  Sally had taken a seat with another group across the room from them, refusing even to return their stares. That was fine with Jennifer, and she imagined the rest of the group felt the same.

  Finally the room was empty. Members of the kitchen team emerged from behind the closed hatches, wiping down tables and sweeping floors. From time to time a puzzled glance would be sent in their direction, but nobody asked them to move. Even the sole remaining orderly stood quietly at the door. She was new; Jennifer hadn’t spotted her before and guessed she didn’t want to make trouble on her first day.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Maryam. “We have to find her somehow.”

  Paula nodded. “Maybe we can search the building. She has to be somewhere.”

  Bel was sitting quietly next to Jennifer. She hadn’t said much during breakfast and only spoke when directly addressed. Her eyes had regained some clarity but the repetitive movements were beginning to return. She kept raising her hand to her forehead and scratching it, putting it down on the table, then doing it all over again a few seconds later.

  Paula turned to her. “Bel, where did they put you, when you were in the infirmary? Was it an infirmary?” She blushed. “Sorry.”

  Bel shrugged. “We don’t mean to pry,” said Maryam. “But if you can help us find out where Rita is, that would be a big help.”

  Bel shrugged. “It was a kind of hospital ward. Smaller. Just two beds.”

  Jennifer swallowed. She’d seen this room. But she waited for Bel to finish speaking.

  “There was a nurse. She was nice. Gave me medicine.” Bel scratched her forehead again and slumped back against the wall. The bench seat shuddered.

  Jennifer nodded. “I’ve seen it. It’s on the first floor, near the back.” She eyed her companions. “Are any of you on that corridor? Right at the back, looking out over the bushes behind the kitchens.”

  She and Paula were on the left side of the house. All Jennifer could see was an expanse of lawn bordered by a long hedge. No paths or shrubberies, just an expanse of green.

  “Me,” said Maryam. “My room’s in the far right corner, at the back.”

  Jennifer considered. Maybe Maryam would be able to sneak out of her room at night, make another check on the infirmary? She thought of the room when she had stumbled upon it, the empty bed and the nurse who had raised an eyebrow when she saw Jennifer open the door. She had shooed her away like a naughty child.

  “I don’t think she’ll be in there, but it’s worth another look. Do you think you can get out of your room at night?”

  Maryam shrugged. “Depends on my roommates. I wouldn’t want them hearing me, raising the alarm.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Three. We’re in bunks. Aren’t you the same?”

  Jennifer blushed and glanced at Paula. “No. I’m with Paula and Mandy. We’ve got three single beds, squashed in together.”

  “Oh. OK, I can try to get out, take a look. The orderlies come past every two hours in the night. I can listen out for them, then count the minutes till it’s safe.”

  Jennifer squeezed her arm. “Don’t take any risks.”

  Maryam twirled her hair between her fingers, a casual gesture that Jennifer hadn’t seen before. “I won’t.”

  Paula was frowning. “I can’t see the point. If you’ve already been up there and checked, and she’s not there, then why should she be now?”

  Jennifer shrugged. “I don’t know. But surely we have to try something. I’m not leaving this place until we find her.”

  Paula snorted. “I don’t think they’re in any hurry to let you go.”

  Jennifer felt her cheeks redden. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “Lying isn’t going to get you through Celebration a second time, you know.”

  Jennifer changed the subject. “Look. She could be in the basement. The only times I go down there are for my one-to-ones. What about you?”

  The others shrugged. “Same,” said Maryam. “And the door to the stairway gets locked in the evening.”

  Jennifer sighed. Rita would most likely be somewhere in that basement – if she was still in the building – but how would they ever get to her?

  “Our only alternative is to badger Mark until he lets something slip.”

  Paula snorted again. “Fine chance of that.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure. I think I can work on him.”

  Maryam stiffened and Paula raised an eyebrow. Bel added a murmur to her routine of scratching her forehead. Jennifer looked at her, wishing she could help pull her back from wherever she was.

  “How’s that?” asked Paula, her voice sharp.

  Jennifer surveyed the group. How much could she tell them? Maryam had smoothed her hair down and Paula was looking over Jennifer’s shoulder towards the door. Eager to find Mandy, no doubt.

  These women were her friends now, her allies. Step three of the programme mandated that they should accept each other’s support, but she hadn’t known what that meant. Until now.

  “OK.” She licked her lips. “He offered to help me.”

  Paula scoffed. “Of course he bloody did. That’s his job.”

  “No. I mean help me cheat Celebration.” She hesitated. “At least, that’s what I think he was saying.”

  Paula’s eyes were on her, hard and untrusting. “He’s lying to you.”

  She shrugged. “Probably. But at least it means I’ve been able to talk to him. He opened up to me about himself. Told me about his son.”

  Paula shook her head. “You mean Olivier, the one in Canada?”

  She blushed. “Yes.”

  “Yeah. He uses that one on all of us. Thinks that by telling us how sad he is without his little boy,” – she said this in a mocking tone – “we’ll tell him all our secrets.”

  Jennifer felt like a burst balloon. “Oh.” She thought about the visit from Catherine. Had Mark arranged that? Had he been trying to help her? Or had it all been Catherine’s doing, or a coincidence?

  Somehow getting to Catherine, getting her help, felt like the answer. But then she remembered Catherine’s tone when she visited. I can’t do it again, she had said. If she wasn’t prepared to stick her neck out for Jennifer, then she certainly wouldn’t for Rita.

  And she wasn’t ready to talk about Catherine with her new friends. Not yet. She was too confused, too curious to know what was happening with Catherine, how Jennifer’s own arrest had impacted on her. They had agreed to work together, to attack Trask. But then Samir had been arrested, mobiles buzzing in the Commons Chamber, and it had all gone sour.

  “Come on, ladies. Out now.”

  The new orderly was behind them, her hand resting lightly on Paula’s chair. She shifted her weight between her feet and didn’t look them in the eye. Jennifer looked at her and then caught Maryam’s eye; maybe this new orderly could be a way in?

  But not yet, when she was so new, and had no information. Give her a day or two – long enough to know where Rita was but not long enough to lose that greenness – and they could ask.

  They shuffled to their feet. They didn’t need to clear their trays; one of the kitchen staff had whisked them away already, cleaning the table top while the four of them watched in silence. They gave each other pats and light touches on the arm, small gestures of reassurance. Of hope.

  Jennifer sighed and headed for the stairs.

  “It’s my one-to-one in a bit,” she told the others. “I’ll try asking him, see what he’ll tell me. You never know.”

  Paula shook her
head and Maryam gave her an encouraging smile. Bel was already at the door, her back to Jennifer. Her feet scraped along the floor, the sound echoing in the empty dining room.

  She turned towards the basement stairwell and settled in on the plastic chair outside Mark’s office. She was early today and would have to wait for the woman ahead of her to come out and give her the nod that meant she could go in. She had the same contact with this woman twice a week, a pale-skinned, waif-like woman whose long grey hair was tinged with white streaks. They never spoke or asked each other’s names; the only communication was that nod.

  The woman emerged, nodding as usual. Jennifer smiled at her.

  “Hello,” she said.

  The woman’s eyes widened. This wasn’t the way it was done. “Er, hello,” she replied, and scurried off towards the staircase.

  Jennifer shrugged. At least she’d made the effort.

  She went in to find Mark standing under the window, looking up and out. The day was dull and his office was bathed in a patchy grey light that made its position underground even more stark than usual.

  He turned at the sound of the door opening. “Good morning. How are you today?”

  She stood with her back to the door, not taking her seat. “Still worried about Rita.”

  He rolled his eyes. “That again. Look, I promise you I’m doing all I can. You have to be patient. Just bear with me.”

  He moved to his desk and picked up a copy of the programme booklet. “Now, let’s work on Step Three.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “Well, I rather think that the point is that if you can work through the steps and complete the programme, you’ll be able to leave here.”

  “Don’t give me that.” She stepped towards him, looking down on his head which was bent over the desk. He didn’t look up, but she could see the muscles in the back of his neck tensing. “You’ve already told me that you’ll help me get out. I’ve told you that I won’t accept your help until Rita is back with us. What have you done with her?”