The Girl Behind the Gates

by Brenda Davies

  ‘I think we could go on planning for ever,’ says Janet. ‘But I believe we’ve done all we can and just need to get through this last little while. Let’s hope it goes smoothly.’ Janet looks around the table. ‘OK – anything else?’

  There’s lots of shaking of heads and nods of agreement.

  ‘So, I guess that’s just about it. Thanks, everybody. I’ll be seeing her later and, if there’s anything, I’ll make sure everybody’s involved. Got to dash now, though, I want to see Nora and I’ve got outpatients too.’

  Fired up by the team meeting, Janet has high hopes for a good session with Nora, the plan for today being to talk about the details of discharge and thereafter. However, as soon as they sit down, it is clear that Nora is in a strange mood. She doesn’t want to hear anything about the group home or the arrangements that are being made, or even new shopping expeditions that Janet had hoped would be fun.

  Janet can’t help feeling a little irritated. ‘Nora, I know you’re scared, but you really need to play an active part in all of this. We’re trying to ensure that you have all the support you need and that any questions you have can be answered. So, the more we can talk about it, the better.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she says, an unusually petulant tone to her voice.

  ‘All right. What do you want to talk about?’

  The silence lengthens and Janet’s irritation subsides as she watches Nora’s face. Compassion wins. ‘Nora, deep down you know how to do this. You knew when you were a girl. You knew how to think, make decisions – how to live. And somewhere, you still know how. Now you have to have the courage to remember. I’m not saying it isn’t hard. I think it’s a very courageous thing to be doing and you should be proud of yourself for getting this far. You can do it—’

  ‘I can’t,’ Nora snaps.

  ‘Yes, you can,’ Janet says firmly. ‘Nora, you can live again, or stay where people have put you – and I don’t mean Hillinghurst. I mean in that place inside you where you hide. That place is too small for you now. You’ve outgrown it and you need to come out.’

  Nora casts her eyes down. ‘It’s safer here.’

  ‘Not any longer. Not now you know a new way.’ Janet smiles, knowing that what she’s about to say is manipulative, but on this occasion the means justify the end. ‘And not now you have your music back . . .’

  Nora frowns. ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘Maybe not. But sometimes life isn’t fair.’ Janet pauses, watching and willing Nora to take the leap. ‘If you don’t grab it now you have the chance, you’ll be doing yourself an injustice. Those who used to abuse you have gone. The war’s over. Don’t become your own abuser. If you don’t step out now, you’ll have missed your opportunity. But it’s your choice.’

  ‘But you’re forcing me, so it isn’t my choice.’

  Janet scans Nora’s frightened face. ‘You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry. I’ll try not to put any more pressure on you and just be here.’

  Nora’s eyes widen in surprise. ‘But I want you to . . .’

  ‘Nora, you can’t have it both ways.’

  This is the make-or-break moment. Janet needs to step back and swallow her own earnest desire for this woman to stand up and walk out. In the end, it’s not her business, even though her heart aches. But she can’t help herself from giving one last push, all the while praying that she won’t get it wrong.

  ‘OK, Nora. It’s fine. Let’s close for today,’ she says, her voice cold and hard.

  ‘But—’

  ‘No. It’s enough now. It’s fine. No problem. Come on, let’s go.’ And she looks at her watch and smiles distantly. She hates what she’s having to do. ‘Come on, Nora,’ she says sharply. ‘I have someone to see at the outpatient clinic. I’ll see you on Wednesday, at our usual time.’

  Nora looks alarmed, sad, confused. Janet breathes, praying that this paradoxical intervention will work. She stands and busies herself, stacking the notes on her desk, unable to look at Nora any longer. She turns and glances back. Nora is still seated. ‘Nora,’ she says, her voice louder, her tone cold. ‘It’s time. I need to go to outpatients.’

  Nora finally stands, her back bent into the old curve.

  ‘And don’t slouch,’ Janet says. ‘It makes you look old.’ She turns away once more and waits for the door to close. But when she turns back, Nora is still standing there. ‘Nora, I’m late,’ she says impatiently. ‘I have to go now.’

  Nora leaves without another word.

  A few hours later, Janet is sitting in her office writing up outpatient notes when she’s interrupted by a firm knock on the door. The person doesn’t wait for her response to open it.

  ‘Janet,’ the staff nurse looks harassed. ‘You’re needed on Rowan – urgently – a problem with Nora. Extension 372.’

  Anxiety rises like a volcano in Janet’s chest and she struggles to maintain her calm, cool exterior. ‘Thanks,’ she says, turning away and picking up the phone. ‘Hi Ellen – what’s the problem?’

  She listens, her face frozen with her mouth slightly open. ‘I’m coming.’

  She bangs down the phone and she’s caught for a split second in a freeze-frame before adrenaline surges and she’s sprinting, taking the shortest route between the outpatient building and Rowan. She slides a little on the lawn, startling a couple of patients who are enjoying the winter sunshine, then swiftly corners on the footpath that leads to the ward.

  Janet crashes through the doors. ‘Where is she?’ she shouts to one of the nurses.

  ‘In her room—’

  And Janet keeps on running. She arrives sweating and breathless to find Ellen and one of the nurses outside Nora’s door.

  ‘Don’t know what she’s got up against the door, but we can’t get in.’ As their eyes meet, Janet knows this is exactly what Ellen had feared would happen. Janet pauses, catching her breath and steadying herself so that her guilt and concern don’t show in her voice. She can only imagine how angry and frightened Nora must be that she’s regressed to the adolescent who was admitted all those years ago. She can hear the rare sound of Nora crying, and her heart aches.

  When she feels that she can talk normally, Janet takes one last, deep breath and knocks on the door. ‘Nora. It’s me. Let me in, please. We can sort out whatever’s going on. Come on – let me in.’

  The sound of crying subsides and the voice, when it comes, is muffled, but there’s no mistaking the anger it contains. ‘Go away.’

  Janet softens her voice as much as she can. ‘Nora – it’s OK. Please. Come on. Let me in.’ As she waits and hopes, a memory tugs at her mind.

  She’s sixteen and her body hurts from the beating of the previous night. She’s angry. Very angry, and no matter how much it hurts, she drags everything she can and stuffs it against the door, then sits on the floor, her back against the upended chair she used to complete the barricade. Then, finally, the tears come, and she shakes with that powerful mixture of rage and impotence, until at last she’s spent. She chose to do this while there was no one else in the house to hear her, apologise to her, beat her, plead with her to come out or in any way cheat her of this release. What she needed to know is that she could do it. A wave of humiliation threatens to drown her as she realises the futility of her protest – but then she allows a little ripple of pride to creep in. She did it, and she knows now that she will be fine. Stiff and painful as she is, she drags one piece of furniture after the other back to where they belong. She remakes her bed, hangs her clothes back in the wardrobe and sits down. She initially feels even more helplessness than before, but then she stands up and walks out and switches on her music and starts to dance.

  Nora’s voice pulls her back to the moment. ‘Go away,’ she shouts. ‘I don’t need you.’

  Janet, relieved at the strength of Nora’s voice, breathes easier, though her heart still pounds at the vividness of the memory she just relived. She places her trembling hand against the door. ‘I know. But let’s talk a
bit. Can I come in?’ The pause of a few seconds feels interminable.

  ‘No!’

  There’s another tense pause. Janet holds her breath and exchanges a worried glance with Ellen. ‘Nora, open the door.’ She leans her face towards it. ‘Nora, come on.’

  The sound of movement from within the room floods Janet with relief. Then the sound of something heavy being dragged away from the door is replaced by silence. Janet pushes the door open and looks around the room, aghast. It must have taken some strength for a sixty-five-year-old woman to have shifted all four beds and lockers. All stand askew. Nora’s clothes are strewn around, some of them torn. Blood-spattered pillows and sheets lie wherever Nora has thrown them. There’s blood on the floor, Nora’s bed, the walls, and streaming from her left wrist as she stands in a corner, head up, pale, angry and defiant. Good. Not the victim lying on the floor. Janet glances quickly at the bleeding wrist and, though she feels that her heart will break, she knows that she has to push this through now. Be strong, Janet. She approaches swiftly but carefully, all too aware that she can’t yet see the tool Nora has used. ‘Let me see your wrist.’

  Nora stands pale but defiant, her chin up and her eyes averted – not from the wound or the blood, Janet realises, but from her. She makes no attempt to stop Janet examining it, though. The horizontal cut is deep and needs to be sutured. ‘Ellen,’ Janet calls, willing her voice to remain steady. ‘We need a dressing tray.’

  Janet looks again at the wound. ‘Nora, we need to have this stitched. What did you use?’ Nora opens her right palm to reveal a bloody razor blade. Janet takes it and places it carefully out of reach. ‘Let’s get this seen to. Do you have anything else to hurt yourself with?’

  Nora shakes her head.

  ‘Good. You know we’ll have to do a search.’

  ‘There isn’t anything else,’ Nora says, her voice strong and unrepentant.

  Janet knows she now needs her own strong voice again. ‘How dare you behave like this? Like a spoiled child who didn’t get her own way. One of the nurses will dress your wrist, then we’ll have you off to casualty. You’ll clean this mess up yourself when you get back – no one else is going to do it for you. And if you want to stay here and revert to how you were, then that’s fine. But you’ll do it on your own.’

  As Janet turns, Nora shouts, ‘You should just have left me alone, but you’ve woken me up. And now you expect things from me. I can’t do this.’ Her voice descends to a whisper. ‘I’ll disappoint you, and then you’ll be just like everyone else.’

  Janet winces. Am I just like everyone else? A do-gooder who goes home to sleep at night? Someone who just walks away when things get too difficult to follow through?

  Nora’s energy seems to collapse, all the fight draining from her before Janet’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Janet,’ Nora mutters. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

  Janet sighs. ‘You don’t need to be sorry, Nora. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s just too late. Maybe you don’t have what it takes. Maybe I misjudged everything. We should just forget it and you can go back to being who you were. That’s just fine.’

  She can almost see the reality of the situation clicking into place in Nora’s head. And suddenly, Janet knows that it will all be OK.

  Nora stares into her eyes. ‘You did that on purpose, didn’t you?’ she says finally.

  ‘Who, me? Did what?’ Janet’s mouth curves into a smile. ‘I’ll give you a tip in case you ever need it – when someone is in a self-pitying mess, there are two ways of getting them out of it. One is to make them angry and the other is to make them laugh. Better still, use both.’

  Nora’s face is like thunder, but her anger gives way suddenly to a wan smile.

  ‘Feeling better now?’ Janet says.

  Nora nods.

  ‘You know what needs to happen next.’ Janet turns to one of the nurses standing by. ‘Caroline, there’s a blade there that needs to be disposed of,’ she says. ‘Would you have one of the nurses do a search, please? I’ll just do a quick referral letter, then we can get Nora to casualty.’

  Suddenly she feels shaky, and an overwhelming weariness assaults her. Without another word she walks directly to the nursing office, desperately trying not to cry. Only when she is through the door does she realise she is not alone, but it would be too awkward to leave now.

  Ellen looks up. Janet flops on a chair and closes her eyes and breathes. Please don’t say anything. Minutes pass and she feels the tension slowly ebb from her muscles.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ Ellen’s voice is soft and kind and perfectly timed.

  Janet nods with her eyes still closed, and Ellen bustles off to make it.

  With cup held in both hands to hide her tremor, Janet takes small, grateful sips, not ready yet to say anything. She knows that Ellen’s wise enough to give her time. Eventually, she sighs. ‘Let me write the referral, and then she’ll need transport.’

  ‘I’ll sort that,’ says Ellen, lifting the phone.

  ‘I was awful to her,’ Janet says.

  ‘No, you weren’t.’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘This could go on for ever,’ laughs Ellen.

  Janet drains her cup and places it on the desk. ‘I’m sure she can do it,’ she says.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ At last, Janet lifts her eyes to those of this nursing sister whom she trusts so much. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll watch her,’ Ellen says.

  Janet nods. ‘Best I go.’ It’s both a statement and a question.

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘OK.’ Janet stands, and suddenly the overwhelming weariness returns. ‘Do you think—?’

  ‘No,’ Ellen says firmly. ‘Go. Rest a bit. We’ll take care of things here.’

  ‘Of course you will.’ Janet smiles. ‘I have no doubt.’ And she walks out into the ward, and out into the clean air.

  Janet really could have done with an early night, but by seven o’clock she knows it’s not going to happen. Outpatients runs late and she can’t leave without completing the paperwork with Nora, who is now bandaged from fingers to forearm and looks shamefaced, but at least attempts a smile.

  ‘Shall we talk about it?’ says Janet.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ says Nora, though she avoids eye contact. ‘I cleaned up my room.’

  ‘Good. You know I have to ask some questions, so let’s get that bit out of the way. Are you ready?’

  She nods.

  ‘Did you want to kill yourself?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you want to kill yourself now?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you plan this?’

  ‘No.’

  Janet cocks her head on one side and looks at Nora from under her brows. ‘Yet you had a blade?’

  ‘I’ve had it for a very long time.’

  I won’t ask for how long. ‘Where did you hide it?’

  Nora avoids Janet’s eyes. ‘In the hem of the curtain.’

  ‘Clever . . .’ and Janet can’t hide a wry smile.

  ‘I hoped I’d never need it.’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘No. Well . . .’

  ‘Nora, you haven’t done this for nearly twenty years – at least, according to your notes.’

  ‘Sister Cummings beat me for doing it. I never did it again.’

  Janet reaches across and lays her finger on Nora’s right wrist. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘no one’s going to beat you now, but please don’t ever do it again. This is now a behaviour of the past.’

  She shakes her head and looks back at the form she has to complete. ‘Are you depressed?’ What a stupid list of questions.

  ‘No . . . Frightened, I think. But not depressed.’

  There’s a short pause and Janet looks at her keenly. ‘Why are you frightened, Nora? Is it just about leaving the hospital, or is there something else?’

  Nora stares at her for a moment, and looks unsure as to what she really wants to say. She drops her chin, then lifts her face again, her eyes on Ja
net’s.

  ‘That I’m too much for you. And that when I’m gone, you’ll forget me,’ she says, then drops her gaze till her eyes fix on the leg of Janet’s chair.

  Janet has to lower her own eyes for a moment. ‘I’ve told you before, Nora. I’ll never forget you. And you’re not too much for me, either. You could have asked me that without hurting yourself.’

  Nora nods. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You don’t have to keep saying sorry to me. I know it’s a difficult time, but I also know that you’ve come such a long way and it would be a shame to go backwards now.’ Enough said. ‘OK.’ Janet lightens the tone. ‘What have we learned?’

  ‘To think and talk and act rather than react,’ Nora recites.

  Janet nods.

  ‘To clarify confusion with questions.’

  Janet nods.

  ‘That I don’t need razor blades.’

  ‘No . . . You don’t shave, do you?’ And they both smile. It’s over.

  But Nora swiftly lowers her eyes again and Janet focuses on the crown of Nora’s bowed head. ‘Nora, why don’t you look at me?’ Slowly, she lifts her head. ‘When people who care for each other have an argument, or something difficult happens, ideally when they get to the point that both of them can say sorry, then it’s over. So, I’d like to say I’m sorry, too. Sorry that I scared you earlier and sorry that maybe I could have explained things better. And also that you felt the need to harm yourself. I want you to know that, for me, we are just where we were, except that we’ve both learned something. So now, we start just where we left off and I’ll see you tomorrow. OK?’

  Janet can feel Nora’s eyes searching her face, as though unable to believe her luck. Then slowly those green eyes moisten, and she looks twenty years younger. She doesn’t blink, though a couple of tears escape silently down her cheeks, and as Janet watches, she knows she did the right thing.

  ‘OK,’ Nora murmurs.

  Chapter Sixteen

  1987

  Forty-seven years

  The weeks pass in a flurry of activity, with Nora no longer a passive bystander but fully engaged in her own future. She’s visited the group home several times and has seen the room that’s going to be hers. She can hardly believe it. A room of her own! And tomorrow she will leave Hillinghurst for good. She’s done some packing – all her possessions fit into a small brown leather case – and she sits on her bed this last evening, hardly able to be still and yet simultaneously hardly daring to move. She just has to get through tonight.