A Symphony of Echoes (14 page)

There was a connecting door to Chief Farrell’s room, which was blue and cream to my cream and blue. We walked between the two rooms a couple of times, trying to look as though we were accustomed to this sort of thing, and probably failing wildly.

‘I’ll leave you to settle in,’ she said, opening the door. ‘You’ll find clothes in the wardrobe, toiletries in the bathroom, a selection of books on the bedside table, and water in the chiller. The telephone connects with the nurses’ station. Just press zero.

‘Just the one rule you need to know now. Between 2.00 and 4.00 p.m. in the afternoon, all guests must return to their rooms. It’s OK if you want to doze, and equally all right if you don’t. We call it Quiet Time. Actually, the whole thing is not so much for our guests’ benefit as ours. It gives us a chance to put our feet up, have a cup of tea, write up our notes, and generally catch up. The chimes will sound at 2.00 p.m., so you’ll know. Dr Knox will see you in his office at 12.00 noon. Can you remember the way?’

We nodded. Well, Leon could remember the way. I’d probably find myself on the outskirts of Aberystwyth.

She disappeared and we looked at each other.

‘I do like a place where you have to go to bed at two o’clock,’ he said. ‘I wonder if we could get Edward to introduce the same thing at St Mary’s?’

‘Yes, just what St Mary’s needs – another excuse to climb into bed with each other.’

‘I don’t need an excuse,’ he said, backing me towards the bed.

‘It’s ten to twelve,’ I said, trying to wriggle free.

‘No problem.’

‘Seriously? Less than ten minutes? You think that’s something to be proud of?’

‘Later then,’ he said, reluctantly removing his hand.

‘Yes, right in the middle of Quiet Time – you practising your famous Rebel Yell, I’m going to take my clothes off now. You need to leave.’

He laughed. ‘You really thought that one through, didn’t you?’

‘Later,’ I said, resting my forehead on his chest and feeling his heartbeat.

‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘You promised.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’

‘Yes, you did and I’m holding you to it. Don’t make me come looking for you.’

Well, that could be fun, but probably not here.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Two o’clock. I’ll see you then,’

‘No,’ he said, bending to kiss me. ‘I’ll see you. That’s the whole point.’

I closed the door behind him, opened the wardrobe and yanked out a set of sweats that probably cost a week’s pay.

The end of my world was here and I never saw it coming.

Chapter Eleven

I don’t know what I’d been expecting. A tall, skinny, wild-eyed man with a shock of electric hair and an Austrian accent? In reality, Dr Knox was only just average height, very slight, with dark hair just beginning to be threaded with grey, brown eyes, and an over-tailored pinstriped suit.

He came to greet us and smiled at me as if he knew exactly what I had been thinking. I resolved to be more careful. We shook hands and he ushered us in.

His carefully designed office felt relaxing and reassuring. There was no modern chrome or glass here. A good but shabby, slightly threadbare carpet lay on the polished floor. The furniture was dark and slightly battered, with a couple of carefully distressed sofas. As opposed to my own sofa at St Mary’s, which was not so much distressed as distraught. Open French windows looked out into a small walled garden, and light muslin curtains billowed gently into the room. Nothing bad could ever happen here.

He invited us to sit. Farrell dropped heavily onto a sofa. He was more tired than he knew. I curled up at the other end. Dr Knox began.

‘Firstly, let me say, I’ve known Edward Bairstow for some years now and I know who you are and what you do. We have all sorts of – guests – here. I’ve been told all sorts of things I probably shouldn’t know, by all sorts of people I wouldn’t normally meet. I don’t take notes and there are no recording devices anywhere. After you’ve gone, I’ll scribble a few lines, but that’s only so I can remember for our next session and not waste any time going over old ground again. So, shall we get started?

‘Mr Farrell, I’d like to start with you. Just a quick session today, mostly just admin stuff, a quick history, and a few other things.’

I sat back as he went over names and carefully prepared dates.

‘Yes, that all seems to be correct.’ He tossed the folder on to the floor. That was apparently supposed to be a symbolic gesture. It looked rehearsed to me. I didn’t like this man …

‘So, a medical coma, I understand. What can you tell me?’

‘What would you like to know?’

‘Well, how do you feel?’

‘I’m fine. I still get a little tired occasionally.’

‘I’m sure you do. How are you sleeping?’

‘Mostly, very well. Occasionally …’ He paused.

‘Let me guess. You dream.’

‘Yes, not all the time. It’s not happening anything like as frequently now.’

‘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. Occasionally, 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.