CHAPTER 1
“For heaven’s sake give me the code. “
“But I’m not supposed to know it …”
“The Gorgon will be here any moment. Just let me in. I’ve got doughnuts …”
“4591 and don’t forget the hash key.”
It happened nearly every day. Just as long as Alan could get to the front door in time. On other days – well, poor old Winston Wallace just had to put up with the Gorgon. The fifty six year old receptionist in charge, and how, who usually monitored the main entrance from her reinforced glass cabin with the hunters gaze of an alert leopard.
“Hiya Winny. Finished the crossword?”
“Come on let’s get out of here. You can come with me to the second floor. I’ll cover for you. “
“Good old Winnie.”
“Two clues to go. I’m losing my touch. Any news?”
The two unlikely companions walked, no strided, along the dull green corridors with their occasional tired looking prints of countryside scenes, and copies of old masters clinging lopsidedly against the drab walls. Constable would have turned in his grave at the faded examples of his work.
“Oh yes, plenty of news. The police brought in a right hard case from East London. She knocked the duty trick doctor…”
“Please stop using that awful expression Alan. Professor Theo Gobley is not ..”
“She’s coming out of the lift; better use the stairs.”
“Morning Sister Wildestone. Can’t stop now. I’m late for the meeting as it is…”
“You know patients are not allowed on the ground floor unaccompanied. I’ve told you …”
“Yes…Yes,” Winnie spoke to the distance as he pushed Alan along the corridor and up the first available escape route of stairs, “Alan’s with me …”
Sister Wildestone did not give up. She made her way from the lift to the bottom of the stair well, and bellowed for all to hear, “Patients must sign in at the main desk with their escort first thing. You know the rules Dr…”
“No time …”
“She’s putting on weight Winnie. Must be all of 16 stone now. Even at nearly six foot that’s a bit much. Lungs still OK though …”
They were almost at the second floor and both peeked down below. Sister Wildstone was no longer in sight.
“Fancy a fag?”
“Why not.”
They both made there way hastily to the garden terrace and Winnie offered Alan a Black Russian.
“Not had one of these or a while. Bit poncy for you aren’t they?”
“Friends came to dinner last night. George left these for me. Nearly a whole packet. Enjoy…but only if I hear all the news first.”
“Shouldn’t you be in your patient update meeting? I can tell you later. Just leave the ciggies with me …”
“No way. You get one, and one only for now. Cough up. I want all the gossip and fast.”
They both inhaled the smoke from the strong black cigarettes with gold tips. A guilty pleasure is always best shared.
“The new inmate was eventually tackled by 3 staff members and taken for sedation I expect. Then after half an hour she was given a bed with the ladies in room 16. How mad is that. Poor Sophie Bell didn’t sleep a wink.”
“It gets worse. Go on. Anything else?”
“The drug smoking trio were out of their heads and had to be put to bed…”
“How come nobody caught them earlier?”
“You need to ask? Oh come on Winnie …”
“Of course not. The staff were in the tea room drinking wine …”
“And Nurse Beckinshaw, the new brunette with the face to launch a thousand ships, was in the spare bedroom with Rich Harris, and they weren’t changing the sheets.”
Winnie inhaled the last glorious wave of nicotined smoke and stubbed out the tip of his Black Russian on the rusty bin attributed to those who sin against convention. He looked into the middle distance. “Serendipity. Five across…”
Alan, cigarette in the corner of his mouth, turning to crossword page; he frowned with intense concentration as he checked. Dressed as usual in smart casual attire. Blue Chinos, White open shirt, and deck shoes. It was too hot for even his casual cream jacket. “That’s it. One to go. We might get it …”
“Come on boys. The meeting awaits the honour of Dr.Wallace’s presence and Nurse Watson is likely to bite a certain Alan Brown’s head off as soon as she catches him. Missed the medication trolley this morning. Tut. Tut.” nurse Rachel was trying to hide a smile. At fifty she looked 30, and fit as, well a flea couldn’t have been fitter. One of the rare medical team with a heart and a brain.
“I must go, Alan. Must fly ...”
Winnie rushed off nearly knocking over a spaced out inmate as he wandered lugubrious out into the garden; about as aware of his surroundings as a zombie in a darkened room.
“My doughnut …”
“Later…”
Alan turned to look at the experienced Nurse, Rachel. “You know those aren’t good for you with your chest complaint, Alan. Yes, of course you do. Still, with M.D. who can blame you. Got one spare?”
“Of course, Nurse. For you anything.”
They moved over to the tired looking water garden. A small pond, ten feet by ten, covered with water lilies; their best feature, but no-one knew or seemed to care if the goldfish were surviving beneath the cover. And no-one had bothered to remove the empty coke cans, three, the whisky bottles, four, the various beer cans, five and the headless gnome, one.
They sat down on a long wooden, park style, bench that was minus one of its seat planks and lit up. They were both silent for a minute or two. It was a noisy place most of the time with forty or more inmates at any one time. Many protesting that they had been “sectioned” in error. It was not the place to go for recovery, even if that was the intention of the medical authorities.
“I suppose you will be leaving us soon, Alan. That is a shame in a way. Ray will miss you. So will Dr. Wallace…so will I for that matter. You certainly keep us all on our toes.”
“Little me? Surely not.” Alan was smiling. He couldn’t help it. Rachel could see through most people. She was his care nurse and certainly had Alan well and truly assessed from day one.
She knew he put on a good act. A front. He hid behind a smokescreen of witty remarks, humour and a sense of not caring what happened in life. But she knew that
mind of his was whizzing round frantically. Of course the manic periods were apparent when it was difficult to keep up with him, and then the downers. The times when he hid inside a silent shell. But the medication was helping even if he didn’t like it.
“Aren’t you meant back at the meeting?”
“No. They just asked me to find the Doctor. And I was already looking for you. There had been a sighting on the ground floor by …”
“The Gorgon…”
“Now, now. And Nurse Watson isn’t really that bad. She has a job to do and you don’t help. You know you need the Lithium …no don’t screw your nose up like that. I want you better. You have a lot to offer …”
“Huh. Messed up marriage. Messed up job. Just …a mess.”
“Don’t be stupid. OK you may have to accept that your marriage is, well, under strain…”
“She’s gone off with that dick head banker from the City I told you about. The one with the Porsche and shiny buckled shoes…”
“What have the shoes?...Oh well, let’s just say your old firm will have you back surely. It’s a charity business isn’t it? I really don’t understand how they all work these days. Sounds so complicated. “
“All bullshit, more like. OK, OK, there are good charities around but some just take the mickey. They start off with good intentions, then, they bring in a new CEO
because they have got so big and everything changes. Meetings in smart hotels, big expense claims, and meetings galore. Then there are the targets …”
“Yes, I liked your poem on targets. Relevant to us here at St Moore’s. But it can’t be all bad, surely. Helping all those disabled people back into work. Giving them training, eh? And you told me about some of the successes. You had a hand in many of those.”
“Well…I’m not going back. Not to that place. Did you know that the CEO and his inner management team of 3 spent …”
“£800 on dinner and an overnight stay at a 5 star hotel in town and that didn’t include travelling expenses.”
They both laughed.
“Another cigarette?”
“No, I better go. See you at 3 for your session.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Now do me a favour,” She got up and lent over him; real concern was written all over her expressive face. The green eyes wide and captivating. They demanded attention and got it. She tapped him gently on the shoulder twice. “Medication. No, no excuses. You are to go now and apologise to the Duty Nurse, and promise…yes, hear me now …promise not to be late again.”
Like a lamb he stood up. He wanted to kiss Sarah but would never dream of doing so. She was like a mother to him. A person to be trusted. A beacon of hope in the wards of indifference and hostility.
She held the door open for him and, tail between his legs (yes I know he doesn’t really have a tail, but you get the picture) he walks with a heavy heart down to the nurse Watson who is wandering along the second floor peering into each individual bedroom, and four bedded mini dormitory determined to find Alan.
“Sorry…sorry…sorry…I had a hyper few moments and …”
“Don’t give me that Alan. I know your tricks. You were fine at breakfast time, and I know how Bipolar affects patients. You just wanted to be a nuisance. Well you have been and I am behind schedule because of you. In fact I’m missing my appointment with a very ill patient, because of your child-like behaviour.
“Well he’s not missing much is he you…no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that …you see I am …”
“You are just as selfishly awkward as ever. No thought for the staff or even your friend. The sooner you leave the better. Now come with me and we’ll get your medication.”
Alan bit his tongue and followed the forty something nurse with a chip on her shoulder. She’d never wanted to work in the psychiatric wards, but life and circumstances had dictated it. Her husband’s job had brought him to London and she dutifully followed from lovely Cheltenham taking whatever job she could get. Little
realising 8 years later she would still be marooned in the place of her nightmares, St. Moore’s.
She hadn’t always been so angry. And she was angry. She was even a good mother still and a good friend to those outside the hospital. A keen Church goer and Sunday school teacher. There they saw a different Rachel or Mrs Hayward. She was very good with children, but not adult childishness, as she saw it.
A second nurse of the day had to be called for. The trolley key obtained, signed for by both nurses, then the trolley moved into place and the medication taken out of the bottle, placed in a small plastic cup the size that would barely hold a single gin draught, and handed it to Alan. Both nurses watched intently to ensure that Alan swallowed the medication with a glass of water. Then and only then they signed the register of drugs. The paperwork was left inside the rolled desk-top medication cabinet that sat secured to the heavy duty trolley. Locked securely and wheeled back to the ground floor and its double locked room without a view.
Fort Knox could not be more secure. Certainly when nurse Rachel was responsible for medication.
“Thank you.” Alan spluttered out as he looked down and turned almost immediately to make his way back up to the roof gardens.
It was nearly 11 am as Alan peeped into Ray’s room. He still had a room of his own. All relatively new patients spent the first few weeks in single rooms. Then they were moved to the four bedded variety, before being sent back out into the World many of them despised.
Well so would you if you had little to look forward to. Four blocks of institutionalised residents, customers, oh how I hate that word, patients, yes, who have been through Hell. Sometimes several Hells. Mental illness can be a lonely disease. It is a tough act to deal with and a hard act for others to cope with. It was hard on the families too.
“Why does your God allow such suffering, eh, father? Does it make us better people? This walk through Hell. Do we deserve to suffer like this? Were we meant to be abused as children, if that was the case, as it was for me, should we shut up and carry on dealing with the …demons banging against our skulls to keep us awake to endure the deadening fear that weighs us down and destroys the will to do anything…anything …oh, I don’t know …constructive?”
Ray was going at the Padre with guns firing from every corner. He barely had time to breathe a reply in his head let alone give voice to one.
Ray had clinical depression but found that Fluoxetine, Prozac, was giving him a new lease of life. As the Padre was finding out.
“Everything OK in here? Hi Jeremy.”
“Ah, Al me old mucker. Give us a hug.”
“Come here shorty.” Ray was only 5’6” tall whilst Alan, Al to Ray, was a good 6 foot plus.
They had become friends almost instantly at the weekly “Third Floor Meeting” where they were able to bring up anything that was relevant to the “housekeeping” side of
things. Especially useful for those in 4 bedded rooms where some were tidier than others, or more careless with their hygiene.
Nicknamed, “Moaners Forum” and it certainly was an hour long excuse for moaning minnie’s.
Of course Alan and Ray couldn’t help but send the whole thing up. Their ironical displays of critical disdain for the whole thing were legendary, and Winnie always sought out a copy of the meeting along with grabbing Alan for an update on points missed. He found it as enjoyable as his fortnightly treat of devouring Private Eye on the commute home.
Jeremy stood up. ”I’ll leave you two to chat, and in answer to all your questions in one, Ray, it’s a matter of faith. No-one said it would be easy to understand. Trust in this way is far from straightforward, but…no, no more questions Ray, dear man. We will discuss properly next time. I look forward to it, but,” he turned round as he was about to disappear from view, “do give me an opportunity to answer one question at a time. “
“What was that all about?” Alan sat down on the only chair in the room. Time and hard wear had not been kind to the grey imitation leather excuse for an arm chair.
“It’s this letter from Jenny, my partner…”
“It’s OK old chap. Here. Why so glum?”
“Read it …”
Ray was near tears suddenly. He had held them back amazingly well. But now he was not raging and the diversions of God kicking were brought to an end, the heavy load of sorrow clawed at his troubled mind with pitiless purpose.
“Ah…I see…hmm…She doesn’t waste words that’s for sure.” Silence ensued for a few sickening moments.
“It’s all my fault I know, but to …well, couldn’t she just have come in and told me?”
“How long have you been together.”
“Ten years…it’s her sister old faggot features. Face like a tired turtle…what you laughing at…it’s no…it’s no…” They both roared with laughter. They needed to let go. Both of them. Sod therapy. Laughter was their best medicine, and they could so easily set one another off.
“It’s not funny …for the Pope and all his cardinal’s sake what are we laughing at…”
“Tired …turtle…” And off they went again now they were both crying. Laughter/tears what is the difference.
“Who’s Big Ted?”
“My brother-in-law.”
“Wants to sort you out?”
“He’s a bit of a rough diamond. Served time. Wants to rearrange my features somewhat and …”
“Sing castrato in the choir.”
“Something like that. I owe him a few quid.”
“Gambling? Cards?”
“Yup. Trouble is it’s rather a lot and he and his …well the company he keeps are not known for their subtlety in debt collection matters.”
“How on earth does an accountant get involved with people like that?”
“The cards. The lure of the game, the lure of betting, leads addicts to some pretty seedy places and I’ve been to them all.”
“Hmm. That’s why you tried to top yourself?”
“Desperation. On a downer. Just went from one Chemist to another for paracetemol. Swilled down with Vodka. Well thought I was out of the sight of every one but some park keeper finds me in the bushes and …”
“You get pumped out. Well join the club.” Alan gets up out of his seat and looks at his watch. “Why don’t we make a pact?”
“What type?”
“Let’s swear never to be such silly bastards again. And join another club. The “Our Way Club.”
“Or WC for short.”
“I’m serious. Get out of this dump and just take off. Have fun. Live for the day…”
“Not that day at a time shit!”
“God no. I said live. Not spend the rest of our days apologising for being alive. Twelve stepping backwards and forwards. Anyway who has a drink problem?”
“No. No problem with drink. Mine’s cards.”
“And I have no problem with the booze. They just think I have.”
Ray kept quiet at this.
“Let’s get in the queue for early lunch. Hatch our plan over Cook’s latest attempts from the Inedible Recipe Book.”
The two made their way to the canteen trying to talk about Hood Rat by Gavin Knight. They were both avid readers after all, but being in “Southwark Ward” did little to encourage serious book lovers. Every rest room was dominated by the television set. Seats arranged horse-shoe fashion around the set that was switched on from morning to night.
Magazines lay around coffee tables half torn or withered with age and disinterest, with the occasional daily newspaper open at the programme selection page.
Only the faded cream and black wall clock made a rival noise for mild distraction. A toneless ticking sound that is peculiar to ageing battery clocks. The type that echoes monotonously against an uneven wall.
The punch was hard and direct hitting his flabby stomach with the force that only a heavy weight boxer could muster. Ray crumpled to the ground and was dragged into an empty four bedded where he was kicked by the other hooded man, while the boxer gave Alan, who should never have tried to intervene, a head butt that knocked him clean out.
All Ray could think was when would it stop. This constant pain. He tried to call out but a hand was put over his mouth. Was this it? Was this the end?
