“I owe you both a big apology,” he said.
“You do,” said Aunt Alicia.
But, Edith could tell by her tone she was softening towards the prodigal nephew.
“It was a regimental thing in London, a bit of a get-together. We went to a club…cards and so forth,” he added. “I’m afraid it had completely slipped my mind, when I agreed to come to you for dinner,” He waited, expectantly.
“Very well, then. But I was cross, to be cancelled like that at hardly any…well…no notice, really. And Edith’s first night home as well.”
He turned to his sister and she noticed there was something almost feverish in his face, as though he were still drunk…or even…that he had taken something. She’d seen that sort of thing before, in the war. Doctors and nurses taking something, maybe for a genuine reason at first…then…She shook her head in an attempt to rid her mind of these futile and disturbing thoughts.
“It’s good to see you sis. How did you sleep? How do you feel?”
“I slept reasonably, perhaps not all that well, but I feel all right. Better than I hoped, I suppose. The thing is I’m supposed to go back about teatime. Aunt Alicia will take me she says. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it. Maybe I’ll talk to Dr. Uxbridge and get some idea when he is thinking of discharging me. I don’t feel as if I need to be in St Bride’s any longer.”
“Now, Edie. Don’t run before you can walk, give yourself a chance.”
She couldn’t help herself, “Don’t patronise me Archie. Surely I’m the best judge of how I am feeling and when I am ready for going home?”
Archie shook his head, in a way that infuriated her. “Edith, you should know that the very nature of this sort of breakdown is that the patient is often not the best judge of what is good for her or him.”
“Don’t talk down to me, Archie. I am not one of your bloody patients…” She caught sight of the expression crossing her aunt’s face and was appalled at herself and Archie, too. Maybe he was right. Maybe what had happened to her was a clear sign living together in a peaceable fashion was no longer possible. “Anyway,” she said now, trying to trivialise the disagreement. “Aunt Alicia is not going to want to listen to the two of us squabbling on a Sunday morning.”
The shame-faced look on Archie’s face, and Aunt Alicia’s smile told her she’d struck the right note. I’m going to have to watch what I say and how I say it. How appalling. Maybe that was one of the worst legacies of this breakdown.
* * *
Archie had driven Edith back to the hospital in the end. He sort of insisted on it.
“Well, in any case, stay for lunch, Archie, it’s a big enough joint, and we will be having it early…Miss Kirk goes off to her prayer meeting this afternoon.”
Archie looked at her, “Prayer meeting? Not church or chapel, then?”
“No, Esther belongs to a non-conformist congregation, quite a few members locally, not nearly so many as they were, though. Did you know your father used to attend her family, years ago?”
Archie laughed. “My dear Aunt Alicia, if you knew how many times I hear that. Every other person I meet within fifteen miles was a patient of dad’s. It’s a lot to live up to. Most of them view him as a saint.”
The words were lightly spoken, but she heard an edge. Stepping into a father’s shoes was never the easiest route and she wondered, not for the first time, if Archie ever regretted it.
Edith didn’t do justice to the roast. Her stomach was already churning at going back. It wasn’t real. Had this breakdown happened? Surely, she could still pull back from the brink? What on earth was she doing as a patient at the local asylum?
This wasn’t where people like her ended up. People like she and Archie were the fortunate, the ones with the advantages, a bit of money a stable background. They had both come through the war without a scratch, they had suffered loss, but so had millions of others. If she couldn’t overcome the thoughts and feelings that plagued her, how did others do it?
She hugged her auntie and was dismayed at the threat of tears as she thanked her for everything. With hindsight, this had been the best plan. She’d been away from the village and the chance of bumping into Archie’s patients. It had been peaceful here. The only jarring note was the housekeeper, but Edith told herself that in this she was letting her imagination run away. Esther Kirk was no more than a slightly odd spinster. A bit like myself, she told herself. Maybe that’s all she needed to do, laugh at herself a bit more, take life more lightly.
“Julia rang me at Aunt Alicia’s. She’s going to come in to see me, tomorrow possibly, or Tuesday. It’s something to look forward to,” She spoke as much to pass the journey as anything, just a bit of idle chatter, and it was easier to talk in the car, something about the intimate space and about not having to face the other person, she supposed.
“That’ll be nice, but, it seems Jules doesn’t think I’m doing my bit. She took a bit of a pot shot at me the other day. Always was a bit of a firebrand, our Jules.”
Edith stiffened. Archie’s comment shocked her. She wasn’t sure whether it was because Julia had spoken to Archie. Lord, how bad was that? Her friend having to plead her case.
It was enough to make her angry. Or, was it because Archie seemed to be needling her, trying to start something? What was the matter with him? Well, she wasn’t going to take the bait. So, she said nothing. It didn’t take a lot to send her to the edge of the precipice these days. She was not going to go back to St. Bride’s in a state. It was bad enough going back at all, but she was going to do her best to be in a calm state of mind, when she did so.”
“I should have come in, I know, sis. I find this very hard to cope with, you know? I’m a doctor, I’m supposed to know the right thing to say—but it isn’t that simple.”
Still, Edith said nothing. It struck her this was more about Archie than about her.
“Well, say something, Edie. Don’t just sit there, looking reproachful.”
That did get to her. “Archie, will you pull over for a minute?”
“Of course, are you ill? Are you all right?” His voice was now full of concern.
“Yes, but I soon won’t be, if you continue trying to start an argument.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. Don’t use the fact that I have had a breakdown either to make out that I’m not being rational. You are deliberately provoking me, as though you are trying to get a reaction. What on earth is all that about, Archie?”
“Nothing, I don’t mean to be like that. I’m sorry, Edith. I start by trying to do and say the right thing, but something else comes out of my mouth. I don’t understand it, and I suppose one of your analysts might even say that is why I have not been in to see you. There, I’ve admitted it. I did put off visiting. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I know this has been tough on you too. I know a bit about how this sort of thing affects families, not just the worry, but the shame and embarrassment as well. No, don’t try to deny it. May as well face a few facts. You’re an important local figure. People respect you and value your opinion. A sister in the nut house doesn’t suit the image…”
“Oh, Edith. That honestly isn’t it. Well, certainly not the main issue,” he qualified.
Archie had always had a tendency to be literal.
“I don’t want to upset you.”
“You’re upsetting me by being like this, blowing hot and cold, being hostile and not telling me why.”
“Fair enough. You have a point. It’s the business about Matthew Taylor. That’s what threw me. It was completely…well, irrational. It was all in your head, Edith. I don’t understand it. To be honest, and I repeat I don’t want to hurt you, but it frightened me. I mean it was in your imagination…the whole affair, Edith.”
* * *
Edith told Archie she didn’t need him to come in with her, didn’t need him to carry her bag, anything stupid like that.
“I’ll be in tomorrow a
fternoon,” he said. His voice was urgent.
Edith hadn’t responded to what he had said about Matthew and he hadn’t pushed the conversation any further either.
So, now she ate in the patient’s dining room, at the same table as a young woman with haunted eyes surrounded by black circles. Her thin wrists looked vulnerable in her bulky cardigan, her skin and hair looked lank and greasy. She was suffering from a post-natal condition. But, she had wondered if there was more to it. The girl was half-Belgian and had moved up to Yorkshire to be with her husband who’d met her while with his regiment in the South of England.
Edith had noticed the way her visitors were. Kind, but overpowering. She wondered if the girl’s breakdown had been her mind’s convoluted way of making her step out from under the weight of family. She’d previously tried to engage Della in conversation, but it had been hard work. Somehow, this evening she couldn’t do it. She smiled and exchanged a few comments, telling the young woman she’d spent the weekend with her aunt. Della smiled, the first spontaneous smile Edith had seen from her. Maybe she was getting better.
Would Della be allowed to forget her illness and get on with life with her husband and baby, or whether her in-laws would always remember it, store it up?
She took the two tablets given to her by the night nurse who had just come on duty, and smiled at her, in case anyone would write in her notes that her mood was low after her weekend pass, and went into her side-room. She was so sure that she would not sleep.
The book lay in the bottom of her case with a note from Aunt Alicia. “There is nothing as frustrating as leaving a book that you are enjoying. I loved having you here and I hope that you will come and stay with me again as soon as ever you can. It was lovely to see you looking so much better, Yours affectionately, Aunt Alicia.”
The night nurse looked in on her and asked if she was all right.
“Yes, thank you. Tired.”
“You’re bound to be, it’s a shock to the system, being back out there. Not to mention the build-up, the wondering if it will go well. How did it go, by the way?”
“Well, I think. Strange, but well.”
“Good to see you’re on the right road now, Edith, on the home straight.”
For a second, Edith wondered if she should ask the nurse to stay with her for a while, talk to her about the reactions of patients’ relatives, about Archie. She had an inkling having a family member mentally ill might have a pretty devastating effect on the others. She wanted to ask if the way Archie was behaving with her was normal. She suppressed the urge.
It would be disloyal to Archie, and what’s more she was tired out, far too exhausted to engage in this sort of deep discussion.”
“Good night, nurse,” she said.
She was far away in a safe, warm and joy-filled place when the scream woke her. She sat up, her heart beating fast. Someone was screaming—a woman. She remembered where she was, but that wasn’t reassuring. This sort of disturbance had happened before. What if the nurses can’t deal with it? What if someone gets hurt? She got out of bed, heard a bell sounding and then running feet.
She opened the door and went out into the corridor, leading to the long ward. The polished floor shone in the dim light. She saw a group of nurses, crowd around a white clad figure. The wailing went on, not so much screaming now as a desolate, keening sound. The frightening thing was that there was no other noise. The nurses were doing whatever it was they were doing to subdue the woman in total silence.
Then all the sound stopped, “Go back to bed, Edith. There’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s only Maggie, having one of her turns.” The woman who spoke was little with a fierce little face and a navy uniform. Edith had caught glimpses of her before—the night sister. You could set your watch by the times she came around every night, one a.m. and then four thirty a.m., but now she’d obviously come in response to the bell, the nurses’ way of calling for help.
This place was unsafe. It was like the depths of hell, full of anguish and fear. Edith lay still, tried to breathe deeply and slowly. But her heart continued to hammer. A fizzing feeling surged through her, the strangest ever feeling, one that had hit her before, but something she’d never found the words to describe. It felt like the hairs on her arms, the tiny hairs all over her body were standing on end. She clenched her hands around handfuls of sheet. I want to run. I want to get out from these walls and breathe in the cold clean air and run. If I could step out of my body and escape myself…but, she couldn’t.
If Dr. Uxbridge was here, now, this minute, then I could explain it to him. But, please God, the feeling would subside and when she got to see the doctor next, it would seem too strange and too difficult to describe. Gradually, the ward went back to being quiet and her heart rate slowed. Just feeling normal again was like being handed the sweepstake. But, how long, she wondered until this happened again?
* * *
Greene barked at Brown. “You need to be moving faster than this, lad. What about that Braithwaite fellow, have you tracked him down? He’s a good-for-nothing, that one, but all the same, he worked for the Butler woman, driving and a bit of general gardening, that sort of thing. He does bits for the Arbuthnots, too. Must be a shortage of that sort of labour, I suppose. Never seems to be doing very much work, at the back of it all, as far as I can see. And that other woman, Mary Whitchurch, is it? Surely, she’s back from her sister’s now, or wherever she’s been? I suppose you did talk to the right one first, as it turns out—the lovely Stella. I need the timing of that visit confirmed though. I’m going back to speak to the Kirk woman. I’ll do that myself, after lunch today—think I’ll get more out of her, a woman like that, she’d ‘ave you for breakfast, eh, Brown?
* * *
Julia Etherington confronted her husband over breakfast. “Giles, we can’t go on like this. Please talk to me. I know you’re not happy, not sleeping. I’ve heard you get up, in the night.”
He put down his paper, and looked at her, tired eyes in a washed-out face, greying blond hair, greased and brushed, tamed and disciplined. The look was angry irritation, and Julia regretted speaking. Her words had been too female, too demanding.
“The only problem with me, is you, Julia.”
The cruelty was like being hit, and she just stopped a gasp.
“Why can’t you leave a fellow alone, eh? All this prodding about in a chap’s soul, why can’t you leave well alone? I’ve a bad night or two. What of it? Haven’t you got enough to occupy you?”
No, she wanted to shout at him.
“I mean the house, the children, the village, the…I don’t know, whatever it is you women occupy yourselves with?”
Julia left the rest of her toast, pushing the plate away from her. Before she could get up from the table and leave with a bit of dignity, Giles beat her to it.
He threw his napkin on the table, and resolutely stood. “By the way, been meaning to tell you, I’m going to London next week for a few days, see Purcell about the business, catch up with a few of the boys. Can honestly say I’m looking forward to it…get away from women’s eternal bloody naggin’”
Julia didn’t think she imagined the note of triumphant spite, or did she? Was she exaggerating everything? She sat stock still, fighting with the tears that were stinging the back of her eyes. I should try being angry rather than sad. One sure thing, sad, or trying to make him feel guilty didn’t work. It’s futile. We’ve fallen into a pattern. I try to be understanding, he gets angry. I get upset. It’s pointless. How did we get from where we once were to where we are now?
That question being the most futile of all. And remembering how sweet, how earnestly loving Giles once had been completely undid her. I have to change my response, change a lot of things, maybe.
* * *
She went to the laundry six days a week and after a while it had seemed she’d always known this place, always stood testing the heat of the iron and smoothing and folding sheets and pillowcases. There was little talk—ten
women worked and they were hard-put to keep up with the work.
She had aspirations by then. It amazed her how even your dreams could sink down to suit your conditions. She’d had big dreams once, but they had about ruined her, so it was safer and somehow cleaner to keep them within the bounds of possibility. Now, her dream was to move away from the steam and the smell of soap and to be set on in the sewing-room. That would be easier. She would be sitting down for one thing, and by now, the constant backache was beginning to bother her.
But, she would bide her time. She studied the other women and she studied the warders and she was beginning to see that everything in this place was about keeping your head down.
She saw how trusted patients were treated. The boundary between them and the staff was a lot looser. All the energy that had been focused on getting by, in putting one foot in front of the other now became focused on making her life here as good as possible. Because, she’d come to the conclusion that when she eventually left this place, it was going to be feet first.
Chapter 10
Inspector Greene was a quiet, introspective drinker. He hated the whole police habit of going to “police pubs” where colleagues let their hair down, and sometimes, in Greene’s view, behaved every bit as bad as some of their customers. Greene, could, on a state occasion, be persuaded into a game of dominoes. But, what he liked best was a quiet few pints of ale, with his pipe, and a newspaper for company. The trouble about visiting the local was no one trusted you. They all greeted you, and you may be offered a drink on the house, but everyone was on their best behaviour, taking pains to talk of everyday matters, making out they were virtuous and hardworking and would never dream of putting a foot wrong. This was why, when at all possible, Greene headed for either a quiet corner of the pub, or better still, if it was empty, the snug.
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