“thank you” and he was calling her doctor.
They were going. 'Please!' Lucy said.
The woman looked round at once, and then said something to the man who left. It was as if she had been expecting Lucy to speak.
'I hate this room,' Lucy said. 'I'm sorry.’
'There's no need to be. I'm not responsible for it.’
'It's the smell of cigarettes.’ Round the room on pedestals the ashtrays were layered with stale butts. 'It upsets my husband too, I know it does, though he doesn't say anything.’
The woman frowned, dark brows drawing together above the heavy frames of her glasses. 'Your husband isn't likely to be here now. Visiting hour is almost over.’
'Would you walk with me?' and as the woman hesitated Lucy heard herself pleading, 'I don't want to sit here on my own. And I haven't been outside for such a long time.’
'Perhaps not outside.’
Through the glass as they walked to the end of the first floor corridor and back again, they could look down on patients and visitors circling the paths.
'Did you feel it wouldn't be appropriate? To be seen outside with me?'
This wasn't Lucy's floor, and she stared into a long ward as they passed. All the beds were empty except one which showed a bandaged head on the pillow. You couldn't tell if it belonged to a man or woman.
'It hasn't anything to do with "appropriate.” If we walked out there, it might disturb some of my patients. You're not one of my patients.’
'I'm Dr Cadell's patient,' Lucy said.
'All the more reason.’
They came to the head of the stairs at the end of the corridor for the second time. Down below, the paths were emptying. Visiting time was over.
'Was he one of your patients?' Lucy asked. 'The man in the dressing-gown?'
'Yes, as a matter of fact.’
'Did you see him when you were passing the waiting room?'
'"Happened to be passing", you mean. No, it wasn't by chance. He goes there every visiting hour, never misses – and no one has ever come to see him.’
'So you decided it was time someone did. That was kind of you.’
The woman plunged her fists into the pockets of the cardigan, looking offended. It was a vulnerable gesture, which had the odd effect of making her seem older than she had struck Lucy at first – in her thirties perhaps.
'Nothing to do with kindness. There were medical reasons.’
'You talked to him about religion. About the Crucifixion .’
'He's from Lewis,' the woman said, smiling as if that was enough of an explanation. The unexpected smile went away like a curtain being drawn as a group of nurses, chattering down from the upper landing, quietened to have a look as they passed. But for that moment, smiling, she seemed even younger than on the first impression, as if the sensible shoes, the heavy glasses and the cardigan were the props of a part she had been chosen to play.
One of the nurses said something and the high lightness of girls' laughter floated up to them. As if responding to the sound, the woman nodded in dismissal at Lucy and began to mount the stair.
'And walking with me,' Lucy said, though the woman went on without glancing back. 'I can't help thinking that was kind.’
If being in a room by herself was lonely, still Lucy felt it would have been worse to be in one of the public wards. When she got back, a nurse was there with a tray. 'You're late back,' she said. 'Time for your nap.’
Lucy unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it. Taking off her blouse she was embarrassed because the nurse was watching her; and that was a good sign, since it had not bothered her when she was ill. She put on the gown and bent to take off her pants, then sat on the edge of the bed and turned into it modestly. She had kept on her bra. Perhaps the nurse found her carefulness funny or was being irritated by her. There was no way of telling from the girl's round unsmiling face. All this time waiting without a word; perhaps she was paying no attention at all, her head full of thoughts of, no ring, some boyfriend, old-fashioned word, live-in lover more like, or of a child, a ring meant nothing now, she might be a single parent. And all this time not speaking, just standing beside the bed, without a word. Lucy wondered if the fault was hers, if there was something in her which put people off so that they did not want to talk to her. Weren't nurses, after all, supposed to be great gossips? She did not even know the girl's name.
'Are you new?'
'New?' The nurse held out the little cup with the tablet in it, half red, half blue, like a bullet in party colours. 'That's right, right over, wash it down with a mouthful of this.’
'Perhaps you've been on one of the other floors?'
'No, I wouldn't say new. Do you want any more to drink?'
'I forget things. I've been sleeping so much.’ The nurse was at the door ready to go. Lucy said, 'I have to be awake for the visiting hour.’ Suddenly she was unsure of what day it was. 'There is a visiting hour this evening, isn't there?'
'Your husband here this afternoon?' Lucy nodded; it was none of the girl's business. 'Twice in one day. He's faithful.’
'Oh, yes.’
When the girl had gone, it occurred to her that she might have been one of the nurses who had come chattering down the stairs earlier. She tried to bring back an image of them and at first couldn't fit the girl into it and then she was there. It kept changing back and forward; first the girl would be there and then not. She tried to keep thinking about it since she didn't want to fall asleep and miss Maitland in the evening. The woman doctor had been kind. She should have asked the nurse for the doctor's name.
Why? Why was she so angry? Because she hadn't asked the nurse's name? It was herself she was angry with. Reluctantly, she came fully awake. No, it was the woman doctor's name. Not that it mattered. Still she had been kind and for no reason. Walking the corridor from one end to the other, the ward with the poor bandaged head on the pillow, alone while outside, the paths in the pale sunlight, busy with people.
She started up and without any willing or sense of transition was on her feet. It was dark outside and fat raindrops splashed in eye shapes on the glass. She had missed the visiting hour. Her legs began to tremble and, afraid of falling, she let herself down on to the edge of the bed. Slumped, she stared at the institutional darkness of carpet, tasting with a swollen tongue the sourness of drug sleep on her teeth.
A bustle of voices and the trolley’s squeaking bore in on her slowly. She had just turned her head to listen when the door opened and they were there with the evening meal. 'This is hurry up night,' the girl said. 'Visitors'll be here soon.’
Later there was a row for not eating, only stirring the food on her plate. She had managed to force down no more than a mouthful or two.
'It's all I can manage. I would be sick.’
'That's just being silly.’ The nurse, a different one from earlier, heavily built with wide hips and a roll of puppy fat under her chin, spoke as if to rebuke a child. 'Wasting good food. I've told you before.’
'I wasn't “being silly”,' Lucy said. Indignant, she made it sound as if she was quoting the girl and the last word came out as 'sully' in imitation of the broad local accent. Hearing it, she was ashamed of herself, would have liked to offer the girl an apology, only there were no easy words, for if it was an insult and felt as such by both of them yet what lay behind it was complicated not simple.
The nurse held out the tray, scowling down at the evidence of delinquency. 'You're supposed to eat.’
'Yes.’
'Right. If you didn't eat, you'd have to be made to eat.’
'But I do. It's just that I was sleeping. It's hard to have an appetite, sleeping so much . Usually I eat.’
The nurse let her finish. 'I didn't mean to frighten you,' she said. Lucy shook her head. The girl took the tray to the door and put it on the trolley. 'They put tubes into your nose,' she said. 'You'd think you wouldn't be able to breathe.’
Getting dressed was a slow business, but she was determin
ed not to go to the visiting-room in a dressing gown. She didn't want Maitland to see her like that anymore. It was important he knew she was getting better. She rested for a moment before pulling on her skirt. It was true she had lost weight; the skirt hung slack on her hips. What the girl had said was nonsense, something she had gawped at on television. Suffragettes being force fed. Nothing to do with what could happen to anyone in this brightly lit place. It was frightening, though. There was something there to be afraid of, for if someone in authority told her to do it, that girl would feed the tube down your throat and hold you clown; do it cheerfully to someone who had mocked her accent. Not that anything like that could happen here, not here. An ignorant girl blethering nonsense. They made you feel like a child. Here it was hard not to be afraid.
She was almost the first into the visitors' room. The Lewisman was already there, sitting on the bench against the left-hand wall with his arms spread out along the back of it. He's settled for the Crucifixion then, Lucy thought. She smiled at him and he returned her look out of eyes so dark they seemed to have no pupils. His face was without expression, but each time she risked a glance the dark unblinking stare was fixed on her. It was a relief when people coming in screened her from him. After the early arrivals, the room filled quickly. First every seat was taken and then people stood putting their faces close and crying out fragments of noise like gulls. It was too dark to go into the grounds and smoking wasn't allowed in the corridors. She was reminded of the platform at a railway station where leave-takings dragged until you ran out of things to say and understood how someone just because of that might be longing for the journey to begin, or watched as the ship slipped away from you out on to the river, getting smaller, still waving though there was no chance any longer of being picked out from among the crowd.
The room was full. If Maitland came to the door, he wouldn't see her, wouldn't be able to imagine that she was here. He would look in and see the crowd and the smoke and say to himself, Lucy wouldn't sit in there. And go away. He had already gone away. She pushed between a man and woman, pushed against another man, to get through, to get to the door, not caring because she felt so desolate, as if her heart was breaking.
'We met in the car-park,' Maitland said. That was later; the first thing he said was, 'Hold on! What's the hurry?' and held her by the shoulders and then smoothed down her hair with both his hands. 'Where's the fire?' he said and she thought, knowing how much he hated the smell, that he would put his hands cupped beside his face and breathe from them the acrid staleness of smoke.
Janet's red hair was like fire. That colour of hair, you could warm your hands at it, an aunt had said. The sheepskin hung open soft and pliable, nothing but the best for Janet, the brown fur nestled around her face. She looked young and happy.
'Everyone in the village sends their love,' she said. 'Ewen is away on business, but Maitland was good enough to bring me.’
Until morning, Lucy lay trying to remember whether Janet could have said that before Maitland claimed they had met in the car-park outside. It mattered since it was the one who had spoken second who didn't care, or wanted her to know.
Chapter 16
'Doctor Macleod,' the Lewisman said.
Lucy put her hands on the edge of the low wall and leaned forward.
'I heard one of the doctors calling her Anne.’
'Dr Anne Macleod.’
Among the people below, the family groups and the couples, a woman wearing a yellow hat was walking by herself. The weather was fine again, there was no wind and the sun shone out of a clear sky. The brightness was deceptive though; it was a February sun and the stone under her hands was cold.
Circling from one path to another, turning, coming back, the yellow hat drifted against the current of patients and visitors like a stick caught in the backthraws of a stream. Perhaps Yellow Hat's husband was too ill to be visited. And she couldn't bear to go home but having come would stay all the visiting hour to feel nearer to him. Or perhaps he didn't know she was here. Perhaps he was one of those men walking with a woman, and his wife had to move against the crowd so that she would not lose sight of them, arms linked, talking together.
A laugh leapt up from the murmuring crowd and found its mark on the roof four storeys above.
'They're not laughing at you,' the Lewisman said.
The door on the little hut shape lay open. He hadn't even bothered to close it behind them.
'I don't suppose we should be here.’
He stared at her out of blank dark eyes. 'You're not a patient of hers. I am.’
'Yes, she told me.’
'Dr Macleod talks to you about me?'
'No, of course not.’
'You must talk about something.’
'I was disappointed because my husband hadn't been able to visit. She spared me a little time. It was kind of her.’
'He isn't here today either.’
'I wasn't expecting him today.’
'Why were you waiting in the visitors' room then?'
She turned her back on him and began to walk round the roof, keeping back from the wall so that no one looking up from below might see her. The hour had been almost half over before the nurse came in, saying loudly so that anyone could hear, 'Your husband won't be able to come today. Dr Cadell will explain all about it when he sees you.’ She had sat not taking it in, then run out into the corridor after the girl to ask, 'When have I to see Dr Cadell?'
'When do you usually see him? In the morning? Well, then, I expect.’
'But you can't mean wait till tomorrow?'
'He isn't in today,' the girl said, with an air of explaining the obvious.
It had been just after that she realised the Lewisman had followed her out of the room. 'I have a place I go when I want to be quiet,' he had said.
The circuit of the roof completed, she found her way blocked by an extension that ran from the back of the hut shaped building to the outer wall. Swinging round, she almost ran into the Lewisman close on her heels. There was a sudden bang as the wind caught the door they had left open and slammed it shut.
'Never mind me,' she said. 'What were you waiting for? Were you expecting a visitor to come to see you? No one did.’
'Doctor Macleod told you no one comes to see me? I thought better of her.’
'That's not what I said. I said no one came today.’
He wasn't tall, no taller than she was, but very broad. Wearing only thin summer trousers and a white shirt open at the neck, he seemed not to feel how cold it was in the shadow out of the sun. The skin of his face was smooth, thick-fleshed, and by contrast against the whiteness of his neck the mat of hair on his chest was black and glossy like an animal's pelt.
'Let me pass.’
'What's wrong with you?'
'I'm cold.’
'No need to be.’
'I want to go inside again. Out of this wind.’
When he didn't respond, staring at her blank faced, she tried to push past him. As she did, he moved with her half a step and then turned so that without using his hands he had put her against the wall with all the length of his body pressed to hers.
'I could warm you up,' he said.
'Have you gone mad?' She heard herself, shrill with respectability, very matronly, and the one who hid inside her, young Lucy, thought in the same instant – Idiot! What if he says, ‘As a hatter! Aren't we all? And you, especially you.’
'What did you think we were coming up here for?'
'Not for this.’
'No man in your bed for weeks. Not since you came in here. And not for a long time before that, eh? Your husband's not interested, anybody could see that. You think I didn't see that?'
Enraged she struck him in the chest and, just for a moment before he stepped back, felt the muscled unexpected reality of him resisting her.
'Call yourself a Christian?’ Yelling the first thing that came into her head. Making a little space of stillness he stared into, sandy lashes blinking in surp
rise. Angry and even frightened, still she couldn't help the other Lucy hidden inside thinking he probably called himself Jesus
Christ, the Onlie Begetter, beware all imitations; when the mood was on him that is, madness being what it is.
'Me?'
'You talk to Doctor Macleod about God, I heard you, the problem of evil, all that stuff. Because you come from Lewis, she said. I thought all you cared about was religion. I wouldn't have come up here, not unless, I mean I thought –'
He put a hand on the outer wall and jumped up on to it, crouching and then standing. Looking up at him above her she saw clouds swirl round his head as he fought to catch his balance.
'Do you want me to fly?' he asked, swaying to and fro, in a voice like ordinary conversation so that she wasn't even sure she had heard him properly. 'Or maybe just step off, all the way down, floating, land on my feet. Safe in the arms of Jesus, eh?'
'Please.’ She knew there was something to say that would save him. Something he would believe.
'Well?' he said.
She shook her head and began to weep.
'I don't know what you're getting yourself into a state for,' he said. 'Do you think God cares for the sparrow, and won't be looking out for me?'
Sermons, sermons, sermons. That released her. 'God doesn't want you to do this!' she cried, and putting her hands like blinkers on either side of her head ran round the hut and got the door open while the wind tried to tear it from her.
Light in the corridor came from a line of windows, and one part of her mind noted how smeared they were by weather. Somewhere out of sight there were voices and a rattling of trolleys. She made herself walk. As she was almost past the third window, from the last fragment of vision she glimpsed some dark spread eagled thing hurtling downwards. With a groan, she went to press her face against the glass, crane down, see him crushed against the ground below.
'What's wrong?' He was in the corridor only a step or two away.
The Stranger Came Page 13
