by Penny Kline
‘Really? Good idea.’
She pulled a face. ‘Keeps them occupied. Stops Doug sinking into depression, although I don’t know how long it’ll last. As for Luke … ’
‘What about him?’ I was beginning to realize that she thought I should have been round before. In her mind I was Luke’s social worker rather than someone who had introduced him to her because I had heard she was looking for a lodger. Psychologist, social worker, what was the difference?
Doug came in from the garden. He looked uneasy.
‘Right, everything safely locked away. You left your cycle out, dear.’ He sat down and turned to face me. ‘Well then, Anna, how can we help?’
‘How much did Luke tell you about the accident?’
He frowned. ‘In a nutshell, next to nothing. It was the police who provided the information, not that they told us any details, just that there’d been an accident and Paula was … ’ His voice trailed away and he glanced at Elaine.
‘Dead.’ She spoke the word as though neither Doug nor I had the courage to say it.
‘Of course, we didn’t know her,’ said Doug. ‘Funny kind of shop where she and Luke worked. Herbal remedies, a cure for everything under the sun — if you believe in that kind of malarkey.’
‘You’ve visited the shop?’
He shook his head. ‘Heard a bit about it from Luke. Not much, like trying to get water out of a stone. There’s a cafe, he told us that much. Camomile tea, carrot juice. Put it this way, not my kind of thing at all.’
I lifted my over-full mug to my mouth. The mat beneath it had a picture of the Bishop’s Palace next to Wells Cathedral. A pair of whiter than white swans floated in the moat. The sun shone, the sky was a cloudless blue.
‘Luke and Paula,’ I said, ‘d’you know how close they were?’
Elaine rested her arms on the table. ‘Oh, I don’t think there was anything like that. More like brother and sister.’
Doug dipped half a Digestive biscuit in his tea. He held it in the air and Elaine pursed her lips with irritation.
‘They even looked a bit alike,’ he said, ‘according to Luke’s description, that is. Tall, thin, same fair hair, although I’d say she’s a good bit older, wouldn’t you, dear?’ He put his hand up to his eye to try to control a nervous tic. ‘What’ll happen now? With the police and everything.’
‘I’ll take Luke to the police station in the morning,’ I said, ‘although I doubt if he can remember very much. Did they mention if there were any other witnesses?’ Elaine shook her head. ‘They’d been to the Watershed — at least that’s where Luke said they were going. One of those foreign films with sub-titles. D’you think we should call the doctor?’
‘No.’ I reacted too fast. ‘In the morning, before going to the police station. But he may be much better by then.’
‘If you’re sure,’ said Elaine. ‘You’re the expert. We’ll leave it to your superior — ’ She broke off in mid-sentence. Luke was coming down the stairs. He paused in the hallway and I wondered if he was going to leave the house. Then he pushed open the kitchen door and stood in the doorway, swaying.
‘They’re under the bed. Hundreds of them.’ His voice was hoarse, shaky, but just for a moment I thought he was going to laugh.
‘Under the bed?’ said Doug. ‘What’s under the bed?’
‘Black — like slugs but all warm — some of them are on the walls.’
I stood up and forced his rigid body on to a chair.
‘Stop it, Luke. If you can’t sleep we’ll talk, but not this rubbish.’
‘Squeaking,’ he said. ‘The more the merrier.’
‘What’s he on about?’ Doug had removed his glasses and was tearing off a corner of the Bristol Evening Post.
‘He’s hallucinating,’ said Elaine. ‘That’s what they call it, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but you’re not hallucinating, are you, Luke?’
Luke smiled. ‘They know everything,’ he murmured. ‘The world, how it began. Thousands and thousands going up and down, up and down.’ And then, hugging himself as though he was freezing cold, ‘When’s the ambulance coming? When will they take me away?’
2
In the morning I gave in and rang Luke’s doctor. He was off duty but one of his partners agreed to call round sometime during the next hour. The whole conversation was carried on in a tearing hurry as though she had far more important matters to attend to than visiting a young man showing all the symptoms of a schizophrenic breakdown. Perhaps she had.
She held out little hope of having Luke admitted to hospital but said, grudgingly, that she would try and contact one of the consultants to see if there were any beds. This gave Doug, who had been listening to my end of the call, an opportunity to hold forth on the shortcomings of the Health Service. Elaine, spreading honey on a third slice of wholemeal toast, cast her eyes to heaven but kept her mouth firmly closed.
My head ached from lack of sleep and my throat felt dry and sore. Upstairs Luke’s furniture was being moved across his bedroom floor. Doug stood up and crossed to the door to listen.
‘If you want my opinion the lad’s barricading himself in.’
‘I doubt it,’ I said, ‘after all he’s the one who thinks he ought to be in hospital.’
‘You’ve got a point there.’ Returning to the breakfast table he poured himself another cup of tea, then banged on the window, shouting through the glass at a black and white cat sharpening its claws on the roof of the shed.
Tea ran down the spout of the teapot and dripped on to the polished table. Elaine sighed, licked her fingers and fetched a sponge from the cupboard below the sink.
‘I dare say the lad wants to be in hospital for his own safety,’ said Doug, ‘so he can’t do anything silly.’
Elaine glanced at me and pulled a face. Last night’s irritability had disappeared. She now wanted me to collude with her in categorizing Doug as a bit of an idiot. ‘Luke’d never do that again, would he, Anna? Not after last time.’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘At least if they keep him in a day or two it’ll give us some breathing space.’
What did I mean by ‘breathing space’? What was there to do during the next few days? Tell Luke’s parents what had happened, or was that none of my business? I needed to talk to Howard Fry. Road accidents were hardly the concern of the CID but a quick word with Uniformed Branch and he would be able to reassure me that the facts had been sorted out and a report written and filed. The inquest would be a formality. There was nothing to worry about except Luke’s state of mind and how best to help him come to terms with what had happened. If I said this to myself enough times I might almost believe it was true.
The doctor arrived. She was young, in her late twenties, with very short hair and large dangly ear-rings. I showed her up to Luke’s room, trying to explain the situation as she raced up the stairs ahead of me.
Luke sat bolt upright on the edge of the bed which he had pushed against the far wall. He was smiling to himself and gazing into his cupped hands as though they held something delicate, alive.
‘Hallo, Luke. My name’s Dr Overton.’ Her tone of voice raised my hackles immediately but Luke gazed at her as though she was the one person in the whole world he really wanted to see.
She sat beside him on the bed. ‘How are you feeling? Managed to get any sleep?’
Luke leaned across and lifted a tooth mug from the window sill, offering it to her as though it were a precious gift. Ignoring the mug she tried again.
‘You’ve had a very unpleasant experience and it’s understandable you’re feeling upset. I’m going to give you something that’ll calm you down.’
She rested her black attaché case on the bed, clicked open the catch and hunted through the various pockets. Eventually she found a prescription pad, took a ballpoint pen from her inside pocket and started writing at breakneck speed.
‘He was awake during the night, was he?’
I nodded. ‘He stayed
up here most of the time but I could hear him walking about.’
‘You live here, do you?’
‘No, I explained on the phone. Luke’s my client. I’m a psychologist. He lodges here with Mr and Mrs Hargreaves. They rang me last night after the police had brought Luke home.’
‘Following a road accident.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you stayed the night here.’
‘Yes.’
She stared at me for a moment as though what I was telling her sounded highly implausible. Then she handed me the prescription, closed her case and stood up, ready to leave.
‘Get this made up at the chemist.’
Luke started laughing, stuffing his hand in his mouth to muffle the sound. ‘This place is on the move,’ he giggled. ‘Microbes go up and down and talk through your head. Heading south. I was there in May only I may not because the rays are absorbed in water.’
Dr Overton hesitated with her hand on the door.
‘Has he been in hospital before? I couldn’t find his notes. I came out in a rush and — ’
‘Only overnight. He took some paracetamol back in April.’
‘OD’d. Right, so someone’ll have to take charge of the tablets.’
‘Charge the earth,’ said Luke, ‘going round the sun and sky for the time being he said.’
Dr Overton’s face remained expressionless. ‘All this — when did it start?’
‘Yesterday evening. I left him up here, lying down. When he came back downstairs — ’
‘And the same when you saw him first thing this morning?’
‘Yes. Once, during the night, he came down to the lounge where I’d made up a bed but he didn’t say anything, just went round touching the walls and — ’
‘Right, I get the picture.’ She stood up and left the room. I heard her run down the stairs and ask Elaine if she could use the phone.
‘Luke,’ I said, ‘this is crazy. I know what you’re doing and there’s no point. What happened to Paula was an accident. It was terrible, a tragedy, but it wasn’t your fault.’
He stared at me, still smiling faintly.
‘The doctor’s ringing the hospital,’ I said. ‘If there’s a bed they’ll keep you in for a day or two, but there’s no need to pretend you’ve gone off your head. I’ll have a word with the consultant. He’ll understand.’
He climbed up and sat on the window sill with his knees up to his chin, rocking backwards and forwards quite gently, then increasing the speed until I was afraid he was going to lose his balance and crash on to the floor.
‘Early one morning when the ash can,’ he said. Then he held his hand to his ear. ‘There it goes again. And there’s more where that came from so they say.’
*
The sky had clouded over and as we drove through Long Ashton a few large drops of rain splashed on the windscreen. Luke sat beside me, humming under his breath, the palms of his hands pressed together, as though in prayer, his expression a parody of an unctuous priest. He was putting it on. I was certain he was. In the months I had known him there had been no sign of schizophrenia. He was terrified. His worst fear had become reality — almost as though he had predicted it. Almost as though he had made it come true.
On the back seat lay a zip-up bag containing his toothbrush and some clothes.
‘All right?’ I asked. It was a ridiculous question but I wanted to sound as relaxed as possible. That way I might trick him into a normal spontaneous response.
Some hope.
‘All right. On the night.’ He wound down the window and stuck out his arm.
‘Don’t do that,’ I said angrily.
‘Don’t do that,’ he repeated. ‘Oh, no, not that.’
‘For God’s sake, Luke, it’s a waste of time spouting all that rubbish. They’ll give you drugs, sedatives, then they’ll realize you’re just putting on an act.’
I wanted him to say ‘Yes, I know’, to start crying, to shout at me. Anything. Instead he stared down at his upturned hand, writing notes on it with an imaginary pen. He was still writing when we turned into the gates of the hospital and when I parked the car and climbed out he stayed put in the passenger seat, waiting for me to open his door.
I tried one last tack. ‘Luke, I want to help you, I really do. Were you very fond of Paula? Is it worse than just the shock of seeing someone you know … ’
He might not have heard. As soon as I opened his door he jumped out and started following the arrows that pointed to Reception. At each arrow he paused for a moment, placed his feet together, turned outwards like a ballet dancer, then ran on.
When I caught up with him inside the building he was sitting on a metal-framed chair, waiting politely for someone to come and attend to him.
A nurse approached us, smiling. ‘Can I help?’
‘Luke Jesty,’ I said. ‘Dr Overton rang earlier.’
‘That’s right. My name’s Henry. Henry Anayake.’ He shook hands, first with Luke, then with me.
‘Anna McColl. I’m a clinical psychologist, I’ve been seeing Luke once a week for the last couple of months.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ He had a label pinned to his white short-sleeved shirt, with his name in red ink.
Luke’s eyes were darting from side to side. He bent down to retie his shoe lace, then scuttled down the corridor, coming to an abrupt halt and studying a notice on one of the doors with rapt attention.
‘Toilet,’ he read out, using the deadpan voice he had adopted ever since he had appeared in Elaine and Doug’s kitchen the previous evening. ‘I want a pee.’
‘Sure.’ Henry Anayake smiled at me briefly. ‘Hang on, I’d better go with him. Don’t go away.’
I waited, leaning against the wall. My headache was worse. I rested my forehead on the coldness of the white wall and wondered if one of the consultant psychiatrists would see Luke today or whether he would just be kept under observation and given a sedative if he seemed very agitated. Supposing he wasn’t faking. Perhaps Paula’s accident had ‘tipped him over the edge’. I should have referred him for a psychiatric assessment a month ago instead of thinking I could play God, instead of convincing myself I knew best.
A doctor I had never met but knew by sight was strolling down the corridor. He looked at me suspiciously.
‘Are you waiting for someone?’
‘I’ve just brought in a patient. Luke Jesty.’
‘And you’re … ’
‘Anna McColl. Dr Overton spoke to you on the phone.’ I lowered my voice. ‘Look, I’m fairly certain Luke’s symptoms aren’t genuine but I couldn’t really expect the people where he lives to — ’
‘As long as we had a bed. Dr Overton seemed to think it was some kind of schizophrenic episode.’ He was pushing open the swing door at the end of the corridor. He had barely stopped walking.
Luke and the nurse came out of the bathroom. Luke stared at me as though I was a total stranger, then started jogging on the spot. Henry Anayake took hold of his arm and started leading him along the corridor.
‘You know Luke pretty well?’ he asked.
‘Yes. No. I thought I did.’
‘I’m from Sri Lanka,’ he said. ‘Still getting used to the place.’
‘It must feel strange. How are you liking it over here?’ It was a relief to have a snatch of normal conversation.
‘It’s OK. Good. But not so easy for my wife.’
‘No, I can imagine.’
‘She’s expecting a baby in October.’
‘Oh, lovely. Your first, is it?’
He nodded. We had reached a side ward. Henry Anayake pushed open the door and I followed, placing the zip-up bag on a chair and standing well back as Luke moved quickly round the room, inspecting everything, including the space under the bed.
‘Mr Jesty’s had a bad shock? A road accident, I believe.’
I glanced at Luke but he showed no sign that he was listening.
‘A friend of his was killed.’
‘A cl
ose friend?’
I hesitated. ‘Yes. Look, he’s pretty anxious at the best of times but … ’
‘OK, we’ll look after him, don’t you worry. Dr Stringer’s at home today, but tomorrow — well, I’m sure you’ll be getting in touch.’
‘Yes, of course. I know Dr Stringer.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll fetch you both some coffee. Won’t be long.’
After Henry Anayake had left Luke stared through the window for a moment or two, then lay on the bed and closed his eyes. His lips moved as though he was having a private conversation with a voice inside his head.
‘Luke, I’ll have to go quite soon but I’ll be back later on.’
He murmured something I couldn’t catch. I moved closer.
‘What is it, Luke? Is there something you want to tell me?’
‘Death’s a pushover,’ he whispered.
I was certain that was what he’d said.
*
The place looked clean enough but smelled of dust and unwashed bodies. Leaning on the counter, pen poised, the desk sergeant listened carefully to what I was telling him about the accident, and the witness, Luke Jesty, currently in a psychiatric hospital but likely to be out in a few days’ time.
‘Right you are, miss.’
‘I think the statement was just a formality,’ I said, ‘I expect there were other witnesses.’
‘I couldn’t say, miss. Sergeant Waters will have all the details.’
A voice behind my shoulder made me jump.
‘Anna? Didn’t expect to see you here.’
‘Sergeant Whittle.’ I recognized him at once but was surprised he remembered my face. ‘There was a road accident yesterday evening,’ I explained. ‘One of my clients. A friend of his was killed.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I was just telling the desk sergeant — ’
‘Come and tell me.’ And when I hesitated, ‘We can use Howard’s office, he’s in Cardiff today.’
I followed him down the narrow, brightly lit passage. A broad-shouldered man, slightly under six foot tall, long arms and legs, a little uncoordinated. I remembered him telling me he was fanatical about Bristol City. I couldn’t imagine him playing football himself. Perhaps he preferred to sit and watch.
