White Silence

by Jodi Taylor

  I read everything very carefully. I don’t know if I expected some sort of trick on his part, but everything was quite straightforward, just paperwork relating to Ted’s pension and one or two other minor things. His colour was very restrained and under control. Had I misjudged him after all? He could not have been kinder.

  And then – having lulled me, I suppose – he abruptly pulled out a small cardboard box and literally plonked it down in front of me. Everything changed. The box contained personal effects taken from Ted’s locker. A spare pair of shoes. A few ties, one black. One or two paperbacks. Even an old t-shirt and pair of shorts for when he joined the staff/patient kickabout in the gym. And worst of all, one of my lipsticks, which Ted must have discovered in one of his pockets and tucked away in his desk drawer. The suddenness of it took my breath away. The very worst moment was when I opened what I thought was a small leather book to find it was a framed photo of me on our wedding day.

  ‘It sat on his desk,’ said Sorensen quietly and with those words, the tears just poured down my cheeks. I closed it carefully and held it close.

  I heard him get up and open the door. He spoke quietly to someone and then returned. He stood looking out of the window, staring at the frosty garden outside while I wiped my eyes and blew my nose.

  The door opened behind me. ‘Mrs Cage, I think you remember Dr Lewis.’

  The red flecks were back. ‘Mrs Cage, can I be of any assistance?’

  Something snapped. ‘What a stupid question. Of course you can be of some assistance. You can wave your magic wand and bring back my husband so that the two of us can live happily ever after, that’s what you can do.’

  I regretted the words as soon as they were out, but it was too late. Dr Sorensen turned from the window. His colour surged towards me.

  ‘I think today has placed too great a strain on you, Mrs Cage. You’re understandably overwrought. My colleague and I feel it might be in your own best interest to spend a few days here, recovering quietly from what has been a terrible shock for you.’

  I stood up and said, as firmly as I could, ‘That’s most kind of you, Dr Sorensen and I appreciate your concern, but I would like to go home now.’

  Too late, I remembered Jones’s words. ‘Leave. Just walk out now. Don’t look back.’ Why hadn’t I listened? Why hadn’t I just walked straight out of the door?

  I suddenly realised that if Sorensen said no – if he refused to let me go – what could I actually do? This was a secure mental facility. There were any number of people on the other side of that door who could prevent me leaving with one hand tied behind their backs. How stupid I had been to come here.

  I was suddenly hot and cold all over. A small bead of sweat trickled down my spine. The door seemed a very long way away, and there were two of them.

  ‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but as a doctor and your friend …’

  ‘Friend? When did that happen?’

  I didn’t need his nasty, sickly colour streaming towards me to know I could be in real trouble here. I put the picture back in the box, picked it up and went to move towards the door. I don’t think he even noticed.

  ‘As a concerned friend, I really feel it would be unwise of me to let you return home – alone, and to an empty house – when you are so very obviously unwell.’

  ‘I’m grieving for my husband,’ I said shortly, ‘not going down with flu,’ and headed towards the door.

  Dr Lewis was suddenly there. She wasn’t happy – I could see that – but she would do as she was told. I wondered what he had told her. That I was unbalanced? Or ill? Or that I had a drink problem? What was the euphemism? Oh yes, ‘tired and emotional’. Because no one who has just attended their husband’s funeral would be ‘tired and emotional’, would they?

  It was vital I didn’t give way to the overwhelming fear that was welling up inside me. I said to her, ‘I’d like to go home now, Dr Lewis. If there’s no car for me then I’ll call a taxi.’

  She shot him a look, but didn’t move.

  He moved forwards, saying smoothly, ‘You’re really not well, Mrs Cage. It would be most remiss of me to let you leave us. You’ve been under a great strain over the last few days. I really think you should rest here for a while. Take things easy. And then when you’re feeling better, we’ll take you home.’

  I said, ‘No,’ and left it at that. No ambiguity. No room for misinterpretation. Just say ‘no’.

  ‘I’m afraid I really can’t allow that.’

  ‘I’m afraid you really can’t stop me.’

  He said, ‘Actually …’ and let the words hang in the air.

  My heart was hammering fit to burst. What had I got myself into here? How did I go from grieving widow on one side of the door to possible prisoner on the other? This was ridiculous. This was England. You couldn’t just lock people away because you felt like it. There’s habeas corpus and … civil rights … and … other things.

  I pulled myself together, clutching my little box of Ted like a talisman.

  ‘I am leaving now, Dr Sorensen. If no transportation is available, then I shall walk.’

  ‘You must see how impossible that is, Mrs Cage.’ He gestured outside. The afternoon, never sunny to begin with, had clouded over. It would be dark in half an hour. ‘And I have to tell you that these wild statements of yours do not lead me to believe that you are capable of acting in your own best interests, at the moment.’

  I kept my voice calm. There’s nothing as counter-productive as hysterically trying to prove your own sanity.

  ‘I appreciate your concern. It is unfounded. I am leaving now.’

  ‘As a doctor, Mrs Cage, I cannot possibly let you leave in your current condition.’

  ‘I shall telephone …’ I stopped.

  He smiled. ‘Precisely. No one knows you’re here. At present, you are our guest, but I am a doctor. All it will take is a couple of signatures on a form and you couldn’t leave here even if you wanted to. We are very concerned about your mental health – and, after all, we are the experts.’

  ‘You can’t keep me here.’

  ‘My dear Mrs Cage, three signatures and it’s done. Especially when one of them is from a Section Twelve-approved doctor. That would be me of course, which is very convenient. You have no relatives or carers who could look after you during this trying time and this leaves us very little choice. I beg you to reconsider this intransigent attitude. Life will be so much easier for all of us if you remain here voluntarily.’

  ‘You can’t keep me here against my will.’

  Under the terms of Section Two of the Act, we can hold you for twenty-eight days.’

  ‘I can appeal.’

  ‘Of course, you can. I look forward to seeing you try. I don’t believe you have a mobile phone, do you? Perhaps I should mention that failure to cooperate would almost certainly result in you being detained under Section Three of the Mental Health Act, and that’s for up to six months, with the option of a further twelve on top of that. You decide.’

  I sat slowly, trying to ignore the clamouring panic inside and tried to think clearly. Cooperation meant being a voluntary patient. Theoretically I would be able to leave at any time. All I had to do was pick a moment and climb over the wall. Or snatch an opportunity to make a telephone call for help. Clearly, I wasn’t going to be able to leave now, but if I shut up, cooperated, and bided my time, I might be able to leave tomorrow. Or the next day. Once again, I remembered my dad. ‘Softly, softly, catchee monkey.’

  I had a sudden vision of embedding an axe in Sorensen’s head, which was both surprising and horrifying. I’d never had a vicious impulse in my life. It was also strangely satisfying. I might put it on my list of possible escape strategies.

  He was talking again. I waited until he’d finished and then said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t listen to any of that. If you want any cooperation from me you’re going to have to say it all again.’

  He compressed his lips. His colour darkened and I had a sudden clue. He
rather enjoyed inspiring shock and awe. He was less at home with ridicule. I bet he took himself very seriously.

  He said, ‘I shall require your keys, Mrs Cage. We’ll send someone to pack a few things for you.’

  I looked him in the eye. ‘No need, surely. I shall be completely recovered by this time tomorrow. A toothbrush will be all that I need.’

  ‘I don’t think we should be making any assumptions at this stage.’

  I felt a sudden spurt of anger. I didn’t know what he wanted from me, but whatever it was he wasn’t going to get it. Remembering where I was, I hastily amended that to – he wasn’t going to get it easily.

  I said very softly, ‘I think not making assumptions could work both ways, don’t you?’

  His head jerked up, but I didn’t give him a chance. Wheeling about, I said to Dr Lewis, ‘Well, why are you standing there? I’m assuming you have a room already prepared. If you haven’t then that certainly shows poor planning on your part. Take me there at once.’

  She looked over my shoulder and he must have nodded because she opened the door. ‘This way please, Mrs Cage.’

  Chapter Five

  I was escorted to Room Eleven – a room I guessed was something of a halfway house. Not the sumptuous comfort set aside for the rich and famous suffering a temporary disconnection from reality, but not the basement torture chambers of my imaginings either. The sort of room set aside for those who actually needed treatment but couldn’t pay for it, rather than those who didn’t but could. His pro bono work.

  It was a pretty room, feminine in pink and cream. My room was L-shaped, because of the bathroom, with two long, narrow windows overlooking the gardens sloping down to the river. There was a hospital bed – even Sorensen’s clinic had ordinary hospital beds, but the linen was high quality and the colour scheme pleasantly calming. I had a dressing table-cum-desk, a wardrobe, a comfortable armchair from which to look out of the window, and a bedside table. Innocuous prints lined the walls. I had several views of Derwentwater. There was a pleasant smell of lemons, but the windows didn’t open and there was nothing sharp anywhere in sight.

  While Dr Lewis checked over the towels in the glittering white and chrome bathroom, I was examining the outer door.

  ‘Can I help you, Mrs Cage? What are you looking for?’

  ‘The lock.’

  ‘We don’t lock our guests in,’ she said, rather as if I’d suggested they water-boarded patients for fun.

  ‘So I can leave at any time?’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to get past the continually manned nurses’ station, down the stairs, past the consulting rooms and offices, past reception, down the drive and through our heavily manned front gate, of course.’

  Which told me what I wanted to know. It would have to be the back door for me. I thought perhaps I could tunnel to freedom and then remembered I was on the first floor. Today was obviously not a day for thinking clearly. I abandoned any hope of escaping today.

  ‘I shall want a pot of tea,’ I said, deciding to make as much trouble as possible. ‘And a biscuit would be nice. Is there a TV? Where’s the remote? Do you have Sky? Where’s the library? And I’d like a copy of today’s paper. Could you have one sent up, please.’

  The door was on one of those special hinges so she couldn’t slam it behind her, but she did try.

  I sat in the armchair and looked out over the darkening garden and wished with all my heart that Ted was here.

  The tea arrived, much to my surprise. The downside was that it was accompanied by Dr Sorensen and another request for my keys. I handed them over. There was no point in fighting a battle I couldn’t win. They had only to wait until I was asleep and take them. Besides, I needed a few things – toiletries and stuff. I had a little fun detailing precisely what I wanted, and where they would find it, and in which suitcase they were to put it. Then I enquired whether he would be emptying the fridge.

  He stared at me. I’d been right. He really didn’t enjoy not being taken seriously.

  ‘Well, since I’m a prisoner here for an indefinite period of time, it’s all going to go off, isn’t it? It will stink to high heaven and that will bring my neighbours around, and then someone will realise they haven’t seen me for a long time, and someone else will remember I haven’t been seen since the funeral, which will bring them here and, although by that time I’m sure you’ll have me buried in your deepest dungeon, trust me, I’ll find some way of attracting their attention. Or, of course, you could drug me to the eyebrows and present a dribbling mumbling idiot whose claims couldn’t possibly be taken seriously. Or, you could have a word with your boss, who could certainly attempt to stifle any police enquiry at birth, but we’ve both watched enough TV to know that some maverick police officer with drink problems and a broken marriage will refuse to give up despite official disapproval, follow it through to the end, and uncover a whole raft of illegal government activities in the process. I expect you’ll get the blame for that.’

  He stared at me. ‘The drugging part has a certain appeal.’

  He was bluffing. As soon as I’d mentioned his boss, his colour had wavered quite considerably. There was something wrong there. It dawned on me that he wasn’t the only one who could extract information. Even if he didn’t speak, I could see his reaction to everything I said. Perhaps I wasn’t as helpless as I thought I was.

  I pressed home my advantage. ‘And I don’t suppose your boss will be happy about that, will he? Or these days, of course, she.’

  His whole colour jumped.

  Result!

  They left me alone all the next day. They didn’t starve me – rather nice meals turned up at regular intervals, but no one came anywhere near me. If it was a ploy, then it was working. Being ignored is rather disconcerting. My attempts to explore were politely thwarted by the nurses at the station. I gathered I could have anything I wanted, but they would bring it to me.

  I returned to my room, picked up my book and sat down to see what would happen next.

  Nothing happened next. I wondered if they were all too busy tossing our house to attend to me. I could imagine Sorensen standing in the middle of our living room, pulling Ted’s books onto the floor, rummaging through our drawers, our papers, our clothes. Of his people lying on our bed while they read our bank statements. Crashing around in my clean kitchen, getting grease and dirt everywhere. A sudden flash of revulsion ran through me. I would never live happily in that house again.

  For two days, nothing happened. The weather was dark and dirty. I took what I needed from my small suitcase, very pointedly not unpacking and placed our photograph on the bedside table where I could see it. Every time I felt overwhelmed by what was happening – which was quite often – I looked at Ted and thought about what he would advise me to do. How angry he would be on my behalf. How he would rescue me somehow. How no one would even dare to treat me like this if he was still alive. I thought of Ted a lot.

  It began on the third day. Everything happened on the third day.

  For a start, the sun came out. One or two people went out walking in the gardens. For the first time, I could hear voices under my window. I know people passed along the corridor outside my room, but the corridors were so heavily carpeted that there was never any noise. I wondered if that was deliberate. To induce feelings of isolation. If so, it wasn’t working today. Today there were definitely signs of life.

  Too many signs of life, because Dr Sorensen sent for me. I considered remaining where I was and telling the nurse he knew where I was if he wanted me, but on second thoughts, I was sick of this room and I wanted to get the layout of the place, and his office was on the ground floor, so off I went.

  I thought there might be a bewildering number of identical corridors, all with closed doors giving no clue as to what was going on behind, but it wasn’t like that at all. Each corridor was carpeted and painted in a different colour, making navigation easy even for the more challenged amongst us. Most doors were propped open. Some rooms were e
mpty, but others were occupied. Because they were L-shaped, most of the interiors weren’t visible from the corridor, but I could see personal belongings scattered on dressing tables, or vases of flowers, or the occasional dressing gown thrown over a chair.

  The lift was at the top of the stairs, but I opted for the stairs themselves, which were wide and shallow and swept around in a graceful curve to the hall where we’d had the Christmas ‘do’. Which seemed quite a long time ago now.

  I swept into his office, channelling indignant, innocent, recent widow.

  ‘Well? Now what ridiculous reason have you come up with for keeping me here against my will?’

  ‘My dear Elizabeth …’

  ‘I am not your “dear Elizabeth”. I am the recent widow of a member of your staff being kept here for some sinister and almost certainly illegal reason.’

  ‘How on earth have you come to that conclusion?’

  ‘You obviously want something. You’re too cowardly to come out with it so it must be sinister and illegal, mustn’t it. You’d hardly have imprisoned me for three days if all you wanted was a donation to the widows’ and orphans’ fund. So what do you want, Sorensen? Out with it?’

  ‘I think I might dispute your use of the word “imprison”.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I can see now that I chose poorly. How about “detain”? Incarcerate? Intern? Confine? Bang up?’

  ‘Mrs Cage, it was never my intention to …’

  ‘Never mind what you didn’t intend to do – what do you intend to do?’

  ‘I just want to talk.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘Well, let’s begin with you. How are you feeling today?’

  ‘Well enough to go home. So no change there.’

  ‘I don’t remember Ted mentioning you were this spiky.’

  ‘I think if Ted were here today and found you holding his wife against her will, you’d have more than my spikiness to worry about.’

  His colour flared towards me. Somehow, without meaning to, I’d given him an opening.