Chapter Seven
This time the woman was already in her office, waiting. Rita let the orderly guide her inside and took the hard plastic chair again.
The office had changed, a few items added to the desk – a half-drunk mug of coffee next to the potted plant; two framed photos, turned away from Rita. There were some photos on a cork-board which had been hung on the wall, and a postcard from Naples. A name had been added to the empty badge.
Meena Ashgar, Counsellor.
The woman spotted Rita looking at it. “Now you know my name,” she said. “Call me Miss Ashgar.”
“If you say so.”
“Yes. Please.” The woman cleared her throat. “Anyway, you need to know the drill. You’ll come here at 10am every day for your first two weeks. Hopefully we can get you through this quickly. Roy won’t bring you next time, you’ll be expected to find your own way.”
Rita ran through her route here. Her room was in the eaves, three floors up. Two separate flights of stairs and two empty corridors. She’d heard voices on the ground floor, coming from the front of the building. But the building itself was bare and soulless. There were pale patches on the walls where pictures had once hung, and on the polished wooden boards of the ground floor where rugs had lain. Once again she wondered how many people were here, and if she would meet any of them.
“Do you have other prisoners here?”
Miss Ashgar flinched. “We don’t like to use the word prisoner.”
“So what word do you use then?”
“Patient.”
“Patient? But I’m not sick.”
“Under the law, you are. The programme is designed to cure you.”
Rita laughed. “This is ridiculous. I’m not sick, I’m not doing any programme, and I want to know my rights.”
The counsellor closed her eyes for a moment, then forced a smile. She rounded the desk, crouching to bring her face level with Rita’s. She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. When she spoke, her voice was low.
“Look. I know what you’re going through. It happened to me too. But I went through the programme, and now I understand. I was sick. Not physically, but in my head.”
Rita scowled. Bullshit, she thought. She looked ahead, not meeting the counsellor’s eye.
The counsellor pursed her lips. “I want to help you. If you cooperate, then you’ll get out sooner.” She stood and scratched her neck under the fabric of her headscarf. It was warm down here. “We got off on the wrong foot yesterday. Let’s try again.” She licked her lips. “Yes?”
Rita continued to stare straight ahead. The counsellor sighed and glanced at the camera behind Rita.
“OK, if that’s how you’re going to be.” She went back to her chair and opened a drawer. She pulled out a white leaflet. She looked at the camera again, then back at Rita. “Do you know what this is?”
Rita shook her head, looking at it out of the corner of her eye.
“It’s the British Values Programme. Normally you get a copy of this when you arrive, but I think we need to approach it differently. I’m going to read you the first page.”
Rita didn’t want to listen to this. She had no intention of submitting to any kind of programme, at least not until she’d had a fair trial. She hadn’t even been formally charged yet.
The counsellor looked up with another nervous smile. Rita flicked her gaze away.
“Right,” she said, tweaking her hijab where it had come loose over her ear. “I’ll read you the introduction.”
Rita shrugged.
“‘Welcome to the British Values Programme. This programme is designed to help you understand that the British state is not your enemy. Far from it; it has your best interests at heart. This is a country with a long tradition of tolerance and openness; the programme is designed to help you understand that and accept its benefits for you and society at large.
“‘You’ll go through six simple steps as you progress through the programme, with the help of your counsellor. If you embrace it, you can work through the steps in as little as six sessions with your counsellor. If you refuse to engage with the programme, it will take longer. It’s your choice.’”
Miss Ashgar looked up. “Making sense so far?”
Rita grunted.
“OK.” The counsellor folded the leaflet shut and placed it on her desk. She sniffed and scratched her chin. “Let’s start by examining your thoughts, before I introduce the first step to you.”
She waited for Rita to speak, then nodded, glanced at the camera then back at Rita.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
Rita turned to her, her face hot. “No. You won’t tell me. You should have charged me, and told me my rights by now. You can’t hold me pris—”
The counsellor put up a hand to stop her. “You’re frustrated. I was too. In fact, you’ve got nothing on the way I felt when I got here.”
Rita eyed her.
“You don’t believe me. You will. I’m going to help you go through the same process I did. You’ll come to thank me.”
“Never.”
She smiled. “I’m going to put you out of your misery, tell you why you’re here. It’s because you failed to instil the proper values in the children in your care.”
Rita snorted. What utter crap. The kids didn’t need brainwashing. But who was it who informed on her?
“You do know that all schools are required to recite the Values Oath every morning?”
Rita didn’t respond. Of course she knew.
“And that in your school, this was supposed to take place in the classroom?”
There was a pause while the counsellor waited for her to speak, then gave up.
“You’re not helping, Rita. If you help me, I can help you. Do you know the oath?”
Rita felt a cloud of recognition pass over her face. Her anger at the thing had made her memorise it, so many times had she railed privately against its words. She resisted the urge to nod.
“Stand up, Rita.”
Rita frowned.
“Please.”
She heaved herself into a standing position.
“Let’s recite it together.”
Rita felt her insides recoil. She’d only recited it aloud once, in the pub. She had friends who were as angry as she was, and together they’d mocked it. Their parody had attracted quizzical glances from the other customers that had made them giggle and then turn quiet for fear of being informed on. You couldn’t trust anyone. Not since Leonard Trask, the Prime Minister she hadn’t voted for, had introduced his system of rewards for information. She knew people who’d been arrested purely because their neighbours wanted the recognition, although most of those cases hadn’t got anywhere.
She sat down again. This wasn’t 1930s Germany.
“Stand up, Rita. Please.” Another glance at the camera. Rita resisted looking at it, and wondered who was watching. She pursed her lips and pulled her legs together, planting her feet on the floor.
The counsellor sighed and put a hand on her arm. Rita flinched.
“It will be easier for you if you work with me.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Good. And so you’ll help me?”
Rita looked at her. “I can help you alright. Help you see that they’ve brainwashed you.”
Miss Ashgar smiled. “No-one’s brainwashed me. I went through the programme and came to my own understanding of where I’d gone wrong.” She coughed. “We can’t force you to think a certain way, Rita. We don’t want to. It only works if you embrace it.”
“Embrace it? What’s this, a religious cult or something?”
“Don’t be silly.”
Rita put her hands together and planted them between her thighs like a knife blade. She looked at her legs; the grey jogging bottoms they’d given her to wear made them look fat. What would Mrs Toft think if she could see where they’d sent her? Would she regret her act of loyalty to the state?
“OK,” said
the counsellor, her voice catching. “If you won’t recite the oath with me, I’ll do it on my own.”
Rita shrugged, her eyes on the floor. The counsellor’s shoes poked from beneath her long green skirt. They were bright blue and shiny.
She took a breath. “I promise to uphold the values of this great country. The rule of law, individual liberty and the tradition of tolerance.”
Rita looked up through her eyelashes to see that her counsellor was staring ahead of her with her eyes closed. No-one’s watching you, she thought. Then she remembered the cameras. She lifted her head to look properly at the woman. Was she putting it on, for their audience? And how the hell did she end up here, given the job of brainwashing people?
“I will encourage others to do the same,” she continued. “If I witness activity contrary to these values or which puts Britain in danger, I will alert the authorities.”
The counsellor took in a deep breath and paused for a moment, her eyes still closed. Rita wondered if she was considering her performance, assessing whether it had been good enough. Or maybe she was praying? Nothing would surprise Rita today.
Miss Ashgar opened her eyes. Rita quickly looked back at the floor.
“There, that wasn’t so bad was it?”
Rita shrugged again.
“Have you ever said it?”
Rita looked up. “Yes.”
She was rewarded with a smile. “Good. So you can do it again.”
Rita felt her body grow heavy. She was hungry; breakfast had been a bowl of broken up cornflakes and a cup of orange tea so strong you could stand your spoon up in it. Her stomach felt hollow and her head ached.
“You’re not leaving this room until we recite the oath together.”
“What?”
“I have to get you to at least say it.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t force me to do anything?”
“I can’t force you through the six steps. This bit I can do what I want with.”
There was a steel to the counsellor’s voice that didn’t fit with her petite build and soft features. What had this woman – not much more than a girl – done to find herself here? Was there more to her than met the eye?
Rita considered. She was hungry and she needed the toilet.
“Can I have a break?”
“A break?”
“I need to go to the toilet.”
The counsellor laughed. “That’ll motivate you then. I guess.”
“Really? You’re not going to let me go to the toilet?”
“Sorry.”
“What if I pee all over your chair?”
“You’re not going to do that.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re not that kind of person.”
Rita pursed her lips. She heard a voice from outside the door; someone outside in the corridor, calling. Were they calling her? Or her counsellor? Or was there someone else along here, in another office?
The voice went silent. She wondered when she would get out of here.
“Alright. I’ll say it. Then you’ll let me out, right?”
“Of course. You can come back tomorrow and we’ll move on to Step One. Do the oath with me then I’ll read it to you. You can prepare overnight.”
“Prepare?”
“It helps if you can think about what you’ve done, consider where you went wrong. Step One is a breeze when you’ve done that.”
Rita glared at her. “Was it for you? A breeze?”
The counsellor blushed. “That’s not relevant.”
It wasn’t then. Rita wasn’t sure why this gave her a small sense of satisfaction.
“But I think you’ll find it easier than me.”
“Why?”
Another blush. “I’ve said too much. Stand up and we’ll do the oath.”
Rita looked back down at her hands. If she did this, had they won? No-one would know.
She looked up at the camera. A steady red light shone to its left. Who was watching? She scowled at it, then stuck her tongue out.
“That was silly.” Miss Ashgar was standing to attention opposite her. “Come on then. Oath, I’ll go over Step One, then you can go.”
Rita looked into her eyes. They were steady and unblinking. A clump of hair had strayed from the hijab; it was dark and wavy, with an orange-red streak. The counsellor spotted her looking and shoved it back under the fabric, screwing up her nose.
“Yeah. I’ve changed my mind.”
The counsellor’s shoulders slumped. This was almost fun to watch.
“Seriously?”
“Uh-huh. I can hold it in.”
A buzzer sounded from somewhere, making Rita jump and almost empty her bladder despite herself. Miss Ashgar frowned and looked at the door. She walked – glided almost – past Rita, who turned in her seat.
On the wall next to the door was a silver grille. Rita had assumed it was a ventilation plate, but realised now that it was a speaker. Beneath it was a small black button, so tiny that it looked like nothing more than a screw holding the whole thing in place.
The counsellor bent towards the grille and muttered into it. A distorted voice responded. Rita couldn’t make out the words.
“Are you sure?” Miss Ashgar said.
A crackled response; it sounded like absolutely.
“Very well.”
The counsellor turned towards Rita and looked at her as if coming to a decision. Then she put her hand on the door and pushed it open. Rita took in a breath, expecting to be released. But instead, Miss Ashgar opened the door and left her alone without a word.
Chapter Eight
The eyes of the whole group were on Jennifer. Even Bel had quietened and turned to face her. Jennifer wondered if she really had lost her mind or whether it was an act, a way of hiding from Mark and what he expected them to do.
She felt a hand on her knee; Sally, to her right, was leaning in, a smile on her face.
“This is what you need,” she whispered. “You’re one of us.”
Jennifer pulled back; what did she mean, one of us? What sort of information had this woman ‘disseminated’, anyway? She returned the smile but said nothing.
Mark stood and stepped towards her. The women looked between them, like spectators at a tennis match.
He held out his hands. “Stand up.”
She pulled herself up to standing, jabbing her fingernails into her palms. The pain was reassuring, reminding her that this was real, and she was still Jennifer Sinclair, the woman who could take on anything.
Mark was smiling into her face now, encouraging. “Have you read the booklet? Step One?”
She nodded. Step One was easy. Step One was just facts.
“Normally you’d do this with me first,” he continued. “In your one-to-one.” His eyes darkened. “But I think you’re ready to do this with the support of the group.”
She cleared her throat, wondering about the women surrounding her. How had they got here? Could she trust them? And what did they know about her? Mark knew about her past, that was clear, but did they recognise her?
Sally stood up next to her. “Would you like me to help her, Mark?”
Sally’s fingers touched Jennifer’s and she shrank back. Creep.
“Thank you,” said Mark. “But that won’t be necessary. Jennifer will need your help for Step Three. We can wait until then.”
“OK.” Sally sounded disappointed. She sat down. Jennifer let her hands fall, the echo of Sally’s touch sharp on her fingers.
The room had gone quiet. Bel’s humming had been replaced by slow, steady nose breathing. Beyond Mark she could see Paula, her head cocked. There was a look of recognition in her eyes, and mockery.
Mark took a step back. “Can you give us the first part of Step One please.” It wasn’t a question.
Jennifer coughed and pushed her nails deeper into her palms. This was true, she reminded herself. But not in the way he thought.
“I confess that I hav
e been disloyal to the British State.”
She closed her eyes, memories flooding over her. The face of her boss, the then Home Secretary John Hunter, accosting her in the division lobby at the height of their animosity; Michael Stuart, former Prime Minister, glaring at her from the front bench. Maggie Reilly, fellow rebel, grinning at her as they’d won the vote, eyes full of triumph.
She’d been disloyal to the state, no doubt of it. If it hadn’t been for her, none of this would be happening.
She looked around at the women, her eyes prickling. Did they know what she’d done? Did they blame her?
Mark put a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened.
“Good,” he said. “Well done.”
She narrowed her eyes. If he only knew.
He let his hand fall. “Now for the next part,” he said. “I know I haven’t taken you through this yet, so I understand it could be tricky. Just tell us in your own words.”
She blinked at him. There was so much to tell. Bringing down her own government. Betraying her friends and colleagues. Catherine’s betrayal of her in turn. Without her, Trask wouldn’t be Prime Minister. The British Values Programme wouldn’t exist. None of them would be here. And – she stifled a moan – her family would be safe, and together.
He pulled at his lower lip. Did he know what she was thinking? Was he worried she’d tell the truth?
No. She had to get through this. The priority was to find a way out of here, and back to Yusuf. To get Samir released. And to see her baby boy Hassan again.
She narrowed her eyes at him. I do this, she thought, and in my next one-to-one you tell me where he is.
She lifted her chin and closed her eyes. Bel had stared muttering again; out of the corner of her eye, Jennifer could see her rocking. Sally was shuffling in her seat, impatient.
She had to ignore them. To tell him what he wanted to hear.
“I harboured a suspected terrorist.”
Around her there was rustling, and a couple of relieved coughs. Paula and Maryam were possibly recognising a kindred spirit.
She waited for Mark to congratulate her, to tell her to sit down.
“Good,” he said.
She glanced at the chair behind her, preparing to sit. The clock on the wall opposite ticked loudly.
The Division Bell Trilogy Page 30