She frowned and closed her eyes to listen. Voices. A cacophony of voices. Shouting, cheering, stamping of feet.
“What’s going on?”
Dr Clarke raised a finger. “One moment.”
They paused at a door which he elbowed open, standing back to let the orderlies push her through. She waited for the noise to increase, for its source to appear. But as the door closed behind her, it dimmed.
She pulled up and looked around. They were in a small, featureless room, with no furniture except two plastic chairs and her gurney. Dr Clarke gestured at the orderlies and they left, their feet shuffling on the wooden floor. Rita could smell air freshener mixed with something more medical; antiseptic? She wasn’t sure.
She allowed her head to fall back and blinked up at the ceiling. “Please will you untie me,” she said.
She couldn’t see his face now, but could hear his breathing rasping in the small space. He was a smoker.
“Please,” she said. Hating herself.
“If I do, will you be sensible?”
“Yes.”
He leaned over her. His aftershave was musty, making her gag. As his hand passed over her she saw damp patches under his arms and smelt sweat. She closed her eyes, screwing up her face.
He paused and drew back, looking into her face. “The orderlies are right outside,” he said. “No funny business, right?”
“Right.”
He looked towards the door and then loosened the restraints on her wrists. She pulled at them, relieved to feel their grip loosen.
“My feet?”
He grunted and did as she said. She wriggled her toes. One of her feet had pins and needles; the urge to scratch was excruciating.
“I’d like to sit up.”
“No.”
“I won’t do anything, I promise.” Her limbs felt heavy; she wasn’t sure if she would be able to sit up anyway. But lying here like this was too much to bear.
“No. Sorry.”
She let out a breath. “Why have you brought me down here? I thought I was supposed to be preparing for something.”
He was standing over her now, looking down. His tie moved in front of her eyes, its thin blue stripes blurring.
“You are.” He pulled one of the chairs over and sat in it, bringing his eyes level with hers. “You’re about to undergo something called Celebration.”
She frowned. “What?”
“It’s the final stage of the programme.”
“But I haven’t even done the first stage yet.” Her energy was returning. “Look, will you just let me off this bed? You have to tell me what’s going on. You can’t do this.”
But she could hear it in her voice; the loss of hope. If they were prepared to sedate her, to drag her down here on a trolley, there would be no solicitor, no case before the magistrates. She cursed Ash, and then herself. Why hadn’t she paid attention, all those nights in the pub when he’d been complaining about the government with his friends? Their friends. She agreed with them of course, but the detail of it bored her. Unless it related to school.
“I can, I’m afraid. And there’s a lot more I can do. Legally. You need to listen to me, Rita, You need to see sense.”
See sense. Patronising bastard. She pulled at her restraints again; they slackened.
“Stop it,” he said.
“OK,” she breathed. “So what’s this Celebration, then?”
He leaned in and smiled. “That’s better. I’m going to take you into a room. The room where you were with me for group, you remember?”
“Yes.” How stupid did he think she was?
“I’m going to ask you some questions in there. There will be witnesses.”
She nodded. The group, again.
“More witnesses,” he said. “Not just your group. All the women here will be present. There’s quite a crowd. I’ll need you to keep calm.”
She nodded again; holding his eyes with hers while she pulled gently at her wrist restraints. He’d loosened them too much.
“What do I need to do?” she asked.
“Just answer the questions.”
“Truthfully?”
He chuckled. “Yes. Of course.”
She felt her right hand come free. Beyond the door, there was a sound; the orderlies?
She had to act fast. She looked around the room quickly, trying to spot anything she could use. Anything.
There was only the other chair. She couldn’t get to it, not with her legs tied up.
“Alright,” she said, bringing her eyes back to his. “I’ll be a good girl.”
He started to smile and then his face fell. He wasn’t buying it. Quickly she yanked her left hand upwards, freeing it, and brought her right hand up to meet it. She clenched the two of them in a fist and slammed it into his face. As it made contact she saw his eyes widen.
He crashed backwards, falling off his chair. She pulled herself up and bent to reach her ankles. The straps were secured with buckles, like a watch. She could undo them easily.
A hand fell on her shoulder and pulled her backwards. She tugged against it, screaming.
“Stop it, you stupid bitch.” The larger of the two orderlies, the one with the tattoo – Tim – was behind her, pinning her down. His colleague had her other hand and was strapping it down again, tighter this time. He tugged at the strap, testing it. It hurt.
The counsellor rose from the floor, glaring at her. “You’re going to regret this.”
He looked at the orderly. “Let’s get her in there. Quickly.”
The orderly pushed the gurney through the door, slamming her head into it. She cried out. Back outside, she could hear the rumble that had disappeared when they’d gone into that room. It grew louder as they sped down the corridor. She took in gulps of air, desperate not to be sick. Lying here like this, she could choke in her own vomit.
But why hadn’t they sedated her again? She thought about what he’d said. Answer some questions. They needed her conscious.
She’d answer his damn questions. But she wouldn’t give him the answers he wanted.
At last the gurney came to a stop. Next to her, Dr Clarke was panting, sweat dripping from his chin. His nose was swelling but not bleeding.
The noise had stopped, and she could hear a single voice through the doors in front of them. It was a familiar door, one her counsellor had led her through before. But there was more than just her group beyond it.
She strained to hear. The voice was a woman’s, deep and sonorous. Show me, she heard. Then the voice was drowned out by sound. Raised voices, whistles, hoots, hands clapping, feet stamping on wooden floors. Was this for her? She felt her stomach lurch.
Then, just as abruptly, it went quiet.
“Now,” breathed Dr Clarke. The orderlies propped the door open and pushed her in.
It was the same room, alright. But this time, even though she couldn’t see anything except the high, cobwebbed ceiling, she could sense that it was full. Whispers skidded over her head, accompanied by shuffling of feet and the occasional cough. She tensed. Who was here?
Mark bent over and whispered into her ear. “I’m going to unfasten your wrists. If you move, Tim there will lean on your ribs. Clear?”
She swallowed. “Clear.”
He unfastened the restraints, his eyes staying on her face. She lifted herself up and blinked against the brightness of the sunshine that poured in from the window at the far end of the room.
A shiver travelled through her gut. In front of her, wide-eyed and staring, were over a hundred women arrayed in concentric rows. Next to them and in front was a neat group of people in suits. Two men were closest to her. One of them sneered at her from a face so pale he looked like a ghost. The other was short and obese, sweating profusely. Next to them were three women. Two were nondescript, wearing almost identical black trouser suits beneath dark brown bobbed hair. The third – Rita gasped – wore a green hijab.
She pointed at her. “You’re real!” she cried.<
br />
The woman paled. The people around her looked at her and a wave or murmurs worked its way through the woman.
“Miss Ashgar. My counsellor. You’re real!” she repeated.
Dr Clarke passed in front of her. He pushed her back down to the gurney. “Hush now.”
She glared at him. “You lied to me. You told me I was making it up. There she is! She’s real!”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course Miss Ashgar is real. She’s a counsellor. My colleague.”
He turned briefly to look at Miss Ashgar, whose eyes widened.
“Now then, what’s going on? I think we need to move things along a bit.”
Rita turned to see another woman approaching her. She looked nothing like the other counsellors; tall and flamboyantly dressed, she reminded Rita of someone she’d once taught with.
“Who are you?”
The woman chuckled. “I’m Yonda Hughes. Centre Governor. I”m here to help you with your Celebration.”
Rita gulped. “I thought he was going to do that.”
The woman glanced at Dr Clarke. “Oh, of course. We’re all here to help you, my dear.”
Rita narrowed her eyes. The governor looked at Dr Clarke and nodded.
The orderlies grabbed Rita’s arms and pulled her up. “Stay there,” said Tim.
She sat staring at her audience, who stared back. It reminded her of those awful workshops she had to do with parents, but a hundred times worse. She felt an itch start up in her leg, and reached down to scratch it.
“Don’t move,” snapped Tim, balling his fist. She blanched and pulled back.
Dr Clarke had moved to the other side of the room, and was bending over a table, his back to her. His arms moved; he was doing something, preparing something. What?
Finally he turned, holding a glass of water.
Rita felt her vision blurring. Don’t pass out, she told herself. She panted in a few sharp breaths, willing herself to focus on his face, not on the audience.
He approached and then turned to the group. “This is Rita Gurumurthy. Today is her Celebration.”
She thought of the programme that he and Miss Ashgar had told her about, the six steps. They’d only asked her to answer the first one, and she’d refused. She’d seen one of the other women – which one? – answer the second. She had no idea what the rest of them were.
Dr Clarke smiled and held out the glass.
“Here. Drink this, and then we’ll get started.”
Chapter Seventeen
Jennifer struggled with her emotions as she watched Rita being wheeled in. Part of her was being swept up by the excitement and anticipation of the crowd, but a greater part felt fear for Rita. She’d only spent a matter of minutes in the other woman’s company, but already she felt an almost maternal protectiveness towards her. Rita reminded her of herself at her most naive. Hopelessly ignorant of the law and how it applied to her, she was persisting in the belief that by resisting she could get herself out of this place.
Jennifer knew that was foolish.
Rita pulled herself up from the gurney as they brought her in. Her face was pale and her eyes rimmed with dark shadows. Her normally light brown cheeks were blotchy and stained with tear tracks. But her eyes blazed and she looked as defiant as ever.
Mark bent to whisper in Rita’s ear then released her wrists. She sat up and stared at them all. Her eyes flew over Jennifer and the rest of the group and came to rest on the counsellors.
The tall, pale man was shuffling nervously. He looked as if he might lash out at any moment. The young woman in the hijab had paled.
Rita shouted at her, crying out her name. Maryam gasped. Behind her, a woman called out, echoing what Rita had said.
Around her, the women stared at the counsellor, then back at Rita, who was continuing to shout at Mark.
Jennifer’s eyes stayed on the counsellor. She was facing Rita now, standing side on to Jennifer, and it was difficult to make out her features. Her features were familiar: sharp nose, the wide eyes ringed with thick eyelashes.
She stooped to whisper in Maryam’s ear. “Do you know her?”
“No. Shush.”
She stared again at the young woman, who was pushing a stray hair under her hijab.
A rumble ran through the crowd, muttering voices this time, and not clattering feet. Mark was approaching Rita. He passed her a glass of water and she drank from it. She wiped her lips and sat back. The gurney had been rearranged so Rita was upright now, facing the audience.
Mark took a tissue from another counsellor and wiped Rita’s cheeks. He looked into her face with a surprising tenderness.
“Rita. Can you hear me?” he asked.
“Yes. I can hear you.”
The hush deepened as they strained to hear Rita’s voice, which had grown small and childlike.
Mark turned and walked towards the window. He picked up a chair and carried it over to Rita’s gurney. Everyone held their breath.
Rita turned her head to him and the audience beyond. Her face was clear, her eyes half closed and her muscles relaxed.
“Good,” said Mark. He glanced up at the governor who gave him a tight nod. Then he shuffled his chair in towards Rita. He didn’t lower his voice; he knew that the whole room was listening.
“Now, I’m going to ask you some questions. I need you to answer them for me, in your clearest voice. OK?”
“Yes.” Rita’s voice rang across the room. Mark placed his hand on Rita’s.
“That’s perfect,” he said. “Let’s start with Step One. Can you tell me what you did, Rita? Your crime?”
Her brow furrowed. “Which one?”
Whispering came from the crowd. The governor looked up and the room fell silent.
“Don’t worry, Rita,” said Mark. “I mean the crime that brought you here. Why were you arrested?”
“I didn’t say the oath. With my class.”
He nodded. “Which oath is that?”
“The British Values oath.”
“Can you say it for me now?”
“I could.”
“Yes?”
“But I don’t want to.”
“I’d like you to, please.”
Rita shook her head. “No thanks.”
“Alright,” said Mark. “Let’s go back to Step One. Have you been disloyal to the British State?”
“Depends who you mean.”
“Sorry?”
“This is nice.”
Whispering rippled through the room. Maryam had started trembling. Jennifer reached for her hand, and felt hers being gripped tightly.
“I know it’s nice,” said Mark. “But that’s not what I need you to tell us. Have you been disloyal to the British state?”
“I don’t think so.”
Mark’s shoulders dropped. “But you broke the law.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t think that’s disloyal?”
“No. Not when it’s a stupid law.” Rita’s voice was still soft.
“Alright,” Mark said. “Let’s try the next step. Do you accept the sovereignty of the British state?”
“Of course I do. I love this country. My parents came from India, you know, and they struggled to—”
Mark put his hand on her chest. “Yes, I’m sure that’s all great. But that’s not what I need. I’m glad you accept the sovereignty of the state.”
“Not of this crappy government though.”
The governor stepped forwards, clapping her hands. “Alright, I think we’ve heard enough.”
Mark looked up at her. The back of his shirt was dark with sweat.
“I need to go through all six steps,” he said. “Otherwise it’s not valid.”
The governor raised a well-groomed eyebrow. “Really? We’re going by the book, are we?”
“Yes,” he replied, his voice taut.
“Very well. But let’s get it over with, for everybody’s sake.” She looked up at t
he assembled women. “Be quiet now. All of you.”
A woman coughed behind Jennifer, who clamped her own lips together.
Mark dipped his head back down to Rita’s.
“Step Three now, please.”
Rita frowned. “I don’t know what step three is.”
The counsellors shuffled nervously. Even the governor looked perturbed. “Get a move on,” she snapped.
“I’ll help you,” Mark said to Rita. “I need you to accept my support. And the support of your group.”
Rita’s eyes widened. “What group?”
“The group you sat in the other day. Paula, Jennifer, Sally, Maryam and Bel.”
Jennifer felt eyes upon her from behind. Maryam’s grip on her hand tightened. She was using the other hand to all but strangle herself with her hair.
“Oh. Them. OK then.”
“You accept their support.”
Rita shrugged. “Guess so?”
“And mine?”
“No.”
“Sorry?”
“Not you. I want her back.” Her arm wafted in the general direction of the counsellors. “Miss Ashgar. I liked her.”
“You accept her support?”
“Yes.” Rita closed her eyes.
“Stay with me, Rita. I’ll be quick.”
She opened her eyes again.
“Step Four. Who have you harmed? How will you make amends?”
Rita frowned. ‘I haven’t harmed anyone.”
“I need you to answer the question.”
“Unless you mean that girl I stole Ash from. She hated me. I guess we broke her heart.”
Mark cleared his throat. “No, that’s not what I mean. How did you harm the children in your class, by not saying the oath?”
Rita’s eyes widened. “I didn’t harm them. Opposite.”
“Sorry?”
“Opposite to harm. Of harm. They’re better off. Me. ’Cause of me.”
Mark glanced at the governor, who was tapping a foot. Her platformed shoe looked out of place in this dreary room.
“OK Rita, we need to wrap things up,” he said. “Steps Five and Six together, OK?”
Rita waved a hand. “Whatever. ’S nice, this.”
Maryam sniffed and wiped her cheek. Beyond her, Bel was shaking.
“I need you to tell me how you’ll change. What you’ll do differently. And I need you to promise to spread the message outside here. To tell people how we’ve helped you.”
The Division Bell Trilogy Page 36
