The Division Bell Trilogy

by Rachel McLean

He put a hand on her arm. “Shush. That’ll do.”

  She nodded, smiling.

  “What did you do wrong? Why were you arrested?”

  “Oh. I was arrested because I hid my son, Samir. They accused him of being a terrorist. He had this girlfriend, see—”

  She heard a commotion beyond her feet somewhere. Mark put his hand on her lips. She kissed it, then laughed.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s OK. Let’s just keep things brief, shall we?”

  She nodded, looking up at him. His eyes were a bright blue. Lovely.

  “Now, do you accept my support? The support of your group?”

  “I sure do.” She reached a hand up to touch his face. He brushed it away.

  “Who have you harmed?”

  She frowned. “Well, that’s a toughie.”

  “OK, let me rephrase it. By hiding your son, who did you harm?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. No-one. I had to hide my son. I’m his mother after all.”

  She thought of the words she’d prepared, the lies. They’d left her. Oh well. It didn’t seem to matter now.

  “Right,” said Mark, his voice stern. “What will you do differently, in future?”

  “Well I won’t betray my own party, for one thing. And I’ll get this place closed down.”

  There was laughter from beyond her feet. Jennifer smiled, then put a hand to her cheek. Was that what she was supposed to say?

  “Finally, Jennifer, will you spread the message you’ve learned here? Will you encourage others to love the British state and be loyal to it?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “If there’s a change of government.”

  There was laughter followed by a series of slaps. She heard a woman cry out.

  “Thank you Jennifer.”

  “Is that it? Have I finished?”

  “You have.”

  “Oh. Thank you.”

  She reached a hand up again towards his face but it was heavy. She watched it descend back down towards her face, becoming less distinct. By the time it fell, she was unconscious.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Rita was sitting alone at the breakfast table when Jennifer arrived. She was looking the other way, checking for the rest of the group. She’s avoiding my eye, Jennifer thought. Not that she could blame her.

  She put her tray down.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Rita feigned surprise. “Oh. Jennifer. No, not at all.”

  Jennifer ate in silence, aware that Rita kept turning towards the door. When she’d finished her toast, she cleared her throat.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Rita spoke at the same time. Her voice was small and high-pitched. “How are you?”

  “What?”

  “Sorry? Oh. After your Celebration. How are you?”

  Jennifer shrugged. “Disappointed.” She picked up her mug of tea and drank from it, as much to shield her face as anything.

  Rita shrank back. She started picking at the skin on the back of her hand. “What was it like?”

  “I can’t really remember. But look, I wanted to talk to you. Before the others arrive.”

  Jennifer wasn’t used to this. She didn’t have many friendships; it was Yusuf to whom she normally owed apologies. She’d learned how to frame it, when to pick the right moment. This was so much harder.

  “Oh.”

  “Well, I know I was out of order. About your Celebration. I didn’t—”

  “Welcome back.”

  They looked up to see Maryam standing over them. Jennifer smiled.

  “Thanks.”

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  Jennifer felt her face grow hot. She glanced at Rita, who was looking down at her hands again.

  “No,” Jennifer said. “Sit down. Please.”

  Maryam placed her tray next to Jennifer’s. “Has Rita told you?”

  Jennifer looked between the two women. “No. Told me what?”

  Maryam gave Rita a look. Rita nodded.

  “We realised it when we were waiting for you to come in,” said Maryam. “The drug. It’s a truth drug.”

  Jennifer scoffed. “There’s no such thing.”

  Maryam shook her head. “Not true. I know it sounds like the sort of thing you’d see in the movies, but it’s real. I talked to one of the other women, she’s a doctor. It’s called Sodium Pentothal. If you take it, you can’t lie.”

  “Can’t lie! That’s ridiculous.”

  Rita looked up. “Shush.”

  The room was empty, the kitchen team having cleared up and left. Jennifer wondered how inmates got on that team. She could be here for a while; she might as well keep busy.

  Rita slumped in her chair, pulling at her skin. She kept whistling something to herself. She reminded Jennifer of Bel.

  “Rita? Are you OK?”

  Rita looked up at her, shrugged and bent her head again. Jennifer squeezed her eyes shut and dug her fingers into her hair. “Look, we have to come up with something.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Maryam.

  “A plan. To get out of here. They can’t keep us here forever.” She looked up. “Can they?”

  Maryam shrugged. “Dunno. I’ve only seen two women leave. They might have been released. They might not.”

  Jennifer shivered. She hadn’t considered that getting out of here would mean anything other than going home to Yusuf. Surely once she convinced them to believe her that she’d repented, they’d be done with her?

  Then she thought of prison, and Cindy. Maybe staying here was for the best.

  She shook herself out of it. “I can’t just sit here and wait for something to happen,” she said. “I need to come up with something. That’s what I do.”

  Rita sniffed.

  “What’s happened to you?” Jennifer asked her. “Where’s the fire gone? When you got here I was in awe of your guts. Standing up to Mark like that. Refusing to cooperate.”

  Rita looked up. “Really?”

  Jennifer blushed. “Well, if I didn’t, I was wrong. I thought I could get out of here by lying, and look where it got me.”

  She looked across at Maryam, noticing that her friend had dropped her habit of winding her hair round and around her neck. “I like your hair,” Jennifer said. “It suits you. If you don’t mind me saying that.”

  Maryam’s hand shot to her hair. She looked around the room. “Thanks,” she muttered.

  Jennifer sat back, her mind blank. She didn’t like not having a course of action to get started with. “How did you work it out?” she asked. “About the truth drug.” She still wasn’t convinced but it didn’t do any harm to find out more.

  Maryam shrugged. “It was Rita, really. While we were waiting for you to come in for your Celebration. I think it brought it back to her. She asked me about mine, and we realised what we had in common. She asked me if it felt like I’d been drinking!”

  Maryam laughed and Rita blushed. “Sorry.”

  “That’s OK.” She turned back to Jennifer. “I told her it felt like when I took a sleeping pill.” She cocked her head. “What was it like for you? Can you remember?”

  Jennifer fished in her memory. It was only two days ago but it felt hazy, like something that had happened last year.

  “I felt relaxed. Happy.” She squinted. “Did I touch him? The counsellor?” She felt her cheeks grow hot.

  Maryam chuckled. “Don’t worry. It gets us all like that, a bit.”

  Jennifer considered. “It did feel like I was drunk,” she said. “And I had an overwhelming urge to say everything that was on my mind.” She paused. “What did I say?”

  “Something about John, and Michael?”

  “Oh hell. Ah well, I guess that was true.” She had an idea. “Maybe there is a way around this.”

  Maryam shook her head. Rita slumped so far down that Jennifer thought she would fall off her seat.

  “No, there could be,” she said. �
�What if we find a form of words that isn’t lies, but is what they want to hear. There must be a way of framing it.” She smirked. “If anyone can come up with the right words, it’s a politician.”

  Maryam shook her head. “You can try, maybe. I don’t think I can.”

  “Why not? Maybe I can help you.” Jennifer leaned in. She heard a sound behind the closed serving hatch; somebody dropping something metallic. It clattered on the floor. Had they been overheard?

  “Tell me what you’re here for,” she whispered. “Let me help you with the words. I can probably do yours easier than my own.”

  Maryam shook her head. “I’d rather not.”

  There was another noise, from the doorway this time. Jennifer looked up to see Mark standing in it. She paled.

  Maryam turned round. Her eyes widened when she saw him. Rita did nothing.

  He nodded at them and shuffled into the room, glancing at the kitchen hatch.

  “Morning.”

  “Morning,” they muttered.

  “I’ve been looking for you, Jennifer.”

  She pointed at herself. Who, me? “Oh?”

  He smiled. “Still yourself, I see.” He glanced at Rita, his brow creasing. “Come to my office, please. It’s time for your one-to-one.”

  She looked at Maryam, who was staring at her, shaking her head.

  “No it isn’t,” she told him. “That’s tomorrow.”

  “Well, you just failed Celebration, didn’t you? You need an extra session. Come on.”

  Jennifer looked at Rita, who was leaning against her. She pushed her gently towards Maryam, who nodded.

  She stood up. “Right.”

  “Good. Come with me.”

  They passed at least four other women on the way to his office, all of whom stared at her. She looked back at them, wondering what they were thinking, what they’d seen her say. She didn’t like being the centre of attention. She was relieved to reach his office and duck inside.

  “Please, sit down.” He took a seat and gestured at the empty chair. She sat, leaning back.

  “So, do I have to start all over again?” she asked.

  He pursed his lips. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether you’ll tell the truth this time.”

  “What did you expect? I wanted to get out of here. As far as I could see, saying what you wanted to hear was the best way.”

  “I understand. Believe me, I do. But it was never going to work.”

  “Did you know I was lying? Did you see through it, all along?”

  He nodded. “Sorry.”

  “So why did you put me forward for Celebration?”

  He blushed. “That wasn’t my idea.”

  “You knew I wouldn’t be able to lie. You knew you’d be giving me a dose of Sodium Pentothal.”

  He flinched.

  “I worked it out. Or rather, Maryam and Rita did.” She paused. “Are we the only ones here who’ve been through it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t that a bit of a coincidence? All of us in the same group?”

  “I get the difficult ones.” He reached a hand towards her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “So, we’re the difficult ones, are we.” She smiled. She’d never intended to make life easy for him. Just for herself. “Don’t worry. Someone’s got to be. Didn’t it occur to you that we’d work it out?”

  He shrugged. “Of course it did.”

  “Why would anyone apply for Celebration, if they know?”

  “Because most patients don’t intend to lie. Most pass first time.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “How many? This place has been here, what, ten, twelve months? How many women have passed in that time?”

  “Two, maybe three.”

  “Is that all? Two, or three.”

  He blushed. “Two.”

  She grunted. “So, what do I do now? How do I get past this goddamn system?”

  He stood up. “Look, I never asked to come here, you know.”

  “Don’t give me that. Only obeying orders. This country hasn’t gone that far.”

  “It’s true. I worked in a psychiatric ward before this. They closed it down. NHS cuts. I had no choice but to take whatever was on offer. Which was this.”

  “What did you do, in this psychiatric ward?”

  “I was a psychiatric doctor, of course.”

  “And it doesn’t bother you what you’re doing here? Administering truth drugs to women and holding them prisoner until you can brainwash them?”

  “I didn’t design the system. It keeps prison crowding down. Surely you’d rather be here than in prison?”

  She narrowed her eyes: so he’d read her file.

  “I want to help you, Jennifer.”

  “You’ve already said that. Help me get through the programme. Which step is that? Oh yes, step three. Accept the help and support of my group and my counsellor. I need more than that, if I’m ever going to get my family back.”

  “I know. That’s why I want to help you. And not that way.”

  She curled her lip. “What way, then?”

  “I can’t tell you.” He looked past her shoulder towards the camera. “But I’m sure we can work something out.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to trust you, if you won’t tell me? How do I know you won’t go running back to that Yonda woman and tell her what we’ve talked about?”

  “Why would I do that? I’d lose my job.”

  “No you wouldn’t. I know you’re picking your words. You know she watches you.”

  He turned to the wall next to his desk, and pulled one of the photos down. The one that was ripped on one side. He waved it in front of her face.

  “Look at this, Jennifer. This is my son. His name’s Olivier. He’s five years old, but in this photo he’s three. My wife left me six months after that photo was taken, said she couldn’t bear living in this country anymore. I said I’d go with her but she told me that as far as she was concerned, I was the same thing. I represented everything shitty about Britain. So she took him to Canada.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m a big boy. But I wanted you to understand that you’re not the only one with problems. You’re not the only one who’s human. There’s me, and all those women out there. We’re real, Jennifer. We’re not monsters.”

  She looked from the photo to his face. His eyes were red. She thought of her children, of how it physically hurt to be away from them. “When did he leave you?”

  “Eighteen months ago. I told you. I haven’t seen him since.”

  She felt her muscles slacken. She nodded, her eyes lowered.

  He attached the photo to the wall again, carefully. He touched the boy’s face with his thumb as he did so.

  She leaned over the desk, lowering her voice. “Alright. For the sake of everyone in here. Help me get out, and then I’ll get them out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The group was quiet today. Rita sat with her head hung low in front of her chest, ignoring them all. Across from her, Jennifer was shifting uneasily in her seat, while Maryam was still, smoothing her hair over her shoulders. Sally played with her fingernails, pulling at them as if it would make them grow. Paula, next to Rita, was staring into space, thinking about Mandy maybe.

  Rita swung her legs below her chair, enjoying the swishing sound of her feet on the floor. She wasn’t interested in talking.

  The door opened and Rita sensed the others looking up. She continued staring at the floor, examining the scratches in the wood. Mark strode in, his footsteps slowing as he approached the circle of chairs. He sat down hastily and dropped his pile of files on the floor in front of his feet. They appeared in the corner of her vision, brown and dog-eared.

  “Morning everybody,” he said.

  No-one replied. This wasn’t Celebration, and he wasn’t Yonda. No-one could force them to speak.

  “Where’s Bel?” asked Jennifer. Rita lo
oked up for the first time, noticing the empty seat.

  Mark gave Jennifer a grave look. “She’s not very well. In the infirmary.” His eyes brightened. “I’m sure she’ll be back with us soon.”

  Rita grunted and looked back down. She pulled her feet out from under the chair and started to examine the tops of her shoes, which were grubby and worn. She wondered how many other women had worn them.

  She considered Bel, in the infirmary. If that was where she really was. Bel had been quiet and moody, humming to herself; classic signs of mental illness. Rita paused. Was she heading that way?

  She sighed. Maybe it would make things easier.

  She felt the air stir as Mark stood up. The other women were fidgeting in their seats, watching him. He pushed his chair backwards and lowered himself to the floor, kneeling on it. She shuddered; was he trying to catch her eye?

  Then he said something that startled her. “Everyone, let’s sit on the floor. Change things up a bit.”

  There were murmurs around the circle.

  “What?” asked Sally. “Don’t be daft.”

  “Please,” said Mark, his voice soft. Rita wondered if he cared about their predicament, if he too had been affected by the two failed Celebrations one after the other. Of course not; he could walk out of here at the end of the day and go home to his family.

  Sally pushed her chair back, but remained standing. The others lowered themselves to the floor. Rita noticed Maryam putting a hand to her back as she went down.

  “Rita?” Mark was on the floor across from her, looking up into her face. She shrugged.

  “Join us, please.”

  She looked up at Sally, still standing with her hands on her hips and her lips curled. Better not to be like her. She pushed her chair back and slid off it to the floor, arranging herself in a crosslegged position.

  “Lovely,” said Mark. She frowned at him.

  Sally was tapping a foot now, right next to Rita’s knee. Rita tried to ignore it.

  “You can’t do this. It’s beneath our dignity.”

  Jennifer looked up. “Come on, Sally. It can’t do any harm.”

  Sally glared at her. Paula nodded towards Sally who finally shrugged and dropped to the floor, crashing onto her hands and knees.

  “Happy now?”

  “Thank you,” said Mark.