The Girl Behind the Gates

by Brenda Davies

  Once in the office, Nora sits perfectly still. Dale has plied her with a cup of tea, stronger and with less milk than she prefers. She doesn’t usually have sugar, but the sweetness is just right. The last five minutes have changed everything, opened doors to ideas she’d never even considered. She’s known Robert all her life – how could she not have known that he . . . ? But, at last, so many things make sense. Yes, it all makes sense.

  In all these years, she’s forgotten nothing of him. From the last time she saw him, that first Christmas morning here, she’s followed him as best she could – from his time in Stoke Mandeville Hospital to what she’s been able to pick up about his career and his political profile. She’s seen his handsome, if ageing, face in the tabloids, and more lately on television, and has gone through phases of resentment, anger, and even some bitterness on the way, but the love has always remained. But now, this feels like finding the last piece of a jigsaw she started fifty years ago.

  She allows her mind to go back to those very young days – the beautiful golden boy who all the girls loved, though he never seemed interested. To their first kiss that was full of sweetness, but not passion. And she always wondered why he never made any attempt to make love to her again after that one night, even though she knew he loved her. But now she realises: not like she loved him. She’d been confused and upset that, in the weeks that followed, before she found she was pregnant, he had seemed to avoid her – like when she searched for him at church, the Sunday before she was first taken to Hillinghurst. For the first time in decades, she allows herself to remember the full force of the betrayal she felt when he didn’t come for her. Her anger, her shame, her sorrow. But now, finally, she understands. He must have been terrified of anyone finding out – including her. And a tiny, shameful part of him might just have been relieved to have avoided a future in which he would have been forced to marry her and live a lie. Although she is not quite able to forgive just yet, she is grateful to finally understand.

  She feels Dale’s eyes upon her face and shifts her gaze to him.

  ‘Nora, are you sure you don’t want me to get Janet?’

  ‘No, thank you. It’s all right. I’m OK now. I have to catch the bus,’ she says, her face slack with shock, but her eyes clearer.

  Dale looks at her askance. ‘I’d rather that Janet had a look at you. And you have an appointment with her shortly, don’t you?’

  ‘No . . . I mean, yes, but I . . . I’m OK, really.’ She gives him a gentle smile. ‘Please just tell Janet I wasn’t feeling very well and I had to go. I’m fine.’ She hurries off, leaving Dale in her wake, his brow furrowed with concern.

  She’s part way down the corridor when Bill Oldbury calls after her. ‘There’s a lot more I could tell you about him. He’s not all he makes out.’

  Nora turns, anger flashing in her eyes. ‘You know nothing about him,’ she says.

  ‘I know more than you think,’ he retorts. ‘He used to come and play chess with me – and other stuff,’ he sneers. ‘Then he fell for some guy in London and he dropped me like a stone.’

  Nora stands statue-still, her eyes locked on his, wanting to make some retort, but speechless.

  Dale’s voice booms down the corridor as he hurries towards them. ‘Bill. I’d like you to leave Nora alone. Go to the day room and I’ll see you there. I will not have you upsetting other people.’ He puts his hand on Nora’s arm. ‘Nora, are you OK?’

  Nora looks at him with her head high and her eyes sharp. ‘Yes, I am, thank you,’ she says, and smiles. ‘I’m really fine. Honestly.’ And she walks out into the fresh air and breathes deeply, and with every breath out, she lets go of things that have haunted her for almost fifty years.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Janet is devastated. Last evening Miles Little threw himself in front of a train. Again and again, she has imagined him in those minutes between him absconding from hospital and making it to the station. Those crucial minutes when his mind was made up and possibly finally at peace. Nearly over. No more shame. No more pain. It would be finished; granting his parents a peaceful retirement at last. But it’s the loneliness of it that tortures her. Before she left last night, she told all the acute patients about the situation in the presence of Dale and the other nurses, who could then support anyone in need. Extra observation was made available to anyone who themselves may be suicidal – a string of copycat attempts would not be a good thing. Today there needs to be a second round of support, since feelings will have changed overnight. Janet will have to present herself for scrutiny as well. It would happen when Dr Pauling is away for a few days – what a thing to return to.

  She arrives at work and only discovers when she visits the Ladies’ before her meeting that she’s forgotten to apply her makeup. She scrutinises her face – pale and drawn with puffy, red-rimmed eyes. She sighs and splashes water on her face and pinches her cheeks. She really would prefer to see no one today.

  Back in her room after the gruelling enquiry with three senior consultants, Janet closes her door, but no sooner has she sat down than one of the nurses taps upon it and opens it a crack.

  ‘Janet, are you OK?’

  ‘Not bad.’

  The door opens wider. ‘These came for you.’

  ‘Flowers?’

  The card reads:

  Thank you for all you did for Miles. We always knew that this was inevitable, though of course we will miss our beautiful son for ever.

  Albert and Annie Little

  And once again, the tears come. Tears for Miles, tears for his parents, tears for all those tortured by mental illness and also for her inability to help more, despite her passionate attempts to do so.

  Half an hour later, Janet still sits with the flowers in her lap, staring out of her window, when there’s another knock on the door. She doesn’t respond, but then it comes again, this time with Dale’s special rhythm code, and she calls to him to come in.

  ‘You OK?’ he says as he enters.

  ‘So-so.’ She sighs. ‘I think I’m going to take myself out for lunch.’

  ‘Why don’t you just sit for a while – or even take the afternoon off?’

  ‘I’ve got a lot to do. I just want to walk a bit. I’ll be all right, I promise.’ She manages a smile but both of them know there’ll be more tears between here and there.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Dale, you’re starting to sound like my mother.’

  ‘All right. Promise me you’ll call if you’re not.’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Where are you going to go? They tell me that new Italian’s quite good.’

  ‘OK. Maybe I’ll try that. But I don’t have any appetite. I just need to be on my own a bit.’ Her eyes fill with tears.

  Dale steps closer, but she puts up her hand. ‘I’ll be done for if you hug me,’ she says, her voice cracking. The phone rings. Janet looks at it but doesn’t move.

  ‘Do you want me to take it or just ignore it?’ Dale says.

  ‘Better take it.’

  He lifts the phone. ‘Dr Humphreys’ office . . . Er, just a moment, please.’

  He puts his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘It’s Dr P. Do you want me to make an excuse?’

  She shakes her head and reaches for the phone.

  ‘Dr Pauling?’

  ‘Janet, I wonder if you could pop into my office when you have a minute?’

  ‘I’m free now.’

  ‘So am I. Shall I order you some tea? And a sandwich?’

  ‘Just tea would be perfect, thank you.’

  She hands Dale the phone, and he replaces it on its cradle. ‘Looks like I’m not going to get any peace, after all,’ she says, sighing and checking her face in her pocket mirror. A little red around the eyes, but nothing she can’t blame on a bit of a cold. She gives Dale a wry smile, and heads off to Dr Pauling’s office.

  When she knocks tentatively and opens the door, she finds Dr Pauling sitting on one of the easy chairs looking uncharacteristically
relaxed, with a pot of tea, cups and biscuits on a small table beside him. He has certainly been different of late, but she still feels wary.

  ‘Come and sit down, Janet.’ He smiles kindly while pouring the tea and, perhaps for the first time, she can see how he might be with his patients and she finds herself unexpectedly moved. ‘You’re having a bit of a hard time, aren’t you?’ He pauses. ‘Milk? Sugar?’

  ‘Just milk, please.’ He complies and hands her the china cup on its saucer.

  ‘Biscuit?’ He offers the plate.

  She shakes her head. ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Janet, I know things haven’t been particularly easy between us and I might be the last person you’d be inclined to talk to, but I do try to support my staff. I don’t want you to be dashed by the events of the last twenty-four hours.’

  Janet lowers her eyes, feeling unsure and vulnerable.

  ‘I had a chat with our colleagues after your meeting this morning. They were as impressed by you as I am. Janet, I know that you did everything you could and this is neither your fault nor your responsibility. Sadly, these things do happen. I trust your judgement.’ He tries to smile, but is clearly as uncomfortable as she is with this break from the normal confines of their relationship. ‘You did what you thought was right, Janet. That’s all we can do.’

  ‘And Miles is dead,’ she says, so quietly it’s almost a whisper.

  He pauses, looking directly into her eyes. ‘You have my compassion. I remember the first patient I lost to suicide. It was dreadful, and no matter what anyone said or did to try to help, I just had to work through that in my own time. You will too.’ He smiles. ‘You never take time off, do you, Janet? We’re working day after day, with people who are suffering in all sorts of ways. Sometimes we just need to take the odd day to rest.’

  ‘I always think I’m better working.’ She stares into the tea that she’s hardly touched. ‘Thank you for taking time to talk with me,’ she says. ‘I’m very grateful.’ She fights back tears.

  He clears his throat, returns his eyes to hers and changes the topic, for which she is grateful. ‘Your work with Nora Jennings seems to have caught the imagination of the nursing staff,’ he says, no longer looking at her but playing with his spoon. ‘Of course, I’d have expected no less from you.’

  Janet really wants to leave, and yet it feels as though he’s not quite finished. She looks at her hands and waits for the bomb to fall. It’s been all too easy thus far. Best get it over with.

  He clears his throat yet again. ‘Janet, this may not be the best of times to mention this, but . . .’

  Here it comes. She raises her eyes, narrowing them a little, girding herself for the onslaught. ‘Whatever it is, I’d rather you tell me now,’ she says.

  Something flits across his face that she doesn’t quite understand. Shock? Amusement? Mischief? Whatever it is, she’d rather he just got on with it.

  ‘I wanted to have a word with you about a consultant post that’s coming up in London. Ben Wales is retiring, so it’ll be a general adult psychiatry position and I have no doubt whatsoever that you’d be a good candidate. I also feel you’re more than ready. So, if you do happen to consider applying, I’d be happy to be a referee. Though we may have had our differences, your work is of the highest calibre and I’m impressed with what you do both here and on the back wards.’

  Janet blinks. Did she hear that properly?

  Dr Pauling reads her well – he is a psychiatrist, after all – and his eyes dance with amusement as he treats her to a broad smile before he becomes serious again. ‘And if it’s somewhere in your consciousness that this might be my way of trying to distract you from your grief about Miles Little, I’d like to disabuse you of such a notion.’ He stands, and Janet follows suit. ‘Think about it, and maybe we could talk another time. If I were your psychiatrist, which I’m not, I’d advise you to take the next couple of days off. Take your time. Relax and think.’

  Nora, busy in the art therapy room, pauses with her brush dripping paint onto her paper, while she listens.

  ‘Yes, and you know how she loves her patients,’ Iris says to Audrey as they both lean back against the counter, shaking their heads sadly.

  Nora listens intently.

  ‘But she won’t hear of taking time off. I don’t know how she’s coping. She’s had such a hard time with Ian and everything.’

  Nora stands up abruptly and almost knocks over her stool.

  It’s mid-afternoon by the time she gets her first sighting of Janet walking in the grounds, looking distracted and sad and without her lipstick – a sure sign that something’s amiss. Nora remembers the day, many years ago, when Nurse Turret was distressed about losing her baby, and she wonders how Janet really is and who supports her when something painful happens.

  Janet walks with her head down, and doesn’t see Nora approaching until she’s there on the path, emanating an unusual sense of purpose, one hand behind her back. Janet stops and tries to dredge up a smile.

  ‘I was looking for you,’ Nora says.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I wanted to say that I’m sorry about your patient and I brought you these.’ She thrusts out a hand, bearing a posy of flowers. ‘One of the gardeners said I could pick them. There’s a note.’ And with that she turns and scurries away.

  Janet stares at the marigolds, lavender, daisies and nasturtiums. ‘Thank you, Nora,’ she calls to her retreating back. ‘They’re beautiful.’

  Janet tugs at the little note stuck in the twine and opens it.

  I’m sorry something awful happened. Now I know that I could never kill myself so please don’t worry about me.

  Thank you.

  Nora

  For a moment Janet stares after Nora, so healthy now, hurrying back to the day unit, and allows tears once again to run down her cheeks.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Janet lies on her bed, staring at the reflection of the almost full moon in her dressing-table mirror, her mind taking her back twenty-five years or more.

  She and Ian stand against the rail of a ferry, taking them back across the river as they watch the reflected moon dancing in the ripples on the water. Ian has his arm around her and her head rests so perfectly in the hollow of his shoulder. It feels blissful. She wishes it would never end. He is caressing her hair with his lips and she raises her face to his and they kiss hungrily, yearning for each other.

  ‘I think we should get married,’ he whispers.

  She draws back and looks at him. It’s only a matter of weeks since they met.

  He reads her eyes. ‘I already know,’ he says, kissing the tip of her nose. ‘Time isn’t going to make any difference. I’m in love with you and that’s that.’

  ‘But we—’

  ‘You don’t have to say anything. Just take your time, relax and think. It’s fine. I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.’

  Outside her bedroom window, the wind suddenly picks up and a briar of the climbing rose lashes across the reflection of the moon, tearing it in half.

  An hour later she’s in the sitting room, curled up in her dressing gown, a cup of hot milk on the side table beside her, reading lamp focused over her shoulder on the British Journal of Psychiatry that is open on her lap. The advert for the consultant post stares back at her. She reads it again and closes the journal, staring ahead, her stomach churning and her skin tingling.

  Take your time. Relax and think . . .

  Am I ready? Do I want to be in London? What about Ian? What about Nora?

  Abruptly she swings her feet off the sofa and onto the floor, grabs her cup and the journal and takes them both into the kitchen. She places the cup in the sink and runs some water into it, picks up the spoon and the milk pan and places them in the sink too, then switches off the light and heads for her bedroom.

  Take your time. Relax and think.

  It’s still early, not quite dawn. She startles her friend the urban fox as she walks along, taking her time, envelo
pe in hand. She feels quietly at peace, for the first time in months. The kaleidoscope turns. The pieces fit into a new pattern. All will be well.

  She approaches the post-box and pauses, taking her time . . . She looks at the envelope, rereads the address and takes it right to the lip of the mouth of the letterbox, then draws it back, lifts it to her mouth, kisses it and quickly drops it in the box.

  She turns and picks up her speed, first to a jog and then to her running pace. She’s back in gear.

  Janet has been dreading this afternoon for some time. She swallows hard as Nora takes her seat for today’s session. The niceties out of the way, she decides to get straight to it, to allow maximum time for Nora to process it. ‘Nora, I have something I need to talk to you about. You know I told you that I couldn’t stay here for ever? Well, I’ve been offered a consultant post in another hospital and so I’ll be leaving Hillinghurst in a couple of months.’

  She pauses a moment. Though Nora hasn’t said anything, she’s tapping her foot and fiddling with her fingers in a way that Janet has come to recognise means trouble.

  ‘I’ve talked to Audrey and Evelyn. Your day care will still be as it is until you’re ready for that to end, so they’ll be continuing to see you regularly here, as always. But I want to talk about how you and I will continue – or not.’

  Nora inhales sharply and she lifts her face, anger vying with hurt in her eyes.

  Janet continues. ‘I’ll be very happy to see you as an outpatient – that’s if you’d like that, but if—’

  ‘Why don’t you just let me go?’ Nora interrupts.

  Janet’s heart freezes. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You don’t have to stay here and look after me. I’m not a baby,’ Nora snaps, turning her body away from Janet and folding her arms.

  ‘I know,’ Janet says, now on the defensive.

  ‘So why don’t you just go?’