All of Me (14 page)

It’s just snoring,
I told myself.
You’ve heard that before.

And then the muttering started. Little simpers came from one direction, a kind of rasp from another, followed by high-pitched tremors. In daylight they could have been giggles or something as harmless. At night-time, enveloped in blackness, it was the tell-tale sign of an unknown creature. It had to be.

When fear takes a grip you lose all reason. The louder the nocturnal chorus got, the more anxious I became, and the more anxious I became, the more horrific each noise seemed. I was no longer in a dormitory bed surrounded by women in various stages of sleep. I was in a tent, in a jungle, a sitting target for the vicious and unseen creatures snuffling outside my canvas shell. There were wild animals outside, monsters. I could hear them. They were so close I could almost feel their foul breath on my face.

Don’t move, Patricia. Don’t even breathe.

I was immobile with fright. What I needed to do, of course, was close my eyes, cover my ears with a pillow and force myself to sleep. That was the only sensible thing. But you can’t. No one could. Not with those sounds. The more scared I became, the angrier with myself I got.

Get a grip. There’s nothing here to hurt me. Everyone’s in bed.

Nearly everyone.

What the hell was that?

I held my breath. There it was again, a distinct scurrying sound. This wasn’t my imagination. And it wasn’t snoring, or even talking. Someone or something was definitely moving. It sounded exactly how I imagined a body being dragged along the linoleum floor would sound. I heard it again.
Don’t be stupid.
If it wasn’t a corpse, what was it? The sound was coming from the floor. A snake? A crocodile? Something low and coming my way.

My paranoia was running wild. I knew really it couldn’t be any of those things but the uncertainty was driving me mad. Then I realised exactly what it was, which only made me more scared still.

The scuffling was feet in slippers, dragging along the floor rather than lifting off for each step. It wasn’t a wild creature at all. It was a woman. And she was coming closer.

Where’s she going?

I didn’t dare look. If I couldn’t see her, she couldn’t see me. It’s amazing the logic you cling to in hours of need. Eyes glued shut, I strained to hear where she was heading. Any trace of snoring completely tuned out. All I could hear was my own heartbeat – and that scraping getting closer and closer.

What if it was Sadie? What if she was coming to sit on me again?
No, calm down, she wasn’t in the room.
Had she arrived late? Had she got a key? Was she going to accuse me of hiding her son again?

I realised the footsteps had stopped – and with them my heart, or so it felt. Whoever it was, she was standing right next to my bed. I could hear her wheezing. Tiny, hoarse gasps punctuated by sharp intakes, rattling with spittle. And the smell! She smelt old, like some of Nan’s friends. That nasty mix of lavender and urine. Really horrible.

Still, at that proximity, she could have had the aroma of a morning bakery and I’d still have been terrified. At least I knew it wasn’t Sadie. She didn’t have that stench of old age.

I didn’t know if she was looking at me but suddenly the woman began to speak. Tiny, unintelligible words. Was she talking to me?

Should I answer her or not? What would she do if I ignored her?

I soon found out. There was a crash as the stranger took another step closer and walked into my cupboard. She was inches from my head now. I couldn’t make out her words. Then there was the unmistakeable sound of a drawer being pulled back. She was going through my things.

I don’t know how long I lay there, frozen still, too scared to move, too scared to breathe, as the old woman tore through my things. Each drawer slid open, invaded and slammed shut. Then she moved round to my empty wardrobe.

What’s she looking for? Not her son as well?

I thought,
If she touches me I’m going to run.
But I wasn’t convinced my legs would even work. I was so tense and yet I felt like jelly. I’d be lucky to stand up.

Suddenly I heard another voice.

‘Come on, Mavis, back to bed.’

At last. My eyes flashed open. I saw a nurse planting a hand on the elbow of the old woman, who didn’t resist. She just turned, still muttering, and let herself be led back to her own bed. As they left the nurse looked at me but I instinctively closed my eyes.

‘It wasn’t my fault!’ I wanted to call out. ‘It wasn’t me.’

But no one ever believed that.

The horrors of the night passed without further incident. What happened in the morning was even worse. It began in the usual fashion: assembling the clues.

A couple of women are at sinks … I’m in the bathroom.

I realised I needed the toilet. It was quite urgent. There was one free cubicle so I went over. Out of nowhere, an orderly called Cindy beat me to it.

Where did she come from?

‘I was first,’ I said indignantly.

She just laughed.

‘Come on, I’m busting.’

‘I’m not in line,’ Cindy said, ‘I’m waiting.’

‘What are you waiting for there?’

‘You. For goodness’ sake hurry up. I don’t want to be standing here all day.’

I ran in and closed the door. Before I could slide the bolt a hand thrust the door back open.

‘Hey, get off!’ I yelled, trying to pull it back from whichever nutter was tormenting me now.

As I fell forwards I came face to face with Cindy the orderly.

‘You know the rules, Kim,’ she said. ‘Doors open for you.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Doors, you know that. Twenty-four-hour observation, remember?’

Jesus, that can’t be right.
It crossed my mind whether she was even a real orderly. I reached for the door again but Cindy put a firm hand on it and shook her head.

‘Are you going or not? I haven’t got all day.’

‘Are you going to watch?’

‘I’m going to stand here, if that’s what you mean.’

She means it. What a pervert!

I lifted my paper gown as carefully as I could and sat down. I was determined not to give this weirdo any satisfaction. But she wasn’t looking. She was purposely facing the other way.
Seriously, what’s the point of being there if she’s not going to even watch?
I was more confused than ever.

As I washed my hands afterwards I could see the orderly in the mirror.

‘Are you following me?’ I called out angrily.

Cindy snorted. ‘You know I am. We don’t want you doing anything silly, do we?’

Silly?
What is this place? Who won’t let you go to the toilet in peace?
Wherever I was, she wasn’t joking.

‘You’ve got half an hour in the TV room before your session with Dr P-J,’ Cindy went on. ‘Someone will call you.’

Dr Picton-Jones.
I’d forgotten about her. I felt my heart lift for the first time in ages. She was the one who’d put me in here. She was the one who could get me out.

In the meantime I learnt my new home was called George Ward. The TV room was on the other side of the corridor from the dormitory. It was a big, square space, with chairs lined up along each of its beigey-colour walls. There was a television in the corner and a couple of tables. The door from our dormitory was on one side; on the opposite was the entrance to the men’s quarters. Unlike the bedrooms this area was mixed. There were groups of men reading, slumped asleep – at nine in the morning – or standing at the window talking – to themselves or so it seemed. The women were in there as well. Everyone from the canteen was, by the look of it. Not Sadie, though. I scanned again. Definitely not there.

What had returned, however, was the noise – that constant cacophony of sounds that no one and everyone seemed to be making. I tried to block it out and failed. It was like a wall between me and reality. I couldn’t get past it to enter the room so I just stood in the doorway, watching, observing and thinking,
I don’t belong here. Something is wrong.

Dr Picton-Jones’s office was stark, containing some medical posters, one large window, a desk, some books and a chair. She smiled as she spoke. At first she did, anyway. Her façade slipped to show her frustration soon after I opened my mouth.

‘When can I go home?’

‘We’ve been through this.’

‘We haven’t.’

‘If you say so.’

‘When can I go home?’

I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t tell me.
I’ve got rights. You can’t just keep me here.

‘As you well know, you’re being detained here for your own good.’

‘Why do I have to wear this paper stuff?’

‘So you don’t try to do anything silly.’

‘What can I do in this?’

‘Nothing. That’s exactly the point.’

She was getting me angry. I kept hearing this ‘silly’ word. The only thing I’d call silly was letting myself be locked up like a common criminal every other day.

At least I learned that I was at Warlingham Park, as I’d suspected, and I’d been there for three days. The first two I’d spent in one of the small observation cells coming off the communal area. That’s the place you’re put till you’ve acclimated.

That’s where Sadie was being housed right now, I learned.
Makes sense,
I thought.
That’s why I only saw her at mealtimes.

The doctor was still talking when I remembered another grievance. How could I have forgotten? Without waiting for her to finish I blurted, ‘A sicko nurse wouldn’t let me go to the loo on my own today. What are you going to do about that?’

‘And what do you mean by that?’ Dr Picton-Jones asked.

I told her and as I did she started shuffling paper.

‘It’s the same reason as last time. Until you can be trusted …’

‘… not to do anything
silly?
How did I guess? But what does that mean?’

‘It means,’ she said, ‘that until we can trust you not to try to hurt yourself you’re going to be watched like a hawk. We’ve been through this.’

Hurt myself? That same old chestnut again. Why didn’t these people get some new lines? It wasn’t myself I felt like hurting. It was Dr Picton-Jones and all the stupid people who were keeping me here.

‘When can I get out?’

In a strange way, all this talk of escape seemed to please the doctor. I didn’t know why. Perhaps she was relieved I wasn’t giving up. It didn’t really matter. She still insisted I was in there for at least a fortnight.

‘Two weeks?’

‘At least. Until we’re satisfied you’re no threat.’

A threat. To whom? That familiar feeling of boiling rage began to bubble inside me. As I left the doctor’s room, my faithful orderly appeared at my side and I was suddenly filled with an intense desire to get out, whatever it took.

They can’t watch me forever,
I thought.
I’ll just make a run for it through the door.

So that’s what I did. Or at least I tried to. There was a corridor leading from the common room out to a stairwell. That’s where I needed to be. I waited until Cindy was distracted by some screaming, then strode over to the door. It looked pretty light. I twisted the handle and pulled. Nothing. I pushed. Nothing.

God, what is this?

Both hands on the handle now, I shook it. Not only did the door not open, it didn’t budge, didn’t even shake. It was obviously stronger and heavier than it looked. But why did they need anything like this here? I looked back at the common room. The rest of my fellow inmates were looking as distracted as ever. Marching between them was the orderly. I’d been rumbled. I wasn’t going anywhere.

Not for a very long time.

Warlingham Park was an old Victorian mental institution. Its methods weren’t much more modern than its architecture. Even Dr Picton-Jones admitted it was no place for a child. It wasn’t fit for adults, either, Mum said. She’d only been visiting for five minutes when she gave a grand theatrical shudder and said, ‘This place is horrible. These people give me the creeps. I can’t stay here.’

And that was it, visit over, she just left, never to return. She’d abandoned me. Again.

CHAPTER EIGHT

What’s it got to do with me?

‘Take me back!’

The girl was out of control, screaming. Her face, flushed with rage, was threatening to turn the shade of her fiery red hair. The man and two women cowered, more in shock than fear. They were used to her episodes. The girl’s erratic behaviour was nothing new. They thought they’d seen everything she could throw at them. This outburst, however, had arrived completely out of the blue.