In The Garden Of Stones (40 page)

“
Unlikely. The recorded incidence of death following ECT is
about one in ten thousand. Statistically–”

“
Fuck the statistics and the procedure. What about the
anaesthetic? That’s the dangerous part. Colin’s too frail for it.
Any 'expert with half a brain should be able to see
that.”

“
Fair point.”

She
paces back and forth across the small room. “When are they planning
on doing it?”

“
Some time next week. Tuesday or Wednesday, depending on the
availability of the specialist. I’ll see what I can do to delay
them, fiddle his charts or something, make out he’s sick again, but
if I were you I wouldn’t hold my breath. My money is on it going
ahead, so I think you did the right thing telling Colin what’s
going to happen, even though you did put the fear of God into him.
If it goes some way to getting him to wake up, it’ll be worth it,
because that’s the only way we can stop this.”

Chapter 38

A
quarter to twelve, two days later, and Grace has stopped into the
Tesco Express around the corner from her flat. She has just
finished loading the last of her groceries onto the checkout belt
when her phone rings.

The
screen identifies the caller as Simon Gibbs. She tucks the phone
between her ear and her shoulder, freeing her hands to load her
shopping into her bag as they pass through the scanner. Juice.
Milk. Bread.

“
Hey Simon, what’s–”

“
Bad news, Grace. They’re going ahead with Colin’s ECT
today.”

She
pauses, a carton of eggs clutched in her hand. “What! Today! They
can’t! You said next week–”

“
I know. They brought it forward for some reason. I’m really
sorry. I haven’t been able to do anything. You were right about one
thing, Colin’s not in a good state. He’s not fit enough for the
anaesthetic. They shouldn’t be doing it. I can’t see a good outcome
from this.”

“
Oh my God! I’m on my way. Can you delay them until I get
there?”

“
No. He’s already been prepped and taken to the treatment
suite. It’s going ahead within the hour. Unless you can fly,
there’s no way for you to get here on time, and even if you did,
you won’t be allowed in.”

“
I don’t care. I have to be there. Please do what you
can.”

“
There’s nothing–”

She’s
already hung up on him, abandoned her shopping and is on her way
out of the store, thrusting the carton of eggs into another
worker’s hands as she does so, throwing an apology back over her
shoulder to the checkout operator staring after her in her
wake.

She
bolts for home, pulls out the kitchen drawer and searches through
her collection of menus and business cards, looking for one for a
taxi firm.

“
Come on, you bastard. Where are you?”

And then
she remembers the ad from the radio and the rhythmic telephone
number, 878787, snatches up the phone and stabs it out.

They are
as good as their word and a taxi picks her up from her doorstep
within ten minutes.

“
Where to hen?” says the driver. “Radio’s on the fritz. Only
got half a tale.”

“
Pelham Chase Rehab Centre,” Grace says.

“
Where’s that?”

“
Kemnay.”

The
driver swivels in his seat. “Yer kiddin' right? That’s a good half
hour drive.”

“
No, I’m not kidding. Please, just go.”

“
That far out of town’ll cost you extra.”

“
I don’t care. Just get me there as quickly as you can. It’s
a matter of life and death.”

The
driver grins. “Always wanted someone to say that ta me. Buckle
up.”

Traffic
is heavy and they can only progress up North Anderson Drive at a
crawl. An accident on the Mugiemoss Road hasn’t helped, backing up
traffic all the way to the notorious Haudagain roundabout, jamming
up all four of its feeder lanes.

It’s
like a snail’s race track at the best of times, now they are
gridlocked and the thirty minute trip looks more like it’s going to
take forty-five at the very least.

“
Panicking won’t get us there any quicker,” Grace tells
herself. “Try and relax. Slip back to the garden. Find Colin. Keep
him calm. He’ll be scared to death.”

She
finds Colin curled up on the floor in the corner of the hut, arms
wrapped around his head, rocking back and forth, murmuring and
whimpering.

She gets
down with him and puts her arms around him. “It’s alright, Colin,
I’m here, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be alright. Look at
me.”

She
takes his hands and eases his arms away from his head, revealing
the face of a man terrified beyond reason, eyes wide and gleaming,
pupils like dark caves.

“
It’s just like you said,” he says, the words carried on
racking gulps. “They’re going to burn out my brain.”

“
No they’re not. Everything’s going to be okay. Just hold on
to me and you’ll be fine. I promise you. You’ll be
okay.”

Oh how
she wishes she could believe her own words.

Colin
gives a little whine. “Help me, Grace. I’m scared.”

She
tightens her hold. “I know. I’m on my way. I’ll be there with you.
Just as soon as–”

“
I need you now–”

“
I’ll be there soon.”

I’m going to be too late!

“
It’s too late,” he says. “I don’t feel too good. I’m coming
apart.”

“
You’re okay. Keep talking to me.”

“
It’s happening now. I feel weird, like I’m floating
…”

“
That’s just the anaesthetic. Don’t fight it.”

“
Where are you, Grace? They’re doing something.” He grips
hold of her hands. “Something’s happening! Something cold … against
my head–. Oh God I’m so scared! Help me, Grace. Please!”

“
Hold on, Colin! Hold on to me!”

The grip
on her hands is like a vice and she can feel the bones scraping
over one another. The pain gruesome. She ignores it. Colin’s face
distorts into a mask of agony, eyes screwed tight shut, mouth wide
open, emitting a cry that cuts through to her soul.

“
Graaayyyyyyce!”

And he
is gone. Vanished. Blinked out, leaving behind only the screaming
in her ears and the pain in her crushed fingers, her arms extended,
clutching at fresh air.

“
Colin?” She crawls into the empty space he just occupied.
“Colin! Come back! CO-LIN!”

Nothing
remains but a smell of burning metal in a void of silence in which
she feels her heart contract and the light withdraw from the world.
Her head is pounding and her chest aches because she has forgotten
to breathe, and it takes her a moment to realise … she is still in
Colin’s shack.

If the
shot of electricity forced through Colin’s brain had scrambled his
mind, short circuited his synapses, rerouted his signals, this
place should no longer exist. It was his creation right down to the
last blade of grass and so logically, without him to maintain it,
it should be gone. But it isn’t, which means that Colin’s
subconscious must still be working at some level.

At first
glance everything looks as it should be, only without Colin. She
throws open the door and steps outside.

Not
quite as it should be.

The
change is subtle, but definitely there. Colours are not quite so
vivid, washed into an insipid sepia tone, like an antique
photograph, everything a little blurred around the edges, out of
focus. The tree trunks don’t seem quite so solid and the petals on
the flowers are faded, their perfume gone. A deathly silence hangs.
No singing birds, no buzzing insects, just the sound of her own
heartbeat in her ears.

Calling
out for Colin in case he is somewhere else in the gardens, she runs
the whole way to the gate, heaving it open and throwing herself
through it and jolting herself back into her own reality, to see
the driver watching her through the rear view mirror. “You okay,
hen?”

“
Erm... yeah,” she says. “I just nodded off there for a
minute.”

“
You were making … noises.”

“
Sorry. Bad dream. Where are we?”

“
Bucksburn. Should make good progress now we’re out of the
traffic.”

Friday
afternoon at Pelham Chase, and there is no visiting and knowing the
cab won’t even get past the main gate, Grace instructs the driver
to pull up at the kerb a few yards past the entrance.

“
That’ll be a straight twenty-five,” the driver
says.

Grace
opens her purse. No notes, only coins.

“
Will you take a card?” she asks.

“
Machine’s bust. Cash only I’m afraid.”

“
I…I haven’t got it,” she says. “I went shopping with my
debit card and never thought to draw any cash from the
ATM.”

“
How much have you got?”

“
A fiver at the most, all in change. I’m really
sorry.”

The
driver’s face curdles with anger and he looks as if he is about to
rip into her when Grace has an idea.

“
Wait!” she cries, and roots in her bag, pulls out one of
her old business cards and scribbles on the back of it with a
biro.

“
I promise to pay … what’s your name?”

She
leans between the front seats of the cab to read the driver’s
operator’s licence. “David Green. Nice to meet you,
David.”

David
Green only grunts.

“
I promise to pay David Green twenty pounds, plus generous
tip.” She adds the word 'very' and underlines it three times, signs
and dates her declaration and offers him the card.

“
You have my solemn oath I will pay you. Give me your card
so I know where to send it.”

Even
though Green has heard this promise more times than he’s had
macaroni pies and cans of Irn Bru, and so far it had come to
nothing, he nonetheless exchanges cards with her.

“You’re a star, David,” she says as she leaps from the car.
“Oh wait!” She rips her watch from her wrist and thrusts it through
his open window. “Take this … as collateral. It’s designer, rose
gold and worth far more than what I owe you.”

He takes the watch, looks at it closely, sees the name on the
dial and looks at Grace with suspicion.

“Very nice,” he says. “
If
it’s real.”

“It is,” she says. “One hundred percent genuine, you have
my word. I still have the receipt.” She considers. “In fact, you
know what, keep it anyway, have it valued, sell it, pawn it, I
don’t care. It’s yours. And don’t worry, I’m still going to pay
you. You have my word on that too. Now I have to go. I really
do.”

She carries her “Bye!” with her as she sprints for the
barrier and Green, a rich man now if he did but know it,
puts the car into
gear to roar off back to town.

Chapter 39

The
soldier on duty at the barrier holds up his hand, bringing Grace’s
mercy dash to a halt. “I’m sorry. There is no visiting on a Friday
afternoon.”

“
I know,” says Grace, out of breath. “I tried to get here
earlier, but I had very little notice, I had to get a taxi and the
traffic was awful. Please, I have to get in. It’s really
important–”

“
I’m sorry, miss. No admittance without exceptional
leave.”

“
This is exceptional. Please … can you ring reception? Or
find Simon Gibbs? He’s a Charge Nurse. He knows me.”

“
I’m sorry. Excuse me a sec.”

A large
white van has pulled up at the barrier. The guard acknowledges its
presence with the signal for 'give me a minute' before turning back
to Grace.

“
Now then, miss–”

But she
is nowhere to be seen. He looks around. She appears to have
vanished without a trace. The driver of the van is waving his
documentation out of his rolled down window, eager to keep to his
schedule. The guard examines the paperwork, hands it back, makes a
note of the van’s registration number and the time on a clipboard,
gives the driver directions to the service area at the back of the
building and sends him on his way … oblivious to the van’s extra
passenger.

Taking
advantage of the men’s exchange, bemoaning Aberdeen Football Club’s
pathetic performance against league cup hopefuls Inverness
Caledonian Thistle the previous evening, and shielded from the
camera posted over the security booth by the vehicle’s high side,
Grace opens the van’s sliding cargo door and slips inside, curling
herself into a tight ball beside a pile of boxes, heaving the
driver’s discarded hi-vis coat over her huddled form.

The
armpit lining stinks of stale sweat, like it’s never been washed,
and the smell of diesel fumes coming in through a hole in the floor
turns her stomach.