The Sacrificial Man (12 page)

There was the boy from Manchester, only fourteen-years-old, who wanted to commit suicide but couldn’t do it himself. Instead, he tricked a friend by starting an internet relationship posing as a female spy, telling him that he and the fake spy could have sex if he killed him. Another case was that of Matthew Williams, whose friend Potter wanted to be killed. Williams had slit Potter’s throat and then drank his blood. Cate then remembered the case of Suffolk murderer Jason Mitchell, who had tried to eat his victims…

But none of the cases were like this one.

After making a few notes Cate turned back to the Crown Prosecution bundle. She had come to Alice’s own statement:

S f: Alice Mariani

Age – Over 18

Smith placed the advert. He came to me. He never even told me his real name. He wanted to protect me. That was our arrangement. I agreed to be with him when he took an overdose, knowing it would be fatal. He took a knife and cut his own skin. Smith wanted to die. It was his free choice. His death is the result of a suicide. I was just with him because he didn’t want to be on his own when he died. Who wants to die alone?

I should not be here. This is not a police matter. It is a free country and two consenting adults have free choice. I don’t pose a risk to anyone. He wanted to die and I agreed to assist him to do it.

Choosing to live or die is a basic human right.

Cate sniffed through her nose in distaste; talk about romanticising! Having just read PC Flynn’s statement, and then Alice’s account, she knew which rang truer. No wonder Alice was in St Therese’s, she was unhinged, that was certain. But one sentence resonated. The sentiment that Cate struggled with. She read Alice’s words again, testing to see if she believed them: I don’t pose a risk.

As I regain consciousness, I’m aware of the smell of Dettol and the swishing sound of a mop. I open my eyes, sticky from sleep. I’m in a cell. The walls are bare, the floor is plastic, and the door has a small window. Someone’s peering in. It’s a man, and when he catches me looking he disappears. Then I see the steel frame of the bed, the curtain on wheels collapsed against the opposite wall. I’m in a hospital, then. Institutions are all the same: hospitals, schools, even airports. That smell of boiled food and bleach, the noise of wheels on plastic, beeping machines and voices through intercoms. Night is never dark, never quiet; always someone is working, someone is awake, doing a job. How am I supposed to sleep? I think that jail would be the same. Except I’d be without power, would have to wait for a long time, striking off the days until I could be free. In hospital there’s no release date. I just have to be pronounced well.

I reach for the folded pile of shoddy clothes on the bedside table and wish that I had something decent to wear. I push back the limp white sheet and the heavy blanket to see that I’m wearing a gown, which has risen to my waist, and no knickers. Filthy bastards, they would have seen everything. Quickly, I pull on knickers that, although a day old, are at least decent, and then reach with less enthusiasm for my leggings and t-shirt. I remember now that I wore no bra for Dr Gregg’s visit. The tee shirt is not fully on when, after a single knock, a male nurse comes in with a plate of sausages and chips and a sachet of tomato ketchup. His name badge tells me he is called Shane.

“I’m a vegetarian.”

“Then leave the sausage.” Shane stares at my top, my breasts loose under the faded cotton, then makes a big show of looking away. “I did knock. You should’ve said you was getting dressed.”

“What day is it?” I’m totally disorientated.

“Wednesday. You came in yesterday afternoon.” He places the tray on the bedside table.

“How long do I have to stay here?”

“Until the doctors say you can leave. Dr Gregg will be round tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow! What about today?”

“He’s already been today. You were asleep so you missed him.” He’s turning to go.

“So what do I do in the meantime? I need clothes and toiletries.”

“You can make a phone call and get a visitor to bring them in. Do your family live nearby?”

I shudder, imagining my mum wandering into this place. My dad scanning the bare walls for something to focus on other than his mad daughter. No, I could never inflict that on them. Then I have another thought. “I need to use the phone. Now.”

The nurse has his hand on the door handle, “This isn’t a five star hotel, you know. Good manners go a long way.” I scowl at his back as I follow Shane into the corridor.

“Miss Austin? It’s Alice Mariani. I need to see you.”

“You’re calling from St Therese’s?”

For a moment I wonder how she knows but obviously the news has reached her. Nothing is private when a court sentence is pending. “Yes. I need a favour. Can you help me?”

She doesn’t reply immediately. “That depends. What is it you want?”

I wake to a cold morning.

I’m alone in this hospital room that is really a cell. Through the small glass window on the door I see the glare of a fluorescent light. I can hear the night staff in the community room watching some chat show, they don’t bother to control their laughter. The staff laugh more here than in other workplaces. I’ve never seen staff laugh so hard that tears course their cheeks in shops or supermarkets, but these nurses and social workers, even the auxiliaries who do nothing more than wipe food off the floor or shit off the walls, find laughter easy. It’s hysterical, almost, and I wonder if this is how they survive their own incarceration, their own institutionalisation.

I’ve been at St Therese’s for two nights.

I count in nights, as that’s the hardest time, without the distraction of doctors or activities or mealtimes. And although I managed a nap yesterday afternoon, I can’t sleep at night. Being alone makes me feel angry. It makes me feel ugly.

I’ve no books. My top is old and stained and I’m eager for this afternoon, when Cate Austin will bring my clothes, the skincare products that I asked for. But I forgot to ask for a book. If I had one now, anything would do, I could transport myself from here. I could feel at peace.

My headache has returned, and the dizziness forces me to lay down. It must be the environment, pressing down on me until it feels like my skull will crack. If this continues I’ll be forced to ask for stronger painkillers and it was hard enough persuading them to give me two Nurofen. I don’t want to ask for anything. I won’t be beholden to anyone when I’m here against my will.

I’ll be in Cate Austin’s debt, but who else could I have asked to go to my home and pick up my things? Not my parents. It would be beyond them, to think of their Alice in a madhouse. There’s always Lee, who’ll be confused by my sudden absence. We’d planned to meet today, at my house, and I know that Lee will arrive on time, will wait. I could’ve phoned, I have a mobile number, as well as the number of the barracks in Colchester, but I was afraid. I don’t want to say that I am here. I don’t want to find out if Lee has read anything of the court hearings in the newspapers. There is only one thing I want to know, that I am loved, and Lee tells me over and over again. I know it’s true. Meagre though it is I don’t want to destroy that love, when it may be all I have left.

So I chose Cate. I believe that she won’t snoop. That she will do nothing more than I have asked.

I trust her, then. I find the revelation a surprise.

A single knock and Shane, walks in. “Come on, you,” he says, staring at my body, my bare arms. I wish I had a jumper.

I follow Shane down the hallway, past other patients, men and women who pace like tigers, prowling around each other in the corridor that serves as their territory, all of them concentrating on not touching, looking down at their feet. One woman is wearing kitten heeled red slippers, but she drags them, and they make a sloppy sound with every step, sipping on a carton of squash as she goes. She stops as I walk past and angles her head like I’m an animal in a zoo and she is the other side of the bars. Her teeth are stained purple.

I’m taken to another corridor, and led to a door that says Occupational Therapy. My heart twitches as Shane herds me into the room, where a middle-aged man in a smart shirt sits on a high-backed chair. Around him, in a circle, are five other patients.

One guy is in pyjamas, which hang low on his body. From where I stand I can see his part-naked buttocks. The only other woman in the room has a long flowing skirt and a nervous smile. She must be one of those middle class neurotics who steal compulsively. The man in the smart shirt rises from his chair and comes to me, putting a hand on my shoulder, “Greetings! I’m Frank, and you must be Alice.” I release my shoulder. “Come and sit next to me, Alice.”

As I sit, I smell nicotine on Frank, who is still smiling at me. The man in pyjamas is now opposite and also staring, his hands thrust into the sagging cotton, cupping his penis. Frank leans over. “Best just ignore him. He’s harmless. He won’t be here long anyway. The staff’ll come and get him in ten minutes to make sure he doesn’t shit on the floor.” I flinch, and Frank leans further my way. “I’ll take care of you, Alice. I always look out for the new ones.”

Suddenly the compulsive shoplifter claps her hands weakly. “Right then!” she says, falsely bright, “Shall we make a start?”

I look from her to Frank and back again. Are the lunatics running the asylum? I see then that he has slippers on his feet and the woman wears a name badge. She is the occupational therapist.

“We’ll warm up with a game of Murder Wink. Alice, have you played before?”

You’ve got to be kidding. “Yes, when I was about six.”

“Ha ha,” she says, good-naturedly. “We play it to create a sense of teamwork. And to have a bit of fun!” She says ‘fun’ with a leap, trying to believe it. The man in the pyjamas moves his hands more violently, rocking in his chair.

“Now, Frank, you be the detective. Go on! Stand outside the circle!” Like a trained monkey he does, nodding at me, as if to say that it’s wise to indulge this madwoman.

“Okay then, everyone close their eyes and if I touch you on the shoulder you’re the killer. Your job is to murder wink everyone before Frank detects you. Ha Ha!”

I keep my eyes on the guy in the pyjamas. The therapist touches the other man’s shoulder. He has glasses and a moustache and strikes me as rather military in an old-fashioned, fifties film kind of way. Watching him straighten his shirt where she has touched it makes me sad. Then I notice that although his clothes are perfect, his hands are red raw. He doesn’t touch the chair, or himself. His hands are suspended above his lap, awkwardly. He winks at me. I look at Frank, who is also watching me, as is the man in the pyjamas. Then I fall off my chair and die slowly on the floor.

“Oh excellent!” says the woman, “Wonderful dying, Alice. I can see we’re going to have fun with you.”

The game doesn’t take long. It’s fairly obvious who the murderer is when a nurse removes the pyjamas guy and the therapist has a noisy heart attack in her chair. I take my seat, wondering how much the state pays her to play party games with nutters. I want to yell, do you have any idea how many qualifications I have? Do you know how long it took me to train as a lecturer? Have you even heard of Keats, you miserable creature? I pity her, with her desperate need for approval. She wants us to laugh and clap like eager children. Frank and I exchange a look, and then she makes us play, What time is it, Mr Wolf?

I can’t do it.

I can’t stand with my back to Frank and the therapist and the obsessive. I hate having my back to anybody, so I don’t turn around properly and after a few failed attempts she says that she will be grandmother instead. But she’s too trusting, turns her back for too long, and Frank has touched her shoulder before she has a chance to call, ‘Dinnertime.’

After the lesson, Frank walks me back to the ward. I see the woman with red sloppy slippers coming out of a door. “She’s in my room!” I say, beginning to speed up. But Frank touches my arm. “Best ignore it. She only goes for the new ones. She’ll stop snooping in your room once someone else arrives.”