the taxpayers’ expense.’
Acland stared at the wall in front of him.
‘It was just a thought. Your mother’s keen to have you home. She suggested we put you in the annexe so that you have your own space.’
The idea was abhorrent to Acland. He tolerated his mother’s presence in his room because he had to, but he was becoming increasingly resistant to her touch. Whenever possible, he crossed his arms to avoid having his hand stroked, wondering what she’d been told about his condition that meant he had to be treated like a child. It wasn’t as if she’d caressed him when he was a child. Demonstrations of affection never happened in the Acland household.
The only respite he had was when the medical staff took over and his parents were asked to leave. He appreciated the consultant surgeon, Mr Galbraith, who talked him through his injuries and told him what he could expect in the coming months. Galbraith explained that the damage was to the left-hand side of his face, that he’d lost a considerable portion of soft tissue due to the splitting and burning effects of the shrapnel, and that his eye had been damaged beyond repair. Nevertheless, reconstructive surgery had improved immeasurably in the last decade through the use of microvascular techniques and tissue expanders, and the surgical team was confident of a good outcome.
Galbraith warned Acland that to achieve the best results might take months. Operations could last up to fourteen hours; the patient needed recovery time of weeks between ops; and other specialisms, such as neurosurgery and ophthalmology, might have to be brought in for assessment and assistance. The aim of the team would be to keep impaired nerve functioning to a minimum and to source a donor site that wouldn’t result in a visible difference between the colour and texture of the grafted skin flaps and the skin of the face, particularly in the reconstruction of the lid and socket tissue to accommodate a glass eye.
The surgeon looked for a reaction, but didn’t find one. ‘I hope that’s gone some way to putting your mind at rest, Charles,’ he said. ‘I realize it’s a lot to take in at one go, but the message is an optimistic one. When you’re talking more freely, you can fire as many questions at me as you like.’ He offered a hand. ‘I look forward to knowing you better.’
Acland grasped the hand and held on to it to keep the man from going. What he wanted to say was, ‘Why would I need a neurosurgeon?’ but the words were too complicated. Instead, he touched the side of his head with his other hand and asked, ‘Is brain OK?’
Galbraith nodded. ‘As far as we can tell.’
He released the man’s hand. ‘Why can’t I re – emb – er?’
‘Because you were unconscious for three days and amnesia is a common symptom of traumatic head injury. Are you having problems understanding what’s said to you?’
‘No.’
‘You certainly don’t look as if you are. Dr Willis described you as extremely alert for someone who’d been out cold for three days. Do you remember talking to him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you remember the details he gave you about the attack?’
‘Yes.’
Galbraith smiled. ‘Then you’ve nothing to worry about. It’s short-term memory loss that’s disabling. Sufferers struggle to understand or retain information . . . They lose skills they once took for granted and have to undergo prolonged therapy to relearn them. Yours is localized or retrograde amnesia, which means you’ve forgotten events within a defined time period. It’s quite normal after concussion . . . but rarely permanent.’ He examined Acland’s inexpressive face. ‘Does that reassure you?’
No ... But the lieutenant stuck his thumb in the air anyway. He couldn’t bear the thought of any more fussing. He’d have no privacy left if anyone knew what was going on inside his head.
Confidential Memo To: Dr Robert Willis, Psychiatric Dept From: Nursing Station 3 Senior Nursing Officer: Samantha Gridling Patient: Lt Charles Acland 893406 Room: 312 Date: 5 December 2006
Thank you for taking my call and apologies for interrupting your session. Further to the brief outline I gave you over the phone, please find further details below. I’ve since questioned my staff to see if anyone else has had a run-in with Charles, and several have reported a refusal to answer questions, being sworn at, an almost permanent anger and suspicion about medication and analgesia. There’s no question in my mind that he’s targeting the female nurses, since none of the male nurses made any complaints.
FYI: One of the auxiliaries – Tracey Fielding – told me he ordered her to ‘take her fucking hands’ off him this morning when she tried to straighten his bed. Tracey says he spoke quite fluently and she had no trouble understanding him. She decided to treat it as a joke and answered, ‘You should be so lucky,’ but abandoned the bed-making because Charles was clearly on edge.
The two incidents I mentioned to you over the phone were also directed at women, myself being one, and both involved violence or threats of violence. They are:
1. Yesterday evening, Charles lost his temper with his mother. She told me she was trying to comb his hair when he caught her by the wrist and forced her arm on to the bed. She said he looked ‘absolutely furious’ and twisted her hand backwards until she was kneeling on the floor. It was only because her husband came into the room and managed to release her that Charles didn’t hurt her badly. Both parents are understandably upset and I suggested they stay away for twenty-four hours. I’d like you to talk to them about going home for good. While no one can condone Charles’s behaviour, it’s clear to all of us that his mother is driving him mad. She calls him ‘her little boy’ (!!!) both to his face and in front of others.
2. As soon as Mr and Mrs Acland left, I went to check on Charles. His door was closed, he’d detached himself from his drips and he was standing by the window. I invited him to get back into bed. When he took no notice, I walked towards the buzzer to call for assistance, and he moved in front of me to stop me doing it. Upright and with clenched fists, he’s over six feet and very intimidating. I warned him that his behaviour was unacceptable, and he said quite clearly, ‘I don’t give a shit.’ To avoid provoking him further, I left the room. When I returned five minutes later with a male nurse and a security guard, Charles was back in bed and reattached to his drips. Correctly! He was very pale, and I think he gave himself a scare, but he’s a damn sight more ‘with it’ than any of us realized. His recovery speed is extraordinary.