‘Why?’
‘She spent months trying to make it happen the other way round.’
‘You were supposed to ditch Jen? Didn’t your mother like her?’
‘Of course not. She hates competition.’
Willis could believe that. He’d admired Mrs Acland’s fine-boned looks but he hadn’t liked her. He’d seen no more sincerity in her showy displays of grief than her son had done. ‘Were you upset by Jen’s letter?’
‘I never read it.’
‘She told your mother she sent it by registered post to your base.’
‘I didn’t bother to open it . . . just chucked it in the bin.’
Willis tapped the end of his pen against the notes on his lap. ‘You must have known what was in it. You had Jen’s name deleted from your records as someone to be informed in the event of your death.’
‘When?’
‘Presumably on your arrival in Iraq.’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Do you remember feeling any grief? Do you feel grief now?’
‘No.’
Willis was sceptical. ‘Most of us do when relationships end, Charles. Novelists don’t write about broken hearts for no reason. Sometimes the pain can go on for months.’
‘I don’t feel anything for her at all.’
Willis tried a different tack. ‘What did you think of your CO? Would you describe him as a good bloke?’
‘Sure. He lost his rag from time to time but he never held grudges.’
‘What about the job you were doing? You talked about loss of morale earlier. Was morale low while you were out there?’
‘Not where I was . . . but we didn’t have much contact with the locals. It was the guys on the ground in Basra who took the brunt of the resentment, and they all said that was hard to deal with.’
‘Were you afraid at any point?’
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘Every time a car came towards us with a solitary driver. We held our breath until he passed in case he was a suicide bomber.’
‘So you remember some feelings – you liked the people you worked with, you empathized with low morale, and you were afraid – but you’ve suppressed your feelings for your fiance´e. What do you think that means?’
Acland gave an ironic shrug. ‘That I had to forget her to function properly?’
‘Except you haven’t forgotten her, you just don’t like her any more.’ Willis watched him pump his hands together, monotonously squeezing air from between his palms. ‘What emotion do you think you’d have felt if you had read her letter?’
‘I didn’t read it.’
He was lying, Willis thought. ‘Would you have been hurt?’
The lieutenant shook his head. ‘I’d have been angry.’
‘Then you must have been angry whether you read it or not, since you obviously knew it was a “Dear John” letter.’ He took off his glasses and rubbed them on his cuff. ‘Why does anger worry you?’
‘Who says it does?’
‘You implied your amnesia had an emotional basis, and you’ve been struggling with anger since you arrived here. It’s a strong emotion. I’m wondering if you think it caused you to fail your command in some way.’
‘How?’
‘Lack of concentration.’ Willis replaced his glasses and studied the young man. ‘I think you’re blaming the deaths of your men on the fact that your mind was on Jen . . . and you’ve convinced yourself that’s why you’ve forgotten the attack. You believe you were guilty of negligence.’
Acland didn’t answer.
‘I don’t pretend to understand every working of the brain, Charles – it’s a complex organ that contains around one hundred billion neurones – but I doubt the two events are related. You might have been distracted during the first week of your deployment but not after two months. I imagine you placed Jen in a box to concentrate on suicide bombers – it’s what most of us would do in the same situation – and anger never came into it. It’s hardly plausible that you’d box up the bombers to concentrate on her, is it . . . not if you held your breath every time a car went by?’
‘No.’ The young lieutenant’s hands relaxed suddenly. ‘But it’s odd. She was a damn good fuck. I’d expect to feel something.’
DR ROBERT WILLIS
MD, PSYCH
Extracts from notes on Lt Charles Acland January/February 2007
. . . Charles is suspicious of me. He wants to return to active service, and his reluctance to talk about his anxieties is clearly associated with this ambition. He thinks I’m acting for the army as a ‘mental health monitor’. [Query: How worried is he about his state of mind?]
...He places too much weight on his mental health assessment and not enough on his physical handicaps. I wonder if the reason for this is that he’s adapted well to the loss of his eye but hasn’t come to terms with the psychological impacts of sudden inactivity . . . the death of his men . . . feelings of inadequacy . . . guilt, etc....
. . . Personality change It’s hard to form an opinion after the event, but his current demeanour – cold restraint broken by occasional bursts of temper – seems to be new. His CO describes him as a ‘popular, outgoing officer with excellent leadership ability and good social skills’ . . . his parents as ‘loving and dependable’, a ‘nice person with numerous friends’. Both suggest a confident extrovert personality who conformed well to the conventions of the middle class. [Query: Why am I seeing an angry, introspective ‘rebel’?]
. . . I’m struck by Charles’s intelligence, which appears to be well above average. He is alert and observant – viz. his ability to reattach his own drips correctly – and has learned to compensate for his blind side in record speed. He’s also highly motivated and has developed his own fitness regime since being allowed out of bed.
. . . He’s reticent about his relationships, blocking questions about his parents by saying he gets on well with them. [NB This is clearly untrue, particularly re his mother.] However, he did describe them on one occasion as ‘mutually absorbed’ and ‘complacent’. When I asked if this meant he felt excluded, he said, ‘Not at all. I’ve always been my own person.’
...He claims he had no problems being sent away to boarding school at eight. ‘It gave me independence.’ [NB Independence seems to matter to him. He refers to the family farm as ‘the ball and chain’. ‘I’m an only child. I’m expected to marry and have children and inherit the damn thing.’]
. . . His indifference towards his fiance´e appears to be genuine, although mention of her irritates him. He says she’s ‘history’, therefore talking about her is pointless. He shows a similar indifference to the people who’ve sent cards. He doesn’t write letters or make phone calls, and he’s requested no visitors.
. . . Self-imposed isolation He spends hours alone in thought or watching the news channels on television. He avoids, or cuts short, any attempts at communication, often through rudeness. He distrusts and/or is contemptuous of the medical staff and other patients, has difficulty containing his frustration at what he perceives as stupidity or slowness, and transfers his anger and aggression into physical activity, such as pumping his palms together or clenching his fists.
...He rejects any idea that disfigurement is a contributory factor, claiming he doesn’t care what people think. [NB This is almost certainly untrue. He shows typical symptoms of a patient with facial deformity . . . refers to himself as a ‘freak show’ . . . dislikes being stared at . . . has difficulty judging other people’s reactions . . . distrusts shows of friendship . . . talks regularly about being in ‘a zoo’ . . . turns his chair so that his uninjured side is towards the door.]
. . . Attitudes to sex Despite describing Jen as ‘a damn good fuck’, he blocks every question on the subject and presents as a sexually repressed individual. He’s highly protective of himself, particularly his genitals. He objects to female nurses and has accused one of the men of being gay. [Query: Is this repression or obsession? Query: Sexual orientation? Not clear.]