St. Nicholas’ was the big loony-bin on the outskirts of the town.
Victorian gothic surrounded by 1930s villas. Everyone had heard of it.
In primary school it was the standard term of abuse. “You should be in St. Nick’s, you should.”
She didn’t know what to say. He came out from behind the bar.
“I’m really sorry,” he said again. “It wasn’t only the drink, you know. He was getting depressed and it wasn’t only Sue. His mother’s death hit him harder than he let on. I was afraid he’d do something daft. He needs time to sort himself out. I couldn’t cope. He needs professional help. Something more than I could give him anyway. More than you could too.”
Chapter Twenty-Five.
Miss. Thorne took Grace to visit her father in hospital. Grace was reminded for a while of the times they used to visit Nan. Antonia Thorne turned up at Laurel Close in her car. Grace climbed in beside her and they drove off without a word. Even the stilted conversation which did eventually occur was much the same.
“How are things going at school?”
“Very well, thank you.” This was true. She’d been predicted an A Grade in every subject except French for her exams.
“No problems with Maureen and Frank?”
“None.”
The hospital was approached by a curving drive up a hill. The car stopped sharply, jerking Grace forward to the extent of her seat belt, when two elderly men shuffled out in front of them. Miss. Thorne muttered, pulled on the hand brake and attempted a hill start. The engine stalled and she became flustered, especially when she saw a car approaching in her mirror. At the second attempt it leapt forward and she drove on.
Grace’s father was being kept in Sycamore, which was one of the villas.
The garden was tidy but the woodwork needed painting. The door was locked and
Miss. Thorne rang the bell. Standing on the doorstep, Grace thought it didn’t look like a hospital but a large suburban house. The impression was confirmed by the woman who opened the door. She looked just the sort of woman who would live in such a house. She was slim and smart, wearing a navy pleated skirt and a white blouse with a bow at the neck.
It was 1985 and she reminded Grace of a young version of Margaret Thatcher.
“Yes?” The woman was friendly enough but very brisk. She made it clear she had important things to get on with.
Miss. Thorne was still flustered by her problems negotiating the hill.
She opened her bag, dropped a glove, stooped to pick it up.
“We’re here to visit Edmund Fulwell.”
“I’m sorry.” The woman smiled graciously. “Afternoons are the times for relatives’ visits. Perhaps you could come back after lunch.”
Miss. Thorne was horrified by the notion that she might be thought one of the patients’ relatives. She groped again in her bag and came out with a laminated identity card.
“Actually,” she said, “I’m a social worker. I did phone.”
Grace looked past the woman in the navy skirt. A thin girl, not much older than her, dressed in a nightdress and slippers walked down the corridor as if in slow motion. There was a smell of institutional food and cigarette smoke.
“We agreed eleven o’clock.” By now Miss. Thorne was indignant.
The woman was apologetic. She introduced herself as the sister in charge of the shift. “Edmund’s doing very well,” she said, as if that would redeem her in Miss. Thorne’s eyes. “The consultant’s very pleased with him. We could be talking discharge in a few weeks. We don’t keep them in long, these days.” She seemed to notice Grace for the first time. “And who’s this?” “The daughter,” Miss. Thorne said abruptly.
The nurse, who according to her name tag was called Elizabeth, let them in, locking the door behind them.
“Ah yes!” She sent Miss. Thorne a look of great significance. “Of course.”
In the building it was stiflingly hot. The corridor ran the length of the villa. Large painted radiators stood at regular intervals and each time they passed one they were hit by a wave of heat. Elizabeth seemed not to notice, but Antonia took off her cardigan and Grace held her anorak by its hook over her shoulder.
“You can use the interview room. It’ll be quiet in there. Stan, have you seen Edmund?”
Stan, a middle-aged man in a grey overall, was washing the floor. Grace wondered idly if he were an inmate or a member of staff. He shook his head and continued to move his mop over the lino tiles.
Elizabeth pushed open the door of a large room. Chairs were lined in front of the television screen. On the television a jolly young man dressed as a clown was making a kite from brown paper and orange string. Behind him teddy bears and dolls sat on a plastic bus. The programme seemed to fascinate the audience. Grace didn’t believe that her father, even when he was ill, could ever enjoy children’s TV, but it was impossible to tell if he was there because a cloud of cigarette smoke hung over everything and the people were sitting with their backs to her.
“Has anyone seen Edmund?” Elizabeth asked. She used the same tone as the TV presenter. Grace thought that any minute she’d break into song with Large Ted and Jemima.
“Non-smoking lounge.”
This information was volunteered anonymously. No one turned away from the screen.
The non-smoking lounge was as large as the TV room but only two people sat there, in chairs close to a window. A pane, too small for anyone to climb out of, had been opened and let in a blast of cold air. They seemed deep in conversation. With Grace’s dad was a large-boned, dark woman in cord trousers and a checked cotton shirt. As they approached Grace heard her say, “I’m not used to all this sitting about. In the last place I was attached to the market garden. It broke your back that work, but there wasn’t time to be bored.”
She wasn’t at all the sort of woman Edmund would fall for, but Grace sensed an easy rapport between them which she’d never seen before in his relationships with women. With Sue especially he’d been flirtatious and devoted but never friendly.
Edmund’s reply was drowned out by the repeated shout of an exotic finch, perched in a cage standing against one wall. The cage door was fastened by a huge padlock. Grace wondered if the noise of the bird irritated the patients so much that they tried to kill it. She wouldn’t be surprised. Against the other wall there was a tank of tropical fish. The water was murky and green.
“You’ve got a visitor, Edmund,” Elizabeth said brightly.
“I’ll be off then,” said the dark woman. “Leave you in peace.”
“Thanks, Bella.”
Bella walked away quickly. When she caught Grace’s eye she smiled a clear, unclouded smile. Grace was convinced she must be a nurse until Elizabeth said, “Bella will be leaving us soon too.”
Edmund deliberately turned his back on Elizabeth. He looked up at Grace. “Sorry about all this.”
She shook her head. He looked dreadful, worse than when he was sitting in the town centre.
“If you want to use the interview room, I’ll fetch you some tea.”
Elizabeth looked at her watch.
Edmund groaned. “We’re all right here if it’s all the same to you. I can’t stand that place. It’s like a cell.” When she turned and walked away he added, just loud enough for her to hear, “And I can’t stand her either, stupid cow.”
He ignored Miss. Thorne. She might as well not have been there. He talked to Grace as if they were alone in the room.
“I really fucked up this time, didn’t I? I just couldn’t stand the thought of being without her. And I thought you’d be better off without me to worry about.”
“You tried to kill yourself?”
“And I couldn’t even manage that. Instead I’m in here with Busy Lizzie ticking me off every ten minutes to check I’m still alive.” “I’m glad,” she said. “That you’re still alive.”
After that first time she was allowed to visit her father without the social worker. On Christmas Day she went there for lunch. Most of the patients had been allowed home for the holiday so Sycamore Ward was almost empty. She had considered asking Maureen and Frank if he could come to them but decided that they had enough to worry about. This group of boys were particularly troublesome and Maureen always looked tired. She’d lost weight and there were shadows under her eyes.