school photos 22

There was a kerfuffle in the dayroom. A crowd of patients round someone, reminding me of back-to-the-wall school fights in crowded smokers’ corners.  I couldn’t see who was involved. Then I could. Rushing forward, I accidentally bumped against one of the other patients, Alice, who’d a face like a fried tomato. She put hands up to her mouth and started screaming with the energy of a bush full of banshees at twilight. Everyone turned towards her giving me a straight path through the loose circle of onlookers. Janine had a stained cushion, from one of the armchairs, placed near her head, but was jack-knifed forward, rattling and wheezing, her mouth working like a goldfish and her eyes glazed looking up at me and begging for help.   I crouched motionless behind a care-assistant. He was as wide as he was tall—his name I could never remember. His hippopotamus feet bruised my drawings and, in a gruff voice, he coached Janine in the art of living.

            ‘Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.’

            With a chocking sounds she did, her head falling forward onto her chest, eyes closed, nodding and quietly sobbing.

            ‘Good girl,’ the care assistant said.

He turned towards Alice and with a voice as rough as sandpaper shouted. ‘Shut-the-fuck-up.’

            Patients and staff drifted away silently like cigarette smoke. The only racket came from the telly in the corner.  I edged forward towards Janine. She’d retreated into herself, sparkled out on the floor. ‘You okay?’  An almost imperceptible nod suggested she was, but then she flung her arms round one of my legs. ‘You’ll be alright.’ I helped her slowly to stand. She glanced around the ward and seemed to regain her strength, shaking off my hand and arm. 

            ‘Fuck that,’ she said, ‘thought I was going to be a gonner there. Let’s go for a good drink.’

            ‘Where?’ I whispered. Not sure what she was talking about, imagining her brain had been dunted about, her reasoning circuits scrambled, and had fallen into the wrong box.

            ‘The pond.’ She spoke emphatically.

            I looked for other clues. Behind us everyone was back in their seats as if the second part of the matinee was beginning on telly. I glanced at the care assistant, the telly droned on and he was too far away to hear us.  She gripped onto my arm and squeezed.

            ‘You alright?’ she asked.

She changed tack. ‘You’re looking at me funny.’  ‘Is my make-up alright?’ She patted the tan primer round her nose and cheeks. Her eyes gleamed. She tilted her head, her long hair falling round her shoulders as she waited for me to answer.

            I kept it casual. ‘Aye. It’s just Ah’d love to go to the pond for a drink, but Ah’m no’ sure they’d let me out.’

            ‘Silly.’ She hung onto my arm and swung my hand up with hers and let it fall. ‘I’m paying.’ I let her drag me by the arms towards the entrance to the dayroom.

            ‘Hing on.’ I scurried back and picked up of my drawings, which were scattered over the floor. I plonked down on the nearest chair, sorting them out.

            I briefly looked up at her. ‘Ah’ll no’ be a minute.’ My voice was morbid.  The drawings were torn and ruined. I heard her soft shuffling across the floor and felt the glow of her body as she stood over me.

            ‘They were really good.’ Her voice was encouraging, as light as her perfume. ‘I’m sure you can re-do them.’ She sat down in the chair in the corner, her knee nudging against mine.

            I laughed. She made drawing, or art, sound like some kind of jigsaw puzzle, where you just put back the same pieces again.  ‘Aye. You’re right. They were rubbish.’ I jumped up, darted across and stuffed them into the overflowing bin beside the pillar full of fag doubts, plastic cups and other ward debris.

            ‘I didn’t say that.’ She’d lit a fag. I flung myself back down in the seat beside her. ‘They were really good. That good that they scared me.’ Her head turned away from me, her hair a curtain covering the side of her face.

            ‘Scared you? I come in and you’re lying there dying. Next thing you want to go for a drink and a swim in some pond.’ My voice had an edge to it. ‘And then you become an art critic.’

            ‘Fucking grow up.’ Her elbow was on the edge of the chair her fag was half way between hand and mouth. She took a drag and the swirl of smoke created a pause between us. But the eyes looking into mine were as unblinking as a lizard. ‘For your information The Pond is a hotel. It sells alcohol. I was offering to take you there, because yes my nerves are shattered and, yes, I need a drink. Now. Not later. Or tomorrow. Or the weekend. Now. And yes. Your drawing did scare me. Something about the eyes, reminded me of something I didn’t want to remember. Brought on a panic attack. Satisfied?’

            ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled.   

            ‘Sorry doesn’t cut it.’ She shook her head and wouldn’t look at me. Her fag finished she stabbed it out in the ashtray and sighed. She bent forward to get up and leave me.

            ‘Ah’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I was scared as well. Ah love you and Ah thought Ah was goin’ lose you.’

            She slumped back into the seat. ‘Say that again.’

            ‘Ah was scared.’

            ‘No the other bit.’

            ‘Ah thought I was goin’ to lose you.’

            ‘Emm?’

            ‘Say it again.’

            ‘Ah love you. Satisfied?’

            ‘Again.’          

            ‘Ah love you. Satisfied?’

            ‘Again. I’ll never be satisfied hearing that. And I can never hear it enough.’

            She practically flew into my lap and started snogging me, acting as if she didn’t care that we were in the middle of the dayroom.

            ‘Love you right back,’ she said when we got our breath back. Her bum wiggling down on top of me, drilling my body into the chair.  

            ‘How in the hell were we supposed to go out for a drink?’

            ‘Em,’ she said, biting at my chapped lips. ‘That’s easy-peasy. Leave it to me.’