Dominion

Chapter Twenty-Three

FRANK STAYED IN THE QUIET ROOM after David and Geoff left with Ben. He turned his chair round to the window again, so he couldn’t be seen from the half-open door to the ward.

David had promised to help, look into the legal position, and Frank told himself he should cling onto that. It had been so strange to see him and Geoff after all this time; David didn’t look much older although his face had been full of uncomfortable anxiety, as had Geoff’s. Geoff had aged all right; his face looked strange with that fair moustache. Frank realized he must have looked terrible to them; he was used to his baggy, ill-fitting clothes and clumsily shaven head, he didn’t think about his appearance any more, but had been aware of how alien he must look to his old friends.

There was something that had worried him, though, about the interview, something in a look David had exchanged with Ben, as though they shared some secret. And Ben hadn’t wanted David to talk to him on his own. Why was that? And they had asked him about his brother, just like those wretched policemen earlier. He told himself he was getting paranoid – a term often used in the asylum – David was bound to ask about the event that had brought him here. But there had been something that didn’t fit about both visits. He hadn’t liked the policemen – the tall one’s friendliness was false, Frank had seen it in his eyes, and the fat, silent sergeant had had something frightening about him. The inspector had glanced at the sergeant once or twice as though he were the more important one in the partnership. They weren’t like the policemen who had interviewed him before.

‘How’re ye daen, wee man?’ Frank jumped violently. Ben had come in and was standing beside him, looking down. ‘I’ve seen yer friends off, back doon tae London.’

‘Good.’

‘I think that went okay, didn’t it? Looks like they’ll dae what they can to help.’

‘Yes. Yes, I think they will.’

Ben looked at him with those hard, sharp eyes. ‘Must’ve been a bit strange, seeing them after all this time. Just after the police came, too.’

‘It’s – it’s been a bit of a day.’

‘Ye seem jumpy, Frank. It’s gettin’ towards time for yer next pill. I’ll get it for you. I’m away off duty soon.’

‘Yes. All right.’

‘I think it might be best not tae tell Dr Wilson or the other staff about your friends helping you to get out of here,’ Ben said, his voice elaborately casual.

‘Why not?’

‘Just for the now. Let your pals find out the legal position first. So that when they talk to Dr Wilson they’ve got all their ammo ready.’

Although he nodded, Frank was suddenly, horribly certain that something secret was going on, something involving Ben and David and Geoff, and maybe the police, too. He thought, surely David wouldn’t betray me; but then why shouldn’t he, what did Frank really mean to him?

‘Good lad,’ Ben said. ‘I’ll get yer pill.’

He went out again. Frank thought, I won’t take it, I’ll pretend to but I won’t. I need to think hard, I must think. He felt a stab of pain in his bad hand. He had been clutching the chair-arm so tightly he had hurt it; the damaged fingers were tingling.

Later the older attendant, Sam, the one who had taken Frank to see the policemen, came to fetch him to dinner. Ben had come back and given him his pill with a glass of water. It was easy to slip it under his tongue and then as soon as the attendant turned to put it in his pocket. He needed to be awake, alert, not let himself be taken by surprise.

‘C’mon, Muncaster,’ Sam said impatiently. ‘Time for dinner. Along to the dining hall.’

‘All right.’

Sam led him down the corridor to the dining room. ‘You’ve had a busy day.’

‘Yes.’

‘What did them coppers want?’

‘Just a new inspector wanting to go over the case.’

‘That older one, fair-haired, was he English?’

Frank looked at Sam, alert. ‘I don’t know. He hardly spoke.’

Sam said, ‘I saw him in the corridor and wondered if he was German. They hold themselves stiffly, even a fat man like that. If they’re soldiers, or officials. I was in a German prisoner-of-war camp in the Great War, y’know. Hard lot. Still, them’s what’s been needed to sort out the mess Europe was in, I suppose.’ He looked at Frank curiously. ‘He didn’t speak, you say?’

‘Hardly at all.’ Frank feigned disinterest.

His mind was in a whirl, though, as Sam led him into the dining room with its smell of overcooked vegetables, crowded with long tables. The patients queued along the wall by the serving hatch, watched by Sam and two other attendants. Frank joined them, still desperately trying to fathom what might be going on. Had Edgar confessed to the American authorities about what he had let slip to Frank? But surely the Americans wouldn’t involve the British, still less the Germans.

‘Wake up, Muncaster,’ Sam said. ‘Join the queue or the food’ll be gone.’

Frank felt trapped, like a rat in a cage. He took a tray to the hatch and received a plate of greyish liver and soggy vegetables, with lumpy mashed potatoes served from an ice-cream scoop. As he turned towards the tables a loud crash made him jump. A middle-aged, grey-haired man had turned and thrown his plate of food to the floor. The other patients looked on with mild interest; such things often happened. A burly attendant ran across, grabbing the man’s arm roughly. ‘Jack, what the fuck d’you think you’re doing!’

‘I won’t eat this food!’ the patient shouted. ‘There’s things in it, chemicals to sterilize us! I won’t!’

‘Shut up, you silly bastard! There’s nothing in the food! If you don’t want your dinner, you can damn well do without. Come on, back to the ward.’ The attendant hauled the man away, who was wailing like a child now.

Frank sat opposite Patrick, a fat little man in his thirties with a dirty black beard. He was one of those who hardly spoke, spending most of his time in the day room staring at the television. The senior attendant said Grace, gabbling quick thanks to God for the food He had provided. It was one of the hospital rules. The patients picked up their knives and forks; the knife blades were kept so blunt, and the forks had such short tines, that Frank had found them hard to use at first. He forced himself to pick at the watery mess on his plate. He thought, surely David couldn’t be working with the Germans. But he was a civil servant, he worked for the government.

‘People are getting the wind up,’ Patrick said suddenly. ‘This new Act of Parliament.’

Frank looked at him in surprise. Patrick’s eyes were clear and alert. It sometimes happened like that, someone who spent weeks shuffling around in silence would suddenly say something sensible and you realized there was a real person hidden in there.

‘Poor old Jack,’ Patrick continued. ‘He’s got the wind up about the sterilizations. Got put in here when he was seventeen for fiddling about with his sister. Did you know that?’

‘No. He’s been here ever since?’

‘Oh yes.’ And then Patrick abruptly seemed to lose interest, bending to chase a piece of rubbery liver about his plate.

Frank overheard some other patients talking about the Jews being deported from the cities. Apparently there was going to be some announcement on the television and afterwards they went to watch Mosley’s broadcast in the day room. The Fascist leader’s calm explanation of the latest and worst thing they had done only intensified Frank’s growing sense of fear. Afterwards people sat talking listlessly about the deportations, some saying it was overdue, others that it was cruel, many not seeming really to register it. Frank crept back to the quiet room. He paced up and down. He felt worse than ever, as though ants were crawling over his skin. He thought of taking his pill after all but he didn’t. He had to be able to think. He breathed fast, on the edge of panic, his mind whirling. Was that policeman a German? Were he and Ben and David in league? If so, what were they planning to do?

That night, on the ward, he was, like all the patients, given the usual double dose of Largactil to get him to sleep. Nonetheless he woke up in the small hours: sleeping patients all around him, the night attendant reading at his lamplit desk. Frank thought again of suicide. If he was dead there was no way for his secret to come out, he would not be responsible for the terrible things that might follow. He thought, I’d have defeated them, all this pain and fear will be over, I’ve no future anyway apart from existing in a place like this. And if the Germans got hold of me . . .

Another day began: getting out of bed, dressing, being taken to breakfast. Sam was on duty again. After breakfast the patients went back to the day room for their pills. Frank took his from Sam and again only pretended to swallow them. Sam said to him, ‘Dr Wilson wants to see you at ten, Muncaster. You’re to stay on the ward.’

In his panic Frank nearly swallowed the pill. He managed to mumble, ‘What about?’

‘Don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.’

The patients clustered round the television in the day room; there was a keep-fit programme on at nine, people in the world outside were crazy about keep-fit these days. Frank had heard the patients talking about it in anticipation; there had been a preview, it was about the Butlins holiday camps’ exercise classes, there would be half-bare women stretching and bending. The men, many of whom had barely seen a woman in years, smiled with anticipation as they sat down.

Frank went back into the quiet room. He pushed the door almost shut. The weather was foggy again, only grey misty shapes visible outside the windows. What did Wilson want? Was it to begin the electric shocks? Was it to tell him the police would be taking him away? He stood looking at the big picture on the opposite wall, ‘The Stag at Bay’. Out of desperation an idea came to him. With trembling steps he walked over to it. It was very heavy and with the limited power in his right hand it was difficult to unhook the picture, even standing on a hard chair which he dragged across, but he managed it. His arms trembling with the effort, he carefully lowered it to the floor. He was bathed in sweat. He glanced nervously at the door to the day room, heard a cheerful female announcer’s voice from the television. He saw that behind the picture, driven deep into the brickwork, was a large metal hook.

Frank stared at it. Again he thought, I don’t want to die. But he wouldn’t be doing it for himself, it would be to make sure he took his terrible secret with him. He reached up and grasped the hook with both hands, letting his full weight rest on it. It didn’t move. He walked away, looked out of the window again. He took long, deep breaths, wondering once more if he could have been mistaken about yesterday’s events. He thought, David and Geoff never liked the Nazis any more than I did. But he hadn’t seen David for over ten years. In that time everything had changed. He thought, they and the policemen could be working together, trying to grind him down. And if they put real pressure on him he knew he would crack. He thought of the things they said the Germans did to make people talk. He squeezed his eyes shut. He thought suddenly of his father, his death in action. If he did this it would be a heroic act like his. Outside, he heard ribald laughter. He walked back to the hook. Blood thundered in his ears. There wasn’t much time before they came and took him to Dr Wilson. Quickly he took off his jacket, then his crumpled shirt. He wound the shirt into a long strip of thick cloth. It was difficult but he made a clumsy noose. He stood on the chair in his vest and tied one end of the shirt tightly around the hook. He was completely determined now, like a soldier going over the top in the trenches. He stood on the chair and put the home-made noose round his neck. He bent his legs so it drew tight, taking all his weight. It held. Then he jumped.