A self-satisfied smile crossed Wilson’s face. ‘Good. This is one of the first British hospitals to use Largactil. My idea. It’s French, you know, so it’s more expensive with the import duty. But I persuaded the Board. My cousin working in the Ministry of Health gives me a certain influence.’ He gave a superior little smile.
‘It makes my mouth dry. And I feel tired.’
‘It keeps you calm. That’s the main thing, in the circumstances.’
‘I’ll never do anything like that again.’
The doctor made a steeple of his hands. They were small and surprisingly delicate. ‘The question is, why did you do it in the first place?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘If we’re going to help you, you have to talk about it.’ He pursed his small mouth. ‘Do you believe the end of the world is coming? Some religious people do.’
Frank shook his head. The end could come, but religion would have nothing to do with it.
Dr Wilson persisted. ‘When you arrived you were asked what your religion was. You said your mother was a spiritualist but you didn’t believe in God.’
‘Yes.’
‘Did your mother take you to spiritualist churches?’
‘No. She had seances at her house with a woman who said she could contact the dead.’
‘Do you think she could, this woman?’
‘No,’ Frank answered flatly.
‘So you didn’t believe in any of it?’
‘No.’
‘You have no relatives apart from your brother.’
‘No.’
‘No-one’s been to visit.’
‘They never did like me in the labs. I didn’t fit in.’ Frank felt tears coming now.
‘Well, there’s a stigma, people are frightened of asylums. Even relatives usually stop coming after a time.’ The doctor shifted in his seat. ‘But if we’re to get you into the Private Villa, which I think would be more suitable for you, the board will need funds.’
‘I’ve got money. Surely your administration can sort it out.’
Dr Wilson smiled wryly. ‘You can be clear and direct when you wish, can’t you? The problem, Frank, is that as a lunatic your money has to be held by a trustee. That’s the law. For that we need a relative.’
‘There’s only my brother. They said he’s gone back to America.’
‘We know. We’ve been trying to get in touch with him.’ Dr Wilson raised his eyebrows. ‘I even went to the trouble of telephoning him at his university in California. But they said he’s away on government business and can’t be contacted.’
‘He won’t reply,’ Frank said bitterly.
‘You sound angry with him. You must have been, to do what you did.’
Frank said nothing.
‘Why did you become a scientist like your brother?’ Dr Wilson asked, his tone conversational again. ‘Did you want to compete with him?’
‘No,’ Frank replied wearily. ‘I was just interested in science, in geology, how old the Earth is, what a little speck in space we live on. I did it for
‘Nothing to do with Edgar?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Frank, if I’m to help, you must tell me more. I wonder if a course of electric shock treatment might help jolt you out of this withdrawn state. We shall have to start thinking about it.’
Afterwards the Scottish attendant, Ben, took Frank back to the ward. The rain had stopped. The light was beginning to fade. ‘How did it go?’ Ben asked.
Frank looked at Ben again. The thought crossed his mind that Dr Wilson might have asked him to report back on what Frank said. So he fell back on his staple answer. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Lucky youse is middle-class and educated, Wilson’s no’ interested in the chronic cases, the poor sods wi’ no money that have been on the wards for years. He thinks he’s too good for this place anyway. His father was a doctor, his cousin’s a civil servant at the Ministry of Health. Aul’ snob. Class is everything.’ Ben spoke quietly, but with an undertone of bitterness.
‘He talked about shock treatment,’ Frank said hesitantly. He swallowed. ‘I’ve overheard other patients discussing that.’
Ben grimaced. ‘It’s not nice. They tie you down with leather straps and put electric shocks through your brain. They say it cures depression. I think it does, sometimes. But they’re a bit free and easy with it. And they should use anaesthetic.’
‘It hurts?’
Ben nodded.
‘Have you seen it done?’
‘Aye.’
Frank’s heart began to pound. He took deep breaths. His bad hand hurt and he massaged the two atrophied fingers. Their footsteps slapped along the wet path.
Ben said, ‘There are worse things. Lobotomies – a surgeon comes up from London every few months to do those. Cuts part of your brain out. Jesus, the state of some patients afterwards. Don’t worry, they won’t do that to you.’ Ben gave Frank a sudden guilty look. ‘Sorry I mentioned it.’
Frank asked, cautiously, ‘What part of Scotland do you come from?’
‘Glasgow.’ Ben smiled. ‘Glesca. D’ye know Scotland?’
‘I went to school near Edinburgh.’
‘I thought I heard a trace of Morningside. One of those Edinburgh private schools?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which one?’
‘Strangmans,’ Frank answered quickly. He wanted to change the subject.
‘I’ve heard those places can be hard. Harder than Glesca schools even.’
‘Yes.’
‘Still, I hear there’s public schools just as tough in England.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Frank said, his voice catching. ‘Before I came in, I heard on the news about this new law they’re planning, the compulsory sterilizations. Dr Wilson was reading something about it.’
‘That’s just for the mentally deficient, and what they call the moral degenerates. Wilson’ll be quite happy to see them sterilized. Dregs of society, that’s how he sees them, the auld scunner.’ That bitter note in Ben’s voice again. He looked at Frank’s bad hand. ‘What happened there?’
‘An accident. At school.’ Frank turned to him. ‘I want to get out of here.’
‘Ye canna, no’ unless Wilson says you’re sane again.’ Ben considered, then added, ‘Unless someone can bring influence, maybe get you transferred, maybe tae a private clinic away from here. What about your brother?’
Frank shook his head despairingly. ‘Edgar won’t even take their calls.’
‘What about the people where you work?’
‘Dr Wilson asked me that. They wouldn’t be interested. They don’t really want me in the department. I’ve known that for a while.’ Frank’s face spasmed into his smiling rictus.
They had reached the door of the main building. ‘I’m going to be working on your ward for a while,’ Ben said. ‘Maybe I could help with finding someone to help ye.’
‘There’s nobody.’
‘What about people you knew at school? Or at university? You must have gone to university.’
An image of David Fitzgerald came into Frank’s head; an autumn evening sitting with him in their rooms at Oxford, talking about Hitler and appeasement. His astonished realization that for the first time in his life someone was actually interested in what he was saying. As this attendant Ben seemed to be, for some reason Frank couldn’t fathom. He hadn’t been in touch with David properly for years, but at one time he had been closer to him than anyone. ‘There might be someone,’ he said, cautiously.
