‘Why don’t you want anyone to know?’
A shrug. ‘It’s like a zoo in here . . . with me as the latest exhibit. People keep prodding me to see how I’m going to react. Most of the time I don’t feel like performing.’
‘Is that why you shut your door last night?’
‘Partly.’
‘Why else?’
‘To show that I could. I knew someone would barge in eventually to prove they were doing their job properly.’
‘The senior nurse found you intimidating.’
‘Good.’ He spoke with satisfaction.
Willis made a note. ‘Don’t you like her?’
‘Am I supposed to?’
Strange answer, Willis thought, giving one of his dry smiles. ‘You’re outside my usual remit, Charles. As a rule it takes weeks for patients to become as stroppy as you seem to be. They start by being grateful and compliant and only become irritated when progress isn’t as quick as they’d like.’ He paused. ‘Are you in pain?’
‘If I am I can ask for something.’
The psychiatrist consulted his papers again. ‘Except you never do. According to what I have here, you didn’t use the PCA and you refuse analgesics. Are you really pain-free . . . or is it a macho thing?’ He paused for an answer. ‘You ought to have a continuous dull ache around the site of your surgery, and acute stabs of pain every time you cough or move. Is that not happening?’
‘I can live with it.’
‘You don’t need to. Your recovery won’t happen any faster because you suffer. It might even hinder it.’ He studied the young man’s impassive face. ‘Is your amnesia still worrying you? Are you blaming the opiates for it?’
‘How can I remember anything if I turn myself into a zombie?’
‘And you think pain’s any different? It’s just as deadening to the concentration as morphine.’ He watched Acland toss the tissue ball again to prove him wrong. ‘Well, maybe not in your case,’ he said with dry humour. ‘What have you remembered so far?’
‘Nothing much. I had a flashback where I was being driven along a road that I didn’t recognize . . . but now I’m thinking it was a dream.’
‘I doubt it. Snippets of memory always feel like dreams at first. You’ll know they’re real when you can put them in context.’ He leaned forward encouragingly. ‘Being able to recall your command will take the uncertainty out of it. I imagine doubt about your leadership is what’s troubling you the most, isn’t it?’
Acland stared rigidly back at him. He had no intention of discussing his fears with anyone, let alone a psychiatrist.
Willis took off his glasses to give himself an excuse to look away. ‘There’s nothing alarming about your amnesia, Charles,’ he murmured, using a corner of Acland’s sheet to polish the lenses. ‘The brain bruises like any other part of the body when it takes a knock. It just needs time to heal.’
‘That’s OK, then.’
‘You’d be in a lot more trouble if the metal had come at you from a different angle or you hadn’t been wearing your helmet when you were thrown from the vehicle. A pierced or shattered skull is a different kettle of fish entirely. The brain doesn’t recover easily from that kind of damage.’
‘So I was lucky?’
‘Certainly . . . if the only choice was between serious brain damage and concussion. Real good fortune would have been that the shrapnel missed you altogether.’ He replaced his spectacles. ‘I gather you don’t like being told you’re lucky.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘You lost your temper yesterday morning when one of the auxiliaries urged you to cheer up because you’re better off than some of the others in here.’
‘That’s not what she said.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Invited me to keep my pecker up . . . so I invited
Willis was nonplussed. ‘Are you saying she touched you inappropriately?’
‘No, Doc,’ Acland answered sarcastically, ‘I’m saying she stood on one leg in the corner and danced a fandango. Look, it’s no big deal. I don’t enjoy being treated like a piece of meat . . . but I’m probably the only man in here who feels that way.’
‘Do you want to report her?’
‘No chance. She’s already given her side of the story. Who’s going to believe mine?’
Who indeed? As far as Willis knew there had been no similar complaints against Tracey Fielding. The interesting factor was how similar Acland’s and Tracey’s accounts were – it took only a small twist to put a sexual slant on the incident – and he wondered if Acland had deliberately read more into ‘keep your pecker up’ than had been intended. If so, it worried the psychiatrist, although he didn’t pursue it.
