He is crying.
You turn round. You walk back to the car. You get in. You lock the doors. You start the car. You go up Northgate and turn on to Blenheim. You park in the drive. You get out. You lock the doors. You go inside your building. You go up the stairs. You take your key out -
The door is not open. There is no-one on the stair.
You open the door. You go inside. You lock the door. You walk down the hall. You do not go into the bathroom. You do not look in the mirror. You go into the ruined front room. You take some paper from a drawer on the floor. You take out your pen. You sit down on a pile of broken records -
The telephone ringing. The branches tapping -
You start writing.
Chapter 48
Big car turns off main road and passes through stone gateposts and up long drive, trees bare and black, up to main building of hospital -
Stanley Royd Mental Hospital, Wakefield.
He parks in front of old house and BJ and him crunch across gravel to front door.
BJ hold open door then follow him into reception area.
A nurse with a nametag that says
‘Good afternoon,’ he says.
‘Good afternoon,’ smiles woman. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I do hope so,’ he smiles. ‘We’ve come for Mr Whitehead.’
‘Pardon?’ she says, turning down radio.
‘We’ve come to take him home.’
‘Jack Whitehead?’
‘Yes,’ he nods.
‘And you are?’
‘The Reverend Laws.’
Confused, she says: ‘I’ll have to get Dr Papps.’
Reverend takes off his black hat and smiles at her, his nose broken and bandaged: ‘We can wait.’
M. White picks up a phone with one hand and points at some chairs with other: ‘Have a seat.’
BJ and him sit down and wait, staring through open double doors into day room -
Day room staring back in their pyjamas and paper hats.
It is New Year’s Eve, 1980.
A short and fat man is coming down stairs: ‘Gentlemen?’
BJ and Reverend stand up.
He has his hand out: ‘I’m Dr Papps, Senior Consultant.’
‘Reverend Laws.’
They shake hands. Papps says: ‘Nurse White tells me you’re here about Mr Whitehead?’
‘Yes,’ nods Reverend Laws. ‘We’ve come to take him home.’
Papps is looking at BJ, trying to place top of BJ’s head -
Suddenly trying not to remember BJ -
But BJ remember him:
Papps suddenly blushes. He stammers: ‘I’m afraid it’s not as simple as you might think.’
Reverend puts an arm around Dr Papps. He turns him to look at BJ. He says: ‘This young man is a relative.’
Good doctor tries not to look at BJ. He whispers: ‘A relative?’
‘His son.’
Dr Papps leads BJ and Reverend up stairs and down corridors, out of main building and into one of wings, unlocking and locking doors until last corridor and last door.
Dr Papps, key in hand, says: ‘He hasn’t been well, has Mr Whitehead; in fact he’s only just returned from Pinderfields.’
‘I know,’ says Reverend.
‘He won’t be easy to care for, to administer to.’
‘His son is aware of the commitment.’
Dr Papps glances at BJ.
BJ smile. BJ wink.
Papps unlocks door.
Everybody steps inside.
Room is cold and grey, just a toilet and a bed:
Jack Whitehead is lying flat upon bed in a pair of white pyjamas -
Staring up at light from window high in wall -
His head shaved, his hole in shadow.
‘Jack?’ whispers Reverend.
‘Father,’ he smiles.
‘We have come to take you home.’
Jack sighs, eyes watering -
Tears slipping down his face -
Down his cheek -
His neck -
Off his pillow -
From mattress -
On to floor -
Puddles -
Rivers -
Rivers of tears upon stone floor -
Lapping around tips of all our wings.
Jack turns his head towards door: ‘So many broken hearts.’
‘So many pieces,’ Reverend softly says.
‘But do they fit?’ BJ ask.
‘That’s the question,’ whispers Jack. ‘That is the question.’
Papps leads Jack in his white pyjamas out of door and down corridor, unlocking and locking doors, crossing from wing back to main building, along corridors and down stairs.
At reception, Reverend hands bad doctor a fat brown manila envelope and smiles: ‘I believe this will help take care of any outstanding paperwork.’
Papps is touching envelope and his lips, nodding.
Reverend puts on his black hat: ‘Good day, Dr Papps.’
