Nodding, as if confirming something to himself, Jimmy moved past them, to one of the wooden picnic tables that stood under a canopy jutting from the main building. ‘Might as well sit in the shade if you’re going to talk to me.’ He turned to Bernie. ‘I need the restraints, Bernie. If I’m going to talk, I don’t want to be sedated again.’
Bernie studied Jimmy for a few seconds, then his face broke into a smile. ‘Sure thing, big man. I’ve had the feeling for a while now, that you need to talk.’
Hearing the word ‘restraints’ had a double effect on Gus. As an image of Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest flashed into his mind, his body relaxed and relief surged through him – Jimmy Cameron in a straitjacket was much less threatening than Jimmy Cameron without. The second was that the last thing he wanted his mother to see, was her brother wrapped up like a Christmas turkey. He needn’t have worried, for the restraints Bernie’s colleague brought to them were made of some sort of fabric, with padded cuffs at the wrists. They attached from the arms of the wooden chair to Jimmy’s wrists, allowing him restricted movement of his arms. As if sensing Gus’s interest, Jimmy shook the manacles. ‘Specially designed so I can play card games or dominoes, but I can’t reach my head to punch myself.’
Gus nodded, but said nothing. Instead he pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Jimmy while Carlton followed suit and Bernie took another seat beside Jimmy.
‘Any chance of a drink for my visitors, Bernie?’
Bernie grinned as if this was the most natural thing in the world. ‘I’ll arrange it. Tea, coffee, soft drink?’ he asked Gus and Carlton.
While Carlton opted for tea, Gus, his eyes never leaving Cameron’s face, said, ‘Irn Bru if you’ve got it?’
Still unsure of how practical those restraints would be if Cameron decided to take a swing at him, Gus moved his chair backwards so he could get to his feet in a hurry if necessary. The older man was analysing him, yet Gus couldn’t get a handle on what to expect from this man who was also his uncle.
As they waited for their refreshments, Gus studied the other patients. No two were alike. Some seemed almost comatose in their limited interactions, while others laughed and joked. The workings of the human mind were beyond Gus, but the animated look in Carlton’s bespectacled eyes told him he was revelling in this rare opportunity to observe some of the most violent and mentally disturbed men in Scotland from his psychologist’s viewpoint.
Aware that Jimmy was still watching him and that his bottom lip was now curled up as if something amused him, Gus decided not to inflame him by returning his gaze. Instead he allowed himself to study various inhabitants of Bellbrax Psychiatric Unit while making sure he kept an eye on where Jimmy’s hands were at all times. He wondered if his colour had an effect on Jimmy. Was the man a racist as well as a misogynist – it wouldn’t surprise him – ‘isms’ seemed to run on themes of hatred – well the ones he saw did anyway.
When their drinks arrived, delivered by a young woman in a pale blue uniform, Jimmy grinned, high fived her, well, as high a five as his restraints would allow and said, ‘Looking good today, Tania.’
Tania grinned, returned the high five, and laughed. ‘You too, Jimmy. Although, you’ve been bashing yourself again. You need to stop that, you know.’
Jimmy laughed. ‘Just trying to knock some sense into myself, hen.’
The interaction puzzled Gus. All he’d seen was genuine affection and easy conversation. No sign of the misogyny referenced by Dr Mara. His lips tightened. This meant that Jimmy Cameron was definitely not to be underestimated – the man was clearly an able actor. Carlton too seemed intrigued and he slipped a notepad and pen from his pocket. ‘Can I take notes of our meeting, Jimmy?’
‘Feel free, I’m used to it.’
Jimmy turned to Gus; his voice low. ‘You have your mother’s eyes.’
Gus swallowed hard, trying to read Jimmy’s expression, but it was impossible. A flash from one of the Harry Potter films broke his concentration. What the hell was wrong with him and all the film references today? Glancing at Carlton, Gus hoped for some guidance on what he should do, but Carlton looked far too fascinated in this turn of events to offer anything other than a reassuring smile.
Leaning back, Gus feigned nonchalance and took a swig from his plastic glass of Irn Bru and moulded a puzzled frown on his brow. ‘I’m not Harry Potter, you know.’
Jimmy’s laugh was low as he shook his head. ‘So, we’re playing games, are we? I thought you’d maybe credit me with a bit more sense than that, son.’
Gus shrugged and remained silent.
Jimmy lifted his plastic mug, the straw sticking out the top allowing it to reach his lips and made a ‘cheers’ gesture to Gus. ‘You’re Coco’s lad.’
Gus had hoped it was some deluded fantasy that Jimmy had concocted – even a racist one would have been better than him connecting Gus with his mum.
‘It’s the eyes. She has the exact same eyes as you. How is she? I’ve missed her.’
A low snort left Gus’s nose. There was no need for pretence anymore. ‘Really. Word around here is that you hate women – all women and my mum in particular.’
A long sigh escaped Jimmy’s lips and his shoulders slumped as he looked off into the distance at his flower beds, sipping his tea as if they were three old friends catching up.
Finally, Jimmy shook his head and looked at them. ‘I guess it’s time to fess up.’
Carlton frowned and leant forward resting his arms
