Page 67 of The Stranger in Room Six
‘But I haven’t finished my training.’
‘I think you’re ready,’ he says. ‘In fact, she needs to talk right now. She’s new and isn’t coping very well.’
Can I really do this? I follow the chaplain to his office and sit behind the screen. I hear footsteps coming towards me on the other side. The woman is sobbing. I try to remember what the chaplain has taught me. I know he’s here too, but I’m nervous. What if I say something that makes her even more distressed?
‘Would you like to tell me what’s upsetting you?’ I ask, conscious that this is a daft question. Being locked up is enough to upset anyone.
‘I never thought I was the kind of person to go to prison,’ she sobs. ‘I didn’t mean to do it. I just snapped.’
I know what that feels like, I almost say. Then I recall the chaplain’s advice: ‘Don’t tell them your story; they are here to tell youtheirs. Repeat their words back at them. It makes them feel secure, and also shows that you’re listening.’
‘You just snapped? Why was that?’ I say to the woman.
Her voice is raw with grief. ‘I couldn’t cope with Alice any more. No one would help me. My husband often works away. And I just …’
I wait. ‘Don’t jump in’, the chaplain had advised.
But she’s sobbing and sobbing.
‘You don’t have to tell me what happened.’
‘But I want to,’ she says.
I’m not sure I want her to. I can’t bear to think what this woman might have done to Alice, whoever she was.
Suddenly she blurts it out. ‘I just walked out and slammed the door on her. Then I left the house and didn’t come back for an hour.’
‘How old was Alice?’ I ask.
‘Sixteen months,’ she sobs.
‘You left a one-year-old on her own?’
This is a question, not a statement. I can sense the chaplain stiffening.
‘I’d have to have been there to understand the situation,’ I add hastily.
‘You’re right,’ she replies. ‘If you had, you’d have understood how awful it was. I’d had enough. Alice would cry all the time and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was exhausted. I couldn’t sleep. When I was awake, I was a zombie.’
‘Did you ask for help?’
‘The doctor put me on a waiting list for counselling but I was told it could take months. I talked to my mum about it, but she lived miles away and then last year she died from a brain aneurism.’
Like my own mother had. My heart begins to soften. ‘That must have been a terrible shock.’
‘Yes,’ she manages through another sob. ‘But it got worse. I left Alice again and this time, she helped herself to a packet of tablets I’d left out. She nearly died.’
I gasp and then instantly reproach myself. Listeners aren’t meant to show judgement.
‘I know. It’s awful, isn’t it? It’s why I’m inside.’
‘Who’s looking after Alice now?’ I ask.
‘My mother-in-law. She’s the one who found Alice. She has her own key and visits without warning sometimes. She called the ambulance. Thank God she’d only taken one tablet and they managed to save her.’
‘How long have you got in here?’ I ask.
‘Eighteen months.’
