Page 91 of The Stranger in Room Six
‘I walked into a chair,’ I lie. I can’t exactly say I was attacked by the resident in Room Six. Or that it was followed by a threat of ‘much worse’ if I didn’t ‘get on with the job’.
‘I haven’t felt well either,’ she says plaintively.
My friend, as I am beginning to see her, is hunched up in her bed, appearing smaller than usual, with a childlike ‘please help me’ expression on her face. I don’t like the look of this. I often forget how old she is because she’s still so articulate.
I lay my hand on her forehead (‘That’s lovely and soothing, Belinda’) and check her records by the bed. Her obs (our shorthand for observation tests) seem fine.
‘I’ll be all right,’ she says, seeing my concern. ‘It’s just age and tiredness. I need distraction. Will you go on with your story?’
So I do.
60
My Listener work gives me a purpose. There’s nothing like hearing other people’s problems to get your own in perspective. Last week, a woman told me how her brother had tried to rape her, so she’d smashed his head in with a hammer. Somehow, she’s the one who’s ended up in jail and he got off scot-free. Another was a forger. ‘It’s surprisingly easy when you learn the trade,’ she says. ‘Let me know if you ever need any help.’
I don’t think so. But you don’t make judgements as a Listener. You just lend an ear.
Then comes the day when Linda Wall turns up in the Listener’s Room.
‘I’m upset with you,’ she says from behind the screen, in a voice that sends a chill down my spine.
I look around for the chaplain, who is back at work now. He’d been here a few minutes ago to supervise but he’s disappeared.
I could ask her how she knows that I am tonight’s Listener but there seems little point.
‘Why?’ I say.
‘Because you’ve seen me enough times since my daughter died and you’ve never come up to express your sympathies.’
‘But I did! Just after it happened. You ignored me.’
‘I was fucking out of it with grief. But you didn’t try again.’
True. This was partly because Mouse told me to keep my tough image going, but also because I felt guilty with relief that my own girls were safe.
‘I didn’t know what to say,’ I gulp.
I hear what sounds like a snort. ‘Call yourself a Listener?’
‘Would it help if I said sorry now?’
‘Too bloody late for that.’
There might be a screen between us but I can just picture her cold eyes locked on mine. ‘You see, Belinda, grief can drive you mad. You might have tasted that for the short time when you thought it was one of your girls. But I have to live with this madness every day, every minute, every second of my life from now on. And when people say the wrong thing to me, or they don’t say anything at all, they go straight onto my blacklist. Do you know what that means?’
My mouth goes dry. I try to remember my training. How you should invite people to share their emotions rather than tell them what to do.
‘Would you like to tell me?’
‘That’s why I’m here. What it means is that I resent people like you whose daughters are still alive. It means that I wish they were dead, too, so that their mothers had to feel what I feel. It means that your daughters need to watch out. Gillian and Elspeth, isn’t it? I know where they are.’
Then she names the private estate where Derek lives.
I try to hide my horror and fear by sounding aggressive. ‘Are you threatening me?’
‘That’s what it sounds like, doesn’t it?’
‘I could go to the governor about this.’
