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SNAFU Part 8

by Angharad

This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.

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Fainting in a police station was not what I’d had in mind when I remarked on swooning. But it’s exactly what I did. So I got taken back into the medical room and thankfully the police surgeon had not yet left. He examined me again, and because I was in the ‘custody’ of a qualified nurse, he allowed me to leave with Sheila Brice.

She took me back to my room, followed by Anderson, who had my bike in his jeep. As we drove back, Captain Brice said to me, “More lions round here than Whipsnade Zoo.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I responded. My head felt thick and I didn’t want this discussion.

“I think you do, despite playing stupid with Major Collins. Remember I experienced the sort of thing that happens around you, at the cemetery. So if strange or unworldly things are happening, you are my first port of call.”

“Can we talk about this later? I feel really grotty.” I just wanted to sleep or cry or both. The shock of what had happened was beginning to filter through to me, and it wasn’t nice. I began to shake and felt very cold, the car began to feel as if it was full of water and I couldn’t breathe. Then I felt very hot. I couldn’t stop shaking, then everything went black.

I have vague recollections of the car stopping and someone checking me over, calling to me. Then I heard a man’s voice, it was almost familiar and I hoped it was my dad. I just wanted my mum or dad or better still, both of them with me. Then I knew I’d be safe.

I felt myself being lifted and laid in the back of a car, then I must have gone to sleep or something, but the next thing I can honestly remember was the sounds of a hospital and I began to think I must have fallen asleep on my duty. It’s a serious offence, and I struggled to get up, but hands held me down and recalling the attack I began to fight.

A real commotion ensued, and I couldn’t open my eyes but I could hear voices and more hands grabbed me. Now I was screaming and struggling and I felt the jab of a needle, then a voice telling me, “It’s okay, Jamie, you really are safe.” Then nothing.

It was an irony that I should end up in the next bed to Pam Davis, although she was due for discharge later that day, so she was dressed and sitting alongside me. I woke up quite gently, and she said,” Hello sleepy head.”

“Where am I?” my head was still very muzzy.

“On the medical ward. You went into shock apparently, something about a serious sexual assault, but they got the guy. Some blond hunk called by an hour ago with a bouquet of flowers. I put them on your cabinet.”

I turned my head to the side of the bed, my neck hurt and I think everything else did too. But just as Pam had said, there was a wonderful bouquet of flowers. They must have cost an arm and a leg.

“There’s a card by the side.” She got up and reached it for me.
With fumbling, feeble fingers I eventually managed to open the little envelope which had my name on the front. It was difficult to get the card out, it was so tight to the envelope. I could sense Pam wanting to do it for me, but I was just a bit poorly not paraplegic. I continued my struggle and was rewarded with a small card with a picture of a kitten on the front, and inside the inscription read:

Hi Jamie,

Hope you’re feeling better. That was some swoon, but you forgot to say, ‘my hero’ as you went down.

If you have a sore spot on your head, I’m sorry but I banged it getting you into the back of my 4x4 when you went off again. I’ll kiss it better for you later.

Let me know about that dinner date and I’ll book a table. Remember the RMP always gets its girl.

Love,

John.

My head did hurt, but so did my arm when I went to rub it. However, the card was so cheeky I couldn’t help but laugh. Pam helped herself and laughed too. “Who’s the hunk with the 4x4 ?”, she asked.

“Just some bloke who happened by when I was being raped. He stopped it rather suddenly by beating the attacker senseless. I was a bit too busy at the time to do it myself.”

“So he’s a redcap?”

“Yeah.”

“They can be bad news.”

“Based on my short experience of men, they can all be bad news. Just like they think all nurses are goers. ….God my head hurts.”

“Do you want me to get you something for it?” said Pam, rising from my bed where she had been perched for the last moment or two.

“No, I’ll be alright. What time is it?”

“Nearly nine, I think you may have missed breakfast. Hungry?”

I hadn’t thought about food until she mentioned it, and suddenly I did feel very hungry. I’d not eaten since lunch the day before and that was only a bread roll which I’d upchucked over myself. “I am a bit peckish and I could murder a cuppa.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” She set off down the ward, I dozed while she was gone swimming in those grey, limpid pools. I was just beginning to do another ‘length’ when she woke me by banging a cup and plate on my bedside table.

“Up you get, missy. Tea and toast, best I could do.”

I thanked her and consumed them with relish. I truly was hungry and alas full of wind. First of all, I had sharp pains in my tummy, then spent the next half hour or so trying to break it in the toilet, or refraining from doing so back on the ward. Some days you just can’t win.

Mid-morning, Major Collins came around. “Hello, Nurse Curtis, sorry to hear about your bit of trouble. How're you feeling?” He smiled at me, and I knew he had come specifically to see me because his ward was surgical, not medical.

“I’ve felt better, sir.”

“I’m sure you have. What a lovely bunch of flowers. From your parents?”

Shit! I hadn’t told them, I wondered if anyone else had. I needed to find out as soon as I could. Did they need to know? If I didn’t tell them there’d be big trouble if I did there’d be big trouble. Oh shit, I thought to myself.

“No, sir, a friend.”

“Well he must be a good one, those lilies cost a fortune. I bought my wife some last week for her birthday.”

“He’s a good friend, sir, a real lifesaver.”

“Right oh, well get well soon, let me know if I can help.”

“Thank you, sir, you’re very kind.” At this, I saw him puff out his chest and swagger down the ward. At times, I thought, men are so predictable, pat them on the head like little boys and they think they have just won the jackpot.

The consultant physician did his rounds, he wanted BPs done every hour and half a dozen bloods, he also wanted a couple of x-rays, and no I couldn’t go until they’d got the results back, so tomorrow at the earliest. I resigned myself to being poked prodded, leeched and shoved none too gently on a cold X-ray table.

Lunch was a bowl of soup and spaghetti bolognese. It was alright. I’d managed to get a Guardian by bribing a nurse, and was only halfway through it when a familiar voice said, ”I told them we’d find you with your head in The Guardian or doing the crossword.”

I dropped the paper, ”Mum, Dad, what are you doing here?” I felt my eyes fill with tears, and a drop of hot fluid trickled down my cheek.

“I could ask you the same question, young lady.” Said my dad.

For the next few minutes, we just hugged and we all cried, and hugged some more. Finally, we recovered our composures and I related what had happened, as far as I could recall it.

They told me that Sheila had phoned the night before and told them. They had wanted to come at once but she had persuaded them to wait until later, so they’d set off mid-morning and here they were. They had brought me a big bunch of flowers. “Already got some I see. Who they from?” asked my dad.

“My rescuer,” I smirked at him.

“He rescues you, then he sends presents. Shouldn’t it be the other way round?” He scratched his head as he pondered this one. “Bigger bunch than ours, must have cost a fortune. Rich is he?”

“I doubt it, daddy, he’s a sergeant in the military police.”

“A redcap.”

“Yeah, I suppose so. Although when I said that to him, he said, ‘sort of’, so quite what that means I don’t know.”

“Anyway, I’d like to shake his hand and thank him.” Said my dad.

“You will be able to, that’s him coming through the door now.” I pointed to the tall, blond man ambling along the ward.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything? He said, smiling warmly.

“My parents, this is John. John, my parents.”

They all shook hands, the men gripping and pumping each other's arms with a vigour that would have left me bruised for days. It was a ‘man thing’ I suppose. They both thanked him for saving their ‘little girl’ – I’m eighteen for God’s sake. My dad wanted to buy him a drink, my mum wanted to kiss him, but then so did I. What did I just think? My goodness, what is happening to me? I feel quite strange, but I don’t think it’s a medical problem. My heart is pounding and I feel quite light-headed. Oh dear, my mother said there could be moments like this…it’s wonderful.

For the next few minutes they all stood about talking, with the odd reference to me from the way they occasionally cast a glance in my direction, but without actually looking at me, or leastways making eye contact.

The discussion was from the animated nature, about the attack. My father, who had never done anything more violent that chop wood for the fire, was getting himself quite worked up. He was wanting to hurt the man who had attacked me. I suspect John had done a good enough job to satisfy most, except perhaps my dad. A man thing again? I don’t know. Because he was in custody, I felt the due process of law would deal with him, so I didn’t need to hit him any further. In fact, I didn’t want any contact with him whatsoever.

The discussion went on, and I began to feel left out. Here I was, the supposed centre of attention, being completely and utterly ignored. To test my theory, I slipped out of bed and sneaked across the ward. None of them saw me go. Hiding behind a curtain, I watched as the animated conversation continued. They were still making glances towards the bed, but I wasn’t there and none of them noticed. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. For a moment I recalled the episode in the restaurant when I felt the centre of attention and compared it to now.

Well I know I was wearing a low cut outfit which did attract the eye, especially those of men. Now I was wearing pink pyjamas with elephants on them. Okay, hardly haute couture, but they were comfy, and I liked them. I was wearing no makeup and my hair was a mess, apart from that I was pretty well the same as the night at the restaurant. Alright, so I wasn’t, but then I was in danger of becoming objectified. This was the real me, no-frills attached and nobody saw me. I was invisible. I felt quite down.

As I reflected on this unwelcome thought and prospect, my mother noticed the empty bed. “Where’s Jamie?”

“What?” echoed both the men, spinning around towards the empty bed. They looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Then they began to puzzle out where I was and how long I’d been gone. I felt a bit like an old cat we had who loved to hide. She was as black as soot, save for a few white hairs under her throat, and she was an expert at hide-and-seek. I have known her quiver with excitement when someone who was calling her from nearby, fail to spot her. She was just like a child at times. If she was somewhere dark, providing she didn’t move or open her eyes, big green stagnant ponds, she was practically invisible. I stayed quite still and also remained unseen if not invisible. Well compared to ‘Inky’, I was an amateur at this hiding business. By the time I was spotted my feet were cold, I’d left my fluffy pink slippers at my bedside.

“There you are,” said my mother, “I was beginning to get quite anxious.”

“I was just having a bit of exercise.” I lied in response.

“Well you could have told us!” exclaimed my father a little irritated.

“I did, but none of you were listening.” I lied again.

“What ?” said both my parents in unison, almost like it was part of a rehearsed double act.

“You were so busy talking yourselves none of you heard me.” It’s amazing how a bit of guilt does it every time. Now I had all their attention, except they were all looking at the floor and making throat-clearing noises.

I savoured the moment while it lasted. Then went back to my bed. It broke the spell. I began to snigger, the snigger became a chuckle and the chuckle became a giggle. Like a group of schoolgirls the infection of the giggle spread and within half a minute, all my visitors were similarly occupied. I giggled so much I had to rush off to the toilet before I wet myself, getting a reprimand from one of the nurses for my haste. When I got back to my bed, it seemed my dad and John were getting on like a house on fire.

“So you’d like to go out with my daughter?” my father was asking my prospective suitor.

“Hark at Shylock”, I threw in as I returned.

“Jamie, you should know better. Portia’s father was dead, and the rules about the three chests were part of his will. Shylock was most certainly not her father.” He almost glowered at me, as the offspring of a literature lecturer I should have known better.” My mother thought it was funny and began giggling again. Father, now onto firmer terra as far as he was concerned, began to revel, ”Talking of the Merchant, I had a student who did quite an interesting dissertation on the play comparing it to the inception and spread of Marxist communism. Quite fascinating, I think even Nietzsche was incorporated somewhere.”

“Zarathustra wasn’t was he?” quipped John.

“An oasis amongst a desert of philistines.” Joked my father. “Have you read much philosophy?”

“Not since my undergrad days.”

“Which uni?”

“Sussex.”

“A hotbed of subversives, years ago.” Claimed my dad. “Did you find it so?”

“Not really, but isn’t any institution which proposes to expand young peoples’ minds at risk of being accused of subversion? Isn’t your own open to such claims?” Came John’s riposte.

“I do hope so. If not then we will have failed in our duty to expand said minds.” My dad was now really enjoying himself, he honestly did believe that most young people needed to detach their allegiances to their established patterns and think things through for themselves.

While the men were chatting about these profound matters, my mother came and sat next to me. “Those the PJs I got you?” she said stroking my sleeve.

“Yes, Mum, I brought them up when I came back from sick leave.”

She looked at the two men still discussing the philosophy of education. “He’s quite a looker, he could come and rescue me any day.”

“Mother, how could you? Especially in front of your husband and daughter. Tut tut.”

“What’s wrong with a bit of window shopping? It doesn’t mean that I necessarily want to buy.” She smirked at me. I pretended to be disgusted with her. Then a moment later we both fell about laughing. I’d nearly forgotten my aches and pains until she slapped my arm and it hurt. Recognising what she’d done and my wincing, she apologised and engulfed me in a monster hug, which hurt almost as much.

It was a strange position in which to be. My parents had travelled for two and a half hours from near Oxford, and so I could hardly turn them away. John on the other hand was someone I wanted to get to know a bit better, but couldn’t while my parents were still about. It reminded me of the tale my father told about how when they married they were so hard up they could only afford a week in a caravan as a honeymoon, and his parents in law came and visited them during it.

Returning to the dilemma in hand, I didn’t know what to do. Then my dad solved the crisis, “We’d better go and check into our hotel. Come on Annie, let’s give these two a bit of time to themselves.” My mother hugged me and kissed me, and I’m sure that John was blushing, he certainly wasn’t making eye contact with anyone. But after a few more hugs and kisses, my parents upped and left, after promising to return that evening.

John sat himself in the chair alongside my bed and I lay on the bed. Just as we were about to begin chatting, a nurse came to take my blood pressure. “Oh, it’s gone up a bit.” She noted. I’m surprised it hasn’t gone through the roof with this handsome bloke sat next to me, I thought to myself.

“Thank you for the flowers, they are beautiful and must have cost you a fortune.” I blushed a little as I said it.

“That’s okay,” he smiled back, “I do it for all the damsels in distress I rescue, so I get a discount.” His face lit up when he smiled and those limpid grey pools, drew me in.

“So, fair knight, how often do you have to do this rescuing business? “ I chuckled back at him.

“Now and again, but usually it isn’t beautiful princesses like yourself.”

Damn, I thought, this one’s got an answer for everything. “Shall I appoint thee my champion then, fair knight?”

“I should be honoured, milady.” He took my hand and kissed it, my heart rate doubled, thank goodness they weren’t about to do my blood pressure. They’d have me on pills by tea time!

“The position is an honorary one, so the pay’s lousy.” I quipped.

“From where I’m sitting, it looks pretty good to me. Do I get a contract?”

Oh bugger, what do I say to that? I touched my head and winced. He looked rather sheepish and said, “Oh yeah, sorry about that, the door blew shut as I was trying to lift you into my car.”

“Prithee, Sir Knight, surely you mean your charger?”

“Probably. Look I have to go in a minute.” He saw my look of disappointment.
"Honest, I should be on duty, but got a pal to cover for me. It’s really great to see you again. Can I take you to dinner sometime ?”

“Of course you can as long as you promise not to bash my head if you have trouble getting me into the car.”

“Scout’s honour,” he quipped, raising three fingers to his head.

“Thank you for what you did yesterday, for my lovely flowers and for coming in today.” I beckoned for him to come closer, “I need to tell you something.” He leant over the bed, “If you don’t kiss me, I am going to have a relapse.”

“With pleasure…” before he could finish I threw my arms around him and kissed him on the lips. Microseconds later he parted his lips and our tongues danced together, my head was spinning and my heart was pounding loudly enough to be heard in the next ward. He put his arms around me and my whole being began to melt, the aches I felt were not resulting from the assault these were something different to anything I had felt before.

My senses seemed heightened, I could feel his skin against mine, taste his lips, his tongue his breath. It was wonderful. I could smell his ‘just washed’ smell, his shower gel and his deodorant, but his jacket had a slightly musky smell, reminiscent of my dad. It was obviously the smell of man, and at that moment it smelt fabulous. I had never felt like this before, and I just floated as this man explored my mouth with his kiss, I didn’t want it to end.

“Excuse me, Nurse Curtis, can you release that man so I can take your blood pressure.” When I opened my eyes, the staff nurse was standing by the bedside.

Pulling away, John blushed as he said, “I’ve got to go, Jamie, I’ll see you later.” But he managed a quick peck before he hurried off.

“Sorry about that, Jamie, if it was up to me you could’a pulled the screens around and had the full monty, probably do you more good than bloody pills. But I have instructions to take your BP so take it, I shall. However, I’ll give you a chance to get back in your body. See you in five.” With that, she disappeared.

My head was still somewhere above the stratosphere. Is this what they mean when they talk about falling in love or lust or whatever. I didn’t honestly care what it was called, it was magic. Pure magic. My body ached for his touch, my mouth was made for his kisses…..I floated some more. Then suddenly I remembered, I had a little problem. Oh shit, double shit. How would I get around this anatomical difficulty? What would he say when he found out?

Should I tell him about my shortcomings? If so when? Was it all going to end in disaster?

I felt myself fall from the heavens down to earth, faster than thirty-two feet per second, squared. My whole mood just collapsed into a black hole. I was sniffing back a tear when the nurse came back.

“Troubles, love?”, she enquired as she strapped the inflatable cuff of the sphygmomanometer around my arm. I just nodded in response, I didn’t want to talk to anyone, especially a colleague.

My BP was normal and she left me in peace. I curled up and closed my eyes which were wet with tears. It seemed as if I either laughed or cried, nothing much in between. Was I unbalanced or was this just adolescence? In which case I probably was unbalanced. Why did life seem to give me glances of treasure then shut the chest just as I was about to dip my hand in it? Why was every happy moment snatched from me just as I was beginning to recognise it? Life’s a bitch and then you die. I tried that and couldn’t even do that properly. Still sniffing, I drifted off to sleep.

I awoke with someone gently stroking my hand, I opened my eyes with difficulty, they felt all stuck together. “Wakey wakey, sleepyhead.” The voice was my mother’s. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”

“Hi Mum, hello Daddy.” My father was sat in the chair doing the crossword.
I noticed he’d nearly finished it, “How long have you been here?” I felt embarrassed by my ignorance of their arrival.

“Not long, sweetheart.” Answered my mother.

“But Daddy’s nearly finished the crossword.”

“Make that finished.” He declared, putting his pen back in his pocket. I could see the gold of the clip glinting against the blue of his shirt. I recognised the pen, it was a Watermen I had given him for his birthday. He loved fountain pens and I guess it was something I had inherited from him because I loved them too. I could hear him saying, ‘A fountain pen is the ultimate word processor, never mind these electronic gizmos with their fancy functions, or is it, functionality. These days the English language seems to be dominated by illiterate computer geeks, who make it up as they go along. Plus they’re all bloody Yanks. Bernard Shaw was right when he said we were two nations divided by the same language.’

I was pulled out of my reverie by my mother stroking my hand again. “You alright, sweetie?” She pulled my chin around to examine my face more carefully. “Have you been crying, your eyes are all red?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“Nothing to do with that redcap fellow, was it?” My father enquired. He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “Want me to have a word with him.”

“No, Daddy. The last time he got a lecture on Shakespeare.”

“Oh, alright then.” He huffed and sat down again totally deflated. “But just let him hurt my little girl and I’ll…”

“And you’ll what, Tom? Spout Browning at him until he runs off?” My mother sniped at him.

“Please don’t be cross with Daddy, he’s only doing what he thinks is best even if he is completely wrong.” I saw my father’s posture rise then fall again. “It isn’t John, he’s a wonderful man, it’s me.” As I said this the tears trickled down my face again. I could feel the water in them scalding me as they passed down my cheeks and dripped onto my pyjamas.

My mother immediately hugged me, while my father sat tapping his foot and examining his lap. “What’s the matter, sweetie?” cooed my mother as she hugged me and rubbed my back gently. I simply leant on her shoulder and sobbed.

In another world, I heard a nurse ask my father if anything was wrong and he responded that it was probably the shock coming out. She then told him to call if they needed assistance. I heard the screen curtains being pulled, before I reverted completely to my child state and wept profusely upon Mum’s shoulder. She continued to coo and rub my back. My father I knew, would be completely at sea, so he let my mother do what mothers do.

I eventually calmed down, partly because I was cried out. Mum tried to coax out of me what the problem was. I couldn’t tell her because I had got into that stage when you can’t speak and breathe at the same time, it’s like having hiccups. What any sensible person knows is, if you take a deep breath and hold it, the spasm stops. Sadly, none of us was in a very sensible frame of mind. So it was some time before I could speak. This added to my upset and I felt even more inadequate. My whole life felt like a gigantic black hole sucking everything into it including any passing beams of light which might make it half tolerable.

Finally, I felt able to speak without a shuddering hiccup. Knowing that others might hear me, I practically whispered. “What is John going to do when he finds out?”

“Finds out what, sweetheart?” whispered my mother back to me.

“You know……., about me.” I whispered again and felt the tears of despair filling my eyes again.

“You are probably the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. He is clearly smitten by you.” She tried to keep it upbeat sensing how dejected I felt.
Instead I just felt she was glossing over the truth. History seemed to be repeating itself. My parents were there for me yet at the same time they weren’t. The black hole was getting deeper.

“But I’m not am I? I’m not. I’m not..” The tears started again and I wanted to die. Surely death must be better than this misery. I hugged my mother as she continued to try to soothe me. My father at this stage had disappeared, but we hadn’t noticed so consumed by the emotion. I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t escape these negative feelings. The first love of my life and I screw up.

Why did this all have to happen to me? Why couldn’t I just be a normal boy or girl instead of this freak, this misfit, this obscenity in the face of God, assuming there was a bloody God apart from my psychopathic Egyptian friend. Was this some form of punishment from a past life, if so what had I done that could cause me such pain now? I really couldn’t stand much more of this. I felt like throwing myself out the window onto the concrete below, but we were on the ground floor and it was all double glazed security windows.

My mind was spinning going around in smaller and smaller convoluted circles, it felt as if it was drilling itself right through my brain. It was out of control. I was out of control. I felt myself becoming more and more agitated, practically bouncing on the bed, rocking in my mother's arms and my voice, incoherent in what I was saying was getting louder.

SLAP. Shocked I looked at my mother in horror. “You hit me.”

“I had to, Jamie, you were hysterical.” She had tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She wanted to hug me, but now I felt really confused. She had never hit me before, never needed to. Now in my hour of need, even my own mother had turned against me. Would this nightmare never end?

At this point my father returned, he had a half bottle of brandy in his hand and had ‘borrowed’ some plastic cups from the water dispenser. He poured me a large one and told me to sip it. I swallowed it in one slug and spent the next few minutes coughing.

But I was calm again. My parents sipped theirs more discreetly.

“Now, my girl, what’s the problem?” asked my father as if I was stuck on an English essay. ‘Write two thousand words on the gender-switching of the eponymous character of Virginia Woolf’s Orlando. Compare the style with Gore Vidal’s, Myra Breckenridge.

I felt patronised by him and that made me feel angry. At the same time, I realised it wasn’t intentional. I found it ludicrous that this man, whom I loved and respected like no other, including John, could wax lyrical about some dead bloody poet, but he couldn’t deal with his or anyone else’s emotions. I had never realised it before and it somehow diminished him in my eyes. Suddenly, I saw him as incomplete. Perhaps all men are. I know I was in a physical as well as emotional way. I knew that I would never be any different. This life had to end, and it had to end now.

Excusing myself from my parent’s company on the grounds of needing the toilet, I walked to the bathroom. In there, I promptly threw up in the washbasin. My head felt very strange, and the room was spinning. I held onto the white porcelain sink to steady myself. Then a moment or two later I walked into one of the cubicles, unscrewed the toilet seat and used it to smash the mirror. I picked up the largest shard and was just about to stick it in my carotid artery or jugular vein, it didn’t matter which, when I noticed my hand was bleeding. I watched for a moment as the blood dripped on the floor. I felt nothing, completely detached. I lifted the shard and simultaneously my father and the ward sister burst through the door. Momentarily shocked, my father grabbed my hand, and I was left screaming at him, the blood now flowing more freely and dripping over all three of us.

I struggled and screamed to be allowed to finish it, but the duty doctor arrived and after a jab in my arm, things got very hazy, then black.

When I came to, I was in bed in a single room. My hand was heavily bandaged and throbbed. My head was also bandaged and throbbed. I was in a hospital gown rather than my pyjamas. I couldn’t seem to understand why?

I looked around and I suspected the room was locked, the bed had cot-sides up. It felt like a prison. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw my gran. She seemed to disapprove of me, and I felt very low. If even she hated me, there was no point in living or dying, there would be no escape from this torment.

My mouth felt as dry as the desert and I tried to sit up to get the plastic cup of water on the bedside table, but I couldn’t, my arms and legs wouldn’t work, least not together. I flailed an arm and only succeeded in knocking the object of my efforts, off the table and onto the floor. I wanted to call for help but my throat, sore from my screaming, left me with no voice. Unable to help myself I just lay there and wept, eventually drifting into a dreamless sleep.

I awoke with a start, I heard a key in the door. A nurse came in, “Why did you throw the water on the floor?”

I tried to tell her I didn’t mean to, it was an accident. But she didn’t listen, just left me lying there, alone with my thoughts. Behind a locked door. It felt like a condemned cell. In the medication enhanced state of mind I had, I kept slipping in and out of wakefulness at times unable to tell which was which. In this state, I recalled an article I had seen about Fremantle Prison, which is now a museum. In it, the writer had mentioned the sense of darkness and despair that the condemned cell evoked in her. It felt as if the room was becoming smaller as she stood there, or something to that effect. I felt similarly about this room.

It felt as if I was in one of those mediaeval traps, where the walls of the room contract until they crush you to death. Only this time it was the ceiling that was coming down, getting closer and closer, just like the condemned cell. I lay there paralysed as I saw it come closer and closer, then I heard someone scream. It was me, and I was sat up in the bed, shaking.

Later that day Captain Brice came to visit me. She told me they had all assumed I was ill after the attack, the shock and post-traumatic stress syndrome. The suicide attempt meant I would need to see a psychiatrist before I could be discharged.

“Did you mean to hurt yourself?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied.

“Seen any lions recently?”

“That isn’t very funny.” I hissed at her.

“Okay, I’m sorry. But the Jamie I knew a few days ago would have laughed at that.”

“Yeah well, that was then.”

“If you speak like that to the psychiatrist, you’ll end up on all sorts of strange drugs which will screw that pretty little head up even more. It could also affect your training and career as a nurse.”

“I didn’t ask to be a nurse in the first place, nor did I ask to be a woman.”

“So what’s wrong with being a woman, you seemed to be enjoying the experience up to now? What’s gone wrong, Jamie? What has happened? Is it the attack or something else?”

I began to cry again, seeming to be unable to do anything else. She put down a cot-side and sat on the bed and hugged me. I knew I could trust her and I allowed myself to be comforted.

“Is it the attack or is it John?” I nodded to her. “I came by the ward and saw you two together, you seemed so happy and I felt pleased for you. But obviously, something has happened since care to tell me about it?”

“Not really.” I sniffed back at her.

“You’ll have to tell someone sooner or later, even if it’s only John.”

“I know,” I replied weakly.

“He hasn’t hurt you, has he?” she asked quite brusquely.

“No of course not. He saved my life didn’t he?”

“So what’s happ... Of course, he doesn’t know about you, does he? About your little imperfection? Is that it?”

I couldn’t speak, the tears welled up and it was all I could do to nod.

“Oh, Jamie girl, you are so sweet.” She said as she hugged me and rocked me patting my back as she did so. “I’m sure there’s a solution to all that. I’m sure he’ll understand and the imperfection can be sorted you know? The surgery these days is almost an art form.” She continued to comfort me, and while I didn’t for one minute believe that my black hole would allow the escape of any light whatsoever, maybe a glimmer just made it. I didn’t know for sure, but now there was some doubt in my certainty of doom and gloom. I had to hang on to it, just as I was holding on to Sheila Brice at that moment.

The next day, I was allowed to dress and to read. Reading was a particular pleasure of mine. Or should I say, it usually was. Today I couldn’t concentrate. The psychiatrist, a Dr Fellowes, came to see me. He was a small, rotund character with a large bald patch which almost looked like a tonsure. So in my imagination, I could almost see him as a Friar Tuck, except Tuck didn’t wear glasses. In some respects it made it easier to talk to him, because I felt less threatened by him, in others it almost made me want to laugh out loud. This would not have helped my cause very much.

“Hello, Jamie, I’m Dr Fellowes, and I’ve been asked to do an assessment of you. I hope we can get through this as quickly as possible and then you can get back to your home. I believe you are a student nurse and were recently assaulted. Is that correct?”

“Yes, doctor.” I decided that as I didn’t know how much he knew about my past and the last twenty-four hours, I would let him tell me. I was not going to volunteer anything.

“What happened to your hand? Was it part of the assault injuries?”

“This, no,” I said looking at my bandaged hand. “I broke a mirror and caught it on a piece of the glass.”

“I see.” He paused. “How did you break the mirror?”

“I hit it with something.”

“So it was deliberate?”

“Yes.” At this point, I decided to tell a few porkies. “I saw the man who attacked me in the mirror and I smashed it. It was like a flash-back.”

“So you saw him in the mirror and broke it?”

“Yes.”

“So how did you cut your hand?”

“I picked up a piece of the glass in case he was there.”

“So you picked up a piece of the broken mirror to defend yourself in case he was there?”

“Yes.”

“So why were you moving it towards your own neck?”

“Who told you that?”

“Does it matter?”

“No I suppose not.”

“So were you moving it towards your own neck?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Okay. Can I ask if you’ve ever thought about killing yourself?”

“No I haven’t.”

“Are you happy?”

“I was until I was attacked.”

“So you like your job?”

“Yes, most of the time.”

“Do you like the people you work with?”

“They’re alright. I get on better with some more than others.”

“What about those who call you ‘Spooky’, why do you think they call you that?”

Oh shit, I thought to myself, he’s going to have me down as psychotic in a minute.

“People get nicknames. They called me ‘Wanda’ in school because of the film A Fish Called Wanda. The lead actress was Jamie Lee Curtis, and I’m Jamie Curtis.”

His puzzled look lifted and he gave me a myopic smile. “Okay so nicknames are used, and I understand ‘Wanda’, given what you just told me. But where does ‘Spooky’ come from?”

“What have they told you?” I asked looking him directly in the eye.

He avoided my gaze, “I’d prefer to hear why you think they call you it.”

“Do you believe in some people being psychic?” I asked him.

“I’m not sure what you mean by ‘psychic’. He replied although I knew he was playing his clinical games.

“You know, get feelings about things and then they happen. Occasionally dream or seem to see things, and then they happen.”

“You mean a premonition or precognition?”

“That sort of thing.”

“Have you seen anything lately?”

“No.” I mused for a moment and the strangest thing came into my mind. I don’t know where it came from or why, but I felt compelled to say something. “Do you know anyone called Beryl?” At this, his face momentarily went pale. “I’m not sure, why. “She drives a white Volvo.” I watched the colour drain from his face. “She’s just had an accident. It’s not serious, but there’s an ambulance there.”

He jumped to his feet, “Is this some sort of game you’re playing?” he said loudly and agitatedly.

“No. It’s never happened quite like this before.”

“Do you mean to tell me you have just seen my wife, have an accident in her car, and be taken off by ambulance?”

“Sort of, except I didn’t say she was in the ambulance, I just saw the ambulance. Do you want to check, see if she’s alright?”

“Tell me again, you don’t know me nor my wife?”

“I’ve never heard of you until a few minutes ago, and I didn’t know you were married.”

“I’m just going to make a quick call.”

“Try St Dunstan’s, the ambulance driver mentioned that.”

He almost ran out of the room, and I didn’t know if he thought I was completely unhinged or what. He was paler than the white shirt he was wearing, which made his ‘Mickey Mouse’ bow tie look even more stupid.

I sat reading my book, and he returned about ten minutes later. “She’s going to be alright, suspected…”

“Pott’s fracture.”

“I was going to say, broken ankle.”

“Anyway, if you want to go and see her.”

“Look, Jamie, whatever it was you saw or heard just now is very unusual. I’m not sure what I think. But I don’t think you are a suicide risk. So I’m going to let you go home to your quarters. If you feel any compulsion to hurt yourself or anyone else, please ring me at this number, before you do anything.” He handed me a card. “Do you promise?”

“Yes, doctor. When can I go?”

“See the nurse in charge, she’ll do the discharge. Then you’re free to go.”

“Are my parents still around?”

“I’m sorry I don’t know, look I must get to see my wife.” With that, he was gone, part of me was sorry for him and his wife. A ‘Pott’s’ is not nice, a fracture with dislocation of the ankle. Part of me was also pleased that I had seen him freak out. A shrunk shrink, that was funny. Then something crossed my mind. I hoped she hadn’t had an accident because she saw a lioness crossing the road. No, don’t be daft, a zebra crossing maybe, but not a lioness. I chuckled half in amusement and half in concern.

After seeing the nurse in charge, my parents collected me from the hospital an hour later, and we went back to my room at the nurse’s home.