Poppet

Fred Astaire

IT’S SEVEN FIFTEEN. AJ sits on the bench outside the ladies’ locker room, feeling shittier and shittier by the second. He has drunk two cups of coffee from the machine and eaten a Mars bar and now all there is to do is stare at the notices on the board and rub his toe against a piece of chewing gum that clings resolutely to the floor. It’s been forty-five minutes, and although plenty of women have come and gone in that time, giving him surreptitious looks that make him feel like a prize pervert, none of them has been Melanie. Either she can sulk for Britain, or she’s climbed out of the locker-room window.

He regrets what he said, the way he said it. He’s texted her three apologies, but the signal’s not good down here so there’s no knowing whether they’ve arrived, or if she’s ignoring him. He’s about to fish the phone out and try again when the door opens and Melanie comes out.

She’s changed into a simple white wool dress and furry suede boots. Her hair is still slightly damp from the shower. She’s got no make-up on and she’s so lovely his heart almost stops.

‘Melanie—’ he begins, standing up. But she puts a finger to her lips, shakes her head. She drops her bag and sits on the bench about a foot away from him, studying him intently.

‘AJ.’

‘Melanie, I’m sorry.’

‘That’s not for you to say – I’m the one who should be sorry. I did lie. It’s just … sometimes you look at the patients, who’ve sometimes made just one mistake, a mistake they’ve paid for over and over again by being in the unit, having to jump through all the hoops we set them, and you know they deserve a chance to get out and live a normal life. But at the same time there’s one vital piece of the jigsaw missing – a box ticked in the wrong-colour biro or some tiny detail that will make the great bureaucratic engine spit out their application and refuse discharge. Through no fault of their own, the patient will be back to square one, facing the prospect of being run through the spin cycle all over again.’

AJ rests his hands on his knees and taps out a drumbeat. He doesn’t agree with Melanie that every patient, no matter who, deserves a chance. A lot of the people in the unit have taken away someone else’s right to life; in any other facility they’d be called murderers. Some of them are beyond rehabilitation. Especially the ones whose crimes are as memorable as Isaac Handel’s.

‘AJ? Have I said something wrong?’

‘No, no. I don’t blame you. Especially not with the amount of pressure the Trust are heaping on you over performance targets.’

He’s talking about the ‘intractable’ patients, the long-stay patients, the bed blockers. Those that can’t be recycled out into the community because relatives are unwilling to accept the patient back into their lives. Or those who have no desire to leave the unit and start facing up to the responsibilities of the real world, so they throw obstacles in the way of their own discharge. Such patients form a giant plug in the pipes of the system, and in an effort to clear the blockage, the staff at Beechway are bombarded with directives from above reminding them of the need to lower the ALS – the average length of stay. Melanie, most of all, must get hit with it constantly.

‘Believe me, we all feel that pressure, Melanie. There isn’t a nurse or therapist in the unit who wouldn’t be tempted to take part in a little off-the-rule-book activity if it meant patients moved faster through the system. And you – well, you must be feeling it harder than any of us.’

There’s a pause – then Melanie lowers her head. ‘Oh God,’ she says miserably. ‘Honestly, I just looked at Isaac and …’ She laces her fingers into her hair, as if she’s got a headache. ‘Shit – OK, I’m just going to be honest. I thought he hadn’t been any trouble for years and years, he’d completely toed the line – he’d be a good candidate. Fuck.’ She digs her heels back into the grille under the seat. ‘Talk about shooting yourself in the foot. You’re right, AJ – it was Isaac in my garden. Two nights in a row. I couldn’t bring myself to admit it before.’ She gives a long sigh. ‘There – I’ve said it. I suppose this means curtains for our little dalliance. You must hate me now.’

‘Hate you? Christ!’ He lets out a short, ironic laugh. ‘Hate you? Jesus, if you only knew …’

‘Knew what?’

‘Melanie,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘Come on, beautiful woman – I am insane about you. I’m like Monster Mother on a lilac day all the time just thinking about you. I’m like Moses when he hears it’s sausages for breakfast. I am like Fred Astaire dancing – I am NUTS. About. You.’

‘Seriously?’

‘I told you – I’m a wimp around you, pathetic.’

She gives a hopeful little smile. A quick sniff – as if tears had been close. ‘I’m sorry – it’s all driving me mad.’

‘I know.’

‘And I’m scared. If that was Isaac in the garden – then why? What does he want?’

AJ doesn’t answer. A memory flashes up in his brain like a giant billboard – Isaac watching Melanie walk down the corridor.

‘There’s always the police,’ he says tentatively.

‘We can’t,’ she says wearily. ‘Maybe Isaac will just … you know, vanish into the ether. But whatever – we can’t speak to the police. Can you imagine what would happen to someone in my position if it came out I’d been lying to the tribunal? Lying?’

AJ colours when she says the word ‘lying’. She has no way of knowing where he’s been today, but he’s defensive nonetheless. He coughs loudly. Taps his fingers harder on his knees.

‘OK, let’s say he doesn’t vanish into the ether. If we can’t go to the police, I’m not about to sit back and let him hound us. I reckon it was him in your garden. Probably the first thing he did when he was discharged was to find out where you live – he’ll have made it his business. Your house is a bad place to be right now. This might sound a bit forward – and please don’t misinterpret me, but …’

‘But?’

He hesitates. He doesn’t know how to say it. And he doesn’t know if it’s the right thing. All he knows is he wants Melanie where he can see her.

‘I live – well, I live closer to Upton Farm than you do, but Isaac hasn’t got a clue where I am. So I was thinking … why don’t you come stay at my place for a while? Give it some time for things to settle down, see where everything lands? No – it’s a crazy idea, I know, forget I said it, I was just thinking aloud, but at least check into a hotel somewhere – just to get you away from your—’

‘AJ!’

He stops talking. A smile has broken across her face, revealing her small, perfect teeth.

‘AJ, it’s fine. It’s not crazy at all. In fact, it’s a fabulous idea. I’ve been dying to meet Patience.’