Private Milligan, Robert’s orderly, appeared with the chipped enamel teapot, bending to negotiate the dugout entrance. On seeing Major Shaw, he put down the pot, stood to attention and saluted, then fetched another tin mug and set about pouring the tea. Somehow the ever-resourceful Milligan had even managed to procure half a Dundee cake – the man was remarkable. He handed each of them a mug, and Robert sipped contentedly. Despite the ever-present chlorine it was without doubt the best cup of tea he had ever tasted.
‘Bloody business,’ said Major Shaw finally. ‘By God, I’m all in.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Seven dead, four from gas. Twelve injured. I don’t expect Evans will make it. Such a fine boy; and his older brother killed back at the Marne.’ He shook his head. ‘You and Fleming acquitted yourselves well today. You’ll be mentioned in dispatches.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘We’re going on rest behind the lines this evening. High time too. And Lovett, you’re taking a week’s leave from 0500 tomorrow morning.’
Robert sat up. ‘But sir—’
Major Shaw shook his head. ‘It’s not for discussion. Your platoon will manage without you.’ He smiled. ‘This really is the most excellent Dundee cake. Capital job, Milligan. Capital.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Sussex, April 2017
It was dark when the taxi pulled up in front of a large old Victorian brick building. A porter came out and led Louisa inside, past a nurses’ station entirely enclosed by dirty Perspex screens. Two nurses sat inside, a man and a woman, but neither looked up. The woman was reading a magazine, while the man was engrossed in his mobile phone. A TV screen displayed black-and-white CCTV images of corridors and rooms.
Louisa was ushered into a small, stiflingly warm room with a high ceiling. It had one window, barred, set into the wall opposite the door. Two narrow single beds were positioned against either wall, one made up, the other bare, its mattress stained. The only other furniture was a cheap-looking wardrobe-cum-chest-of-drawers unit with peeling veneer, that was screwed to the wall. There was no decoration; the walls were covered with dirty marks and sticky tape. On the floor was hospital linoleum. Ancient-looking pipework ran around the top of the room. Some was boxed off – presumably to deter anyone from hanging themselves from it – but half of the casing appeared to have gone missing. A strip light on the ceiling buzzed and bathed everything in a harsh light.
A nurse in a dark-blue uniform appeared at the door, chewing something, her navy cardigan covered in crumbs. Her bleached hair was a uniform shade of builder’s sand, but her eyes and eyebrows were dark, as were the several centimetres of roots which showed either side of her parting. She glowered at Louisa.
‘You’re early,’ she said. ‘We weren’t expecting you yet.’
‘I want to see a doctor,’ Louisa said.
‘Tomorrow,’ said the nurse, who wasn’t wearing a name badge. She was broad and tall, with a hard face. ‘The doctor comes on a Thursday. This is your bed. The door locks from the inside but we can override it anytime, so don’t try anything. I need to search your things.’
‘I haven’t got any things.’
The nurse looked at Louisa as if she were stupid. The skin on the woman’s face was oddly loose, like melting ice cream. ‘What about your phone? Nail file? Scissors? You can’t have anything like that.’
‘Like I said, I haven’t got anything. I lost my handbag and I came here straight from the hospital.’
‘You’ll have to hand that in.’ The nurse pointed to Louisa’s neck.
‘What?’ She put up a hand defensively. ‘No. It’s my grandmother’s locket.’
‘You can’t keep it,’ said the nurse blankly.
‘But it doesn’t even open. Look!’ Earlier, in the taxi, Louisa had realised it must have got damaged in the fall.
‘Are you deaf?’ The nurse’s voice was laced with contempt. ‘Hand it over.’
Louisa bridled. ‘You don’t have any reason to speak to me like that.’ Her eyes stung, but she was determined not to cry. She unfastened the necklace and put it into the nurse’s hand, which she held out in front of her like a teacher confiscating chewing gum. It was solid gold and her most prized possession; it had been passed down in her grandmother’s family for decades.
Glaring, the nurse dropped it into her pocket. ‘Take off your clothes and put these on.’ She gestured towards a small pile of clothes on the bed and waited, arms crossed.
‘Seriously? You’re going to stand there and watch me get undressed?’
The nurse made an expression of disdain. ‘I’ll be back.’ She let the door slam shut behind her, looked briefly back through the glass panel and walked away.
Louisa went to the window. This must be a dream, a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. She needed to see grass, trees, sky – to remind herself that those things still existed, that she was still on the same earth she’d woken up on that morning. But she could only see the stars. Carefully, by poking her fingers through the metal bars and pulling the handle, she managed to open the window a crack. The fresh air smelt sweet. Not like the fetid, institutional smell of this place.
Oh Granny, can you see me? You’ve always taken care of me. You picked me up and took me in after Mum died, when no one else wanted me. Now I need you. I really need you, and you’re not here. There’s no one here for me at all.
Fear swelled in her throat. And she saw herself as a child, in their old house in London, standing before another window – the bay window in her mother’s sickroom – numb with the same anguish and disbelief, saying goodbye. The day her father had chosen Lucinda over her; when he’d driven Louisa down to the south coast and left her there with Granny.
Light-headed with fear she lay on the bed, with its thin foam mattress and insubstantial duvet, and made herself think back to the psychotherapy she’d had as a teenager, the skills for coping with stress and anxiety that her therapist had taught her: talking calmly to herself, breathing slowly and evenly, trying not to overthink things. With a supreme effort, she managed to force herself to be calmer. She must trust in the power of rationality and logic, she told herself. Soon enough they’d realise this was all a huge mistake and send her home.
The signposts along the way had revealed she was somewhere called Coldbrook Hall Hospital, in the forest to the west of Eastbourne. Not knowing quite what else to do with herself, she got back up again and changed into the hospital clothes – a t-shirt and pair of pyjama pants, a thin dressing gown without a cord, and cheap white hotel-style slippers. A comb, earplugs and a toothbrush were on the bed – but no toothpaste.