Among the Mad by Jacqueline Winspear Page A

her if she wanted a bit of sugar in the drink—and
there she was with the carving knife in her hand, holding it over her wrist. I
tell you, Miss, she was just about to slice into her vein, and I nigh on cut
myself trying to stop her.” He paused and pressed his lips together for some
seconds, as if to stop himself breaking down in tears. “I banged on the wall to
the neighbor, and yelled for them to run for the doctor. I didn’t say what it
was, mind, but they ain’t stupid. They know. Anyway, the doctor came, took one
look at what’d been going on and said he had no choice but to commit her,
especially as there were children to consider. He gave her an injection of
something to knock her out, and said that if she kept on trying to hurt
herself, she might go for them too. So, she’s been committed. They’ve taken her
to Wychett Hill, out near Epsom. She’s been taken to the bleedin’ nuthouse.”
    “Oh, Billy, it must have been much worse at home than
you’ve let on.”
    “It’s been bad, Miss. And she’s got a temper on her
now, I can tell you.”
    “What about the children?”
    “When we got home yesterday I sent them over to me
mum’s for the night, you know, to give Doreen a bit of a break. What with all
the Christmas goings-on—you know how nippers can get. They’re still there. And
once she’d gone, the house was so quiet . . . and that’s why I came over here
to work. I’ll go and get the boys from their nan’s later.” He sighed, shaking
his head. “Part of me thinks she’ll get the help she needs and be back with us
in next to no time, and part of me wants to go down there, put my arms around
her and bring her home now. But there again . . . ”
    “There again what?”
    His voice cracked. “There’s a bit of me that’s just
relieved. I won’t have to worry about her. Won’t have to wonder if the boys’ve
been fed, or if they’ve been sent to bed with nothing inside them. And there’s
something else.”
    “What’s that?”
    “She’s got to get well, because if she’s not all right
upstairs”—he tapped the side of his head—“we won’t get into Canada.”
    Maisie sat back in her chair. “Oh dear, of course.”
    “You know, there’s times I think we’ve copped more of
a bad innings than we deserve, but then I look at what some other people have
to look at in life. They’ve no work, they’re still in pain with their war
wounds, they haven’t got pensions, and their kids are starving—and that’s if
they haven’t lost one or two into the bargain.”
    Maisie stood up and paced to the window. “And they’ve
sent her to Wychett Hill? Why wasn’t she sent to the Clifton, where I used to
work, or the Princess Victoria? The Clifton’s closer, easier for you to
visit—and it’d be much better for Doreen.”
    “The doctor said it was something to do with who could
take her, and the seriousness of her condition.” He shrugged. “I mean, I don’t
know the difference. They’re all asylums, as far as I’m concerned.”
    Maisie began to explain. “No, not quite. Right at the
outset, the Clifton was designed to have a more welcoming aspect than the old
asylums. The wards are lighter, there are rooms where people can get together
to play games or read. They have an outpatient wing, so I would imagine that,
following initial treatment, if she were there, Doreen could be released with
regular checkup visits. They are far more modern, nothing like the
old-fashioned asylums. And it’s also a teaching hospital, so there are many new
methods employed, plus it’s in Camberwell, so it’s not stuck out in the country
and hard to get to. The patients don’t feel as if they’re being isolated away
from civilization, from everything they know.”
    “But she’s in Wychett Hill now. I can’t do anything
about it.” Billy shook his head. “I’m stuck, just as if me hands were tied
behind me back. I just couldn’t think straight. There was all this commotion,
what with