Mad Worlds by Bill Douglas Page B

my watch?”
    â€œIn safe keeping. Could go missing if you kept it on your person. I’ve to go. One more thing – Doc Burn said to summon next of kin, and your wife was brought out to see you.” Macnamara stood up and started to walk away.
    So he hadn’t dreamed it.
    Macnamara paused and turned. “She was very upset.”
    Well… Maybe Heather did still love him. But it could have been an act. “I’ve been suspecting she doesn’t love me anymore.”
    But Macnamara had gone.
    â€œTrouble with the missus, son?”
    Two beds away, the old man with the shock of white hair was sitting up, gesticulating towards him. Must have heard something. Great privacy in here. “Who wants to know?” he shouted back.
    â€œFred. I’ve been on this ward longer than any. Had trouble with my missus. That’s what brought me into these places.”
    â€œWell, Fred. And –?” He twisted round to face the old man.
    â€œI was in the Great War, joined up 1915. That damn Kitchener’s poster! I came home on leave after Mons and found the missus in bed with a lout. I beat him up and left him for dead. Trouble was, the weasel did peg it some time after and the police said it was from the hammering I gave him. I’d given the wife a thrashing too. She was whining, said she wouldn’t tell who’d beaten the lout up.”
    â€œDid she?”
    â€œYes, she testified against me, said I’d gone right mad – and other things that wasn’t true. But I’d gone back to France, went over the top at the Somme – so by the time the trial came I’d lost a leg and a lot more down below. The court said I was insane. Meant I didn’t swing, but they put me in Broadmoor’s infirmary. Then they reckoned I couldn’t escape nor do no damage, and moved me in here.”
    â€œOh.” He wanted to say more, but his head was pounding and he sank down under the bedclothes.
    Another patient appeared at the end of his bed. Looked familiar. It was the man who’d startled him the other day.
    He sat up, and felt the bed being shaken, then the shaking stopped. The man stepped back and pointed at him, shouting “You,” before turning and going back down the ward – head bowed and muttering. The same routine as before.
    â€œWhat’s all that about?” he shouted to Fred.
    â€œPoor bugger, Larry. Came onto this ward in 1952. He’d been in the infantry and got decorated at Monte Casino. But he’d gone around shagging Italian women and got the clap. They brought him here in a straitjacket. Made a right shindig till they silenced him with their dope. He’s GPI.”
    â€œWhat do you mean – GPI?”
    â€œGeneral Paralysis of the Insane – a nurse told me. There’s a couple of other lads in here with it. They say if Larry’d had the medicine earlier he could’ve got better. But he’s got worse. When he had your bed, I used to get right deafened with his swearing.”
    So, it was nothing personal. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The sooner he got away from here, the better. “What happened to your wife, Fred?”
    â€œDon’t know. She divorced me long ago. And I don’t want to know.”
    John slipped down under the bedclothes again. His head was bursting. He drowsed until tea arrived. A generous though marginally edible offering. He gobbled the lot and finished by licking the rubber plate. Survive!
    When Maclean came with the medicines, it was a relief to gulp down his passport to oblivion.

15

    Tuesday 1 st – Wednesday 2 nd May 1956 – in Aversham.
    Cajoling Becky into accepting the spoonfuls, Heather could feel her resolve weaken. She and Becky didn’t
have
to face the cold unwelcoming darkness at home tonight.
    â€œYou look fair played out, m’dear.”
    â€œIt’s been a long day, Elsie.” Heather managed a smile.