The Mind of Mr Soames by Charles Eric Maine Page B

‘Now you can have your pieces back.’
    He handed the patient the piece he was holding and nodded to the male nurse, who dropped the remainder of the pieces on to the table. Immediately Mr Soames swept them on to his lap and covered them with his hands.
    ‘They’re mine,’ he said sullenly.
    ‘Of course they’re yours,’ Conway agreed, ‘but if you don’t do as you are told, then they will be taken away from you. And other things will be taken away, too—all the things you like. You must listen to what other men say and you must learn what they teach you. You must learn how to add numbers together, and you must learn about geography and history...’
    ‘I don’t like geography and history. I don’t want to add numbers.’
    ‘It doesn’t matter whether you like them or not. You must learn them just the same.’
    ‘I don’t want to learn them.’
    ‘In that case, no jigsaw pieces, no walk in the field every day, no clothes.’
    ‘I don’t want pieces and field and clothes.’
    To demonstrate his reversal of attitude Mr Soames suddenly flung all the jigsaw pieces at Conway and stood up truculently. ‘I don’t want them,’ he shouted. ‘Take them away.’
    Conway sighed, while the male nurse hovered nearby, ready to intervene in an instant.
    ‘Take them away,’ Mr Soames repeated, scuffing at the pieces on the floor with his foot. ‘I don’t want them.’
    ‘Pick them up and put them on the table,’ Conway ordered, summoning all his patience.
    ‘No,’ said Mr Soames uncompromisingly. ‘Take them away.’ What to do now, Conway asked himself. If he were a little boy I’d grab him by the scruff of the neck and give him a good walloping, and that’s what he needs—an adequate helping of physical chastisement to teach him right from wrong. It’s all very well for Mortimer to theorise in his bland way, but he’s never here to witness this kind of behaviour, and he rarely sees anything more than the formal words in the written reports.
    ‘Mr Soames,’ Conway said with finality, ‘I’ll give you one more chance. Pick those pieces up and put them on the table. If you don’t do as you are told then you will be locked in your room and your clothes will be taken away until you do pick them up.’
    ‘Take them away,’ said Mr Soames. ‘I don’t want them.’
    Conway walked towards the door in weary resignation, followed by the male nurse.
    ‘I think this is the point of no return,’ he said quietly. ‘I’d better check with Dr Mortimer first, but I imagine that as from today Mr Soames is going to be deprived of a number of privileges. Meanwhile, keep an eye on him. I’ll be back later.’
    He left the annexe and went in search of Mortimer.
    ❖
    Conway made two attempts to see his wife, driving into town and calling at her flat in Chelsea, but on each occasion there was no reply. It was a quiet tree-lined road of faintly shabby three-storey houses, with iron railings and basement areas running like a protective moat along the frontages. Penelope’s flat was on the top floor of a grey plaster-faced house about halfway along the road. The curtains on the small window were red and black in a contemporary fashion, and the leaves of a tall green and yellow plant gleamed pallidly behind the panes.
    The third visit was made late one Saturday evening, about five weeks after he had first announced to Ann his intention of seeing Penelope. The time was almost eleven-thirty, and driving along the road he observed a light in her window behind the drawn red and black curtains. His heart seemed to tighten a little, as if in apprehension, but his taut features betrayed no sign of anxiety.
    He parked the car on the opposite side of the road, lit a cigarette, and strolled casually towards the front door. He was about to press the bell-push when the door opened spontaneously and two young people almost tumbled out—a dark haired girl in a red-check blouse and black jeans, and a young fairhaired man in a