trialled,’ said Dr Manoor. ‘But there were side effects with the injections: tremors, weight gain …’ Often the side effects were worse than the mental illness itself but, without the CTO ensuring Grace would agree to come into hospital to have her injections, I’d have to work hard to keep her compliant.
Eventually, they called Grace in. She was
tiny
and ever so sweet-looking, with this delicate, fawn-like face and these big brown eyes shining out from beneath the Yankees baseball cap she was wearing. The skin on her face had been ravaged by fags and booze and emotional pain, but there was still a girlishness to her; then, she spoke.
‘Wotcha?’ she stuck a tiny hand out and I shook it. ‘I’m Grace, and you are …?’
‘Robyn.’
‘Robyn,’ she said, screwing her tiny nose up. ‘Isn’t that a boy’s name?’
‘And a girl’s,’ I said. ‘Although, my theory is, my parents wanted a boy and so didn’t really have any proper girls’ names on their list.’
She laughed, but like it was an afterthought, then carried on staring at me, quite intently.
‘You’re pretty, ain’t ya?’ she said, eventually. ‘She is, she’s pretty, i’n’t she?’ she said to the rest of the room. I could feel myself glowing beetroot. ‘It’s the eyes – you’ve got lovely brown eyes. And great bone structure. Have you got Slavic in your blood?’
‘I’ve got Cumbrian, does that count?’ I said, and everyone including Grace laughed – although Grace a little later than everyone else. She swung a leg over the chair and almost bounced into the seat. She was wearing a grey poncho with reindeers on it, rust-coloured trousers, white trainers and the cap.
‘I’m glad I demanded a girl,’ she said. ‘They normally give me smelly old men to look after me. One before last, looked like a massive strawberry,’ and I smirked, because I knew exactly who she meant (Jezza – Jeremy), and he did, he looked
exactly
like a massive strawberry. ‘He had this big fat red face with pits all over it, and this hair, sitting like a toupee on top …’
‘
Grace
…’ Michelle was laughing too but had her hand over her eyes, shaking her head. ‘We’ve talked about being personal, haven’t we? Sometimes you’ve got to
think before you speak
.’
‘Oh, I know, I know,’ Grace said, ‘That’s my problem, innit?’ I never think before I open my big mouth.’
We had to get some of the big questions out of the way: likelihood of her topping herself after discharge from hospital, for example (low, she assured us, the council were coming to do up her flat if she could stay out of hospital – and alive – long enough), and whether she promised to stick to taking her medication.: ‘Well if it’s that or a needle in my bum, then I’d better be a good girl, hadn’t I?’
‘And would you like to see one of the crisis team, Grace?’ Dr Manoor asked. ‘For a while, after you’re discharged?’
‘No,’ she said, smiling at me. ‘I just want to see Robyn.’
I felt this little bubble of pride.
Then, the most bizarre thing happened. Brian reached behind him, brought out something and held it out to Grace. ‘My camera!’ she gasped, turning it around in her hand, as though it was her engagement ring that had been found. ‘I thought it was gone forever!’
‘We had to pretend it was lost,’ Brian said to me, like it was a dummy and she was two years old. ‘She was just driving everyone mad.’
‘Got time for a chat, Grace?’ I said, as we were all getting up to leave. ‘Just the two of us?’
She looked at me, a little suspiciously, before breaking into a gap-toothed smile. ‘All right,’ she shrugged. I followed her out of the door.
We went to Grace’s room to collect her cigarettes.
‘We’ll have to freeze our bums off outside,’ she said, rummaging around in her coat pocket. ‘No more smoke rooms. As if they could make these places any more bloody depressing.’
We had to walk around a
Eventually, they called Grace in. She was
tiny
and ever so sweet-looking, with this delicate, fawn-like face and these big brown eyes shining out from beneath the Yankees baseball cap she was wearing. The skin on her face had been ravaged by fags and booze and emotional pain, but there was still a girlishness to her; then, she spoke.
‘Wotcha?’ she stuck a tiny hand out and I shook it. ‘I’m Grace, and you are …?’
‘Robyn.’
‘Robyn,’ she said, screwing her tiny nose up. ‘Isn’t that a boy’s name?’
‘And a girl’s,’ I said. ‘Although, my theory is, my parents wanted a boy and so didn’t really have any proper girls’ names on their list.’
She laughed, but like it was an afterthought, then carried on staring at me, quite intently.
‘You’re pretty, ain’t ya?’ she said, eventually. ‘She is, she’s pretty, i’n’t she?’ she said to the rest of the room. I could feel myself glowing beetroot. ‘It’s the eyes – you’ve got lovely brown eyes. And great bone structure. Have you got Slavic in your blood?’
‘I’ve got Cumbrian, does that count?’ I said, and everyone including Grace laughed – although Grace a little later than everyone else. She swung a leg over the chair and almost bounced into the seat. She was wearing a grey poncho with reindeers on it, rust-coloured trousers, white trainers and the cap.
‘I’m glad I demanded a girl,’ she said. ‘They normally give me smelly old men to look after me. One before last, looked like a massive strawberry,’ and I smirked, because I knew exactly who she meant (Jezza – Jeremy), and he did, he looked
exactly
like a massive strawberry. ‘He had this big fat red face with pits all over it, and this hair, sitting like a toupee on top …’
‘
Grace
…’ Michelle was laughing too but had her hand over her eyes, shaking her head. ‘We’ve talked about being personal, haven’t we? Sometimes you’ve got to
think before you speak
.’
‘Oh, I know, I know,’ Grace said, ‘That’s my problem, innit?’ I never think before I open my big mouth.’
We had to get some of the big questions out of the way: likelihood of her topping herself after discharge from hospital, for example (low, she assured us, the council were coming to do up her flat if she could stay out of hospital – and alive – long enough), and whether she promised to stick to taking her medication.: ‘Well if it’s that or a needle in my bum, then I’d better be a good girl, hadn’t I?’
‘And would you like to see one of the crisis team, Grace?’ Dr Manoor asked. ‘For a while, after you’re discharged?’
‘No,’ she said, smiling at me. ‘I just want to see Robyn.’
I felt this little bubble of pride.
Then, the most bizarre thing happened. Brian reached behind him, brought out something and held it out to Grace. ‘My camera!’ she gasped, turning it around in her hand, as though it was her engagement ring that had been found. ‘I thought it was gone forever!’
‘We had to pretend it was lost,’ Brian said to me, like it was a dummy and she was two years old. ‘She was just driving everyone mad.’
‘Got time for a chat, Grace?’ I said, as we were all getting up to leave. ‘Just the two of us?’
She looked at me, a little suspiciously, before breaking into a gap-toothed smile. ‘All right,’ she shrugged. I followed her out of the door.
We went to Grace’s room to collect her cigarettes.
‘We’ll have to freeze our bums off outside,’ she said, rummaging around in her coat pocket. ‘No more smoke rooms. As if they could make these places any more bloody depressing.’
We had to walk around a
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