the fact that my wife and I have been all over the tabloids in the past couple of days and I’m sure the Sun lads would just love to get their teeth into a story about how I got thrown out of here. Believe me, those reporters will certainly want to speak to someone high up in the hospital, and I can’t see that going down too well, can you?’
The security men looked at the receptionist. She looked at me. She pursed her lips, gave a heavy, ‘suit yourself’ sigh and dialled a number. Then she spoke with her hand over the mouthpiece so that I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Finally, she put the phone down and spoke to the two security men: ‘Take Mr Crookham to Dr Wray’s office. He’s expecting him.’
I was marched off between the two men, half a head taller than either of them, but a lot less wide. We walked down a series of corridors at right angles to one another, right into the heart of the facility. Finally, they stopped outside a door that looked indistinguishable from any of the countless others we had already passed, but for a nameplate that said, ‘Dr Tony Wray’. One of them rapped twice and a voice from inside answered, ‘Come in!’
‘In you go,’ said the guard who had knocked. ‘We’ll be waiting for you outside.’
He said it in a way that was almost daring me to to give him and his mate the excuse to come in and give me the beating they were so obviously longing to dole out. I ignored him and went in.
16
Dr Wray stood up, leaned across a desk covered in files, assorted scraps of paper, random bits of stationery and a mass of nondescript junk, and shook my hand. He was a small, wiry man in a tweed sports jacket and black jeans and he had a mass of greasy, steel-grey hair that looked as though it had been left the same length for the past forty years, in defiance of the large, monkish bald spot clearly visible on the top of his scalp. All the years of dealing with the criminally insane had left their mark in the deep lines on his face, but there was, nevertheless, a buzz around him. When he spoke, his words were interrupted by vocal tics: hums, hahs and ers, like little bursts of excess energy being expelled from his system.
‘Sit down, sit down,’ he said, pointing to a chair. ‘Why don’t I join you, eh?’
He came out from behind the desk and sat in a chair opposite mine. ‘Hmm … I gather things became a bit fraught.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry about that. I’d been looking forward to seeing my wife. I was pretty upset when I heard I couldn’t. Took it out on the receptionist. I shouldn’t have done that, I know …’
‘Don’t worry, they’re used to it,’ he said. ‘Happens all the time.’
‘She didn’t seem to understand the situation, though. I mean, I have the judge’s permission. I am officially allowed to see Mariana.’
‘Well, ah, it’s not really the judge’s decision,’ said Wray. ‘I mean, he can say that he has no objection to your seeing your wife. But that does not mean that you can. Or even that she’s actually a patient at this hospital.’
I’d been comforted up to now by the delusion that I’d be able to talk to Wray man-to-man and sort the whole thing out. It suddenly struck me that he might be living in the same Alice-in-Wonderland world as everyone else I’d met in the psychiatric unit.
‘Look, I know she’s here,’ I said. ‘The police brought her here today. She’s bloody well here …’ I was conscious that my voice was rising. I thought of the gorillas waiting outside with their ears pressed to the door, and forced myself to lower the volume: ‘Why can’t you admit that she’s here?’
Wray frowned to himself. He pressed his lips together, deep in thought. He ran a hand through his tangled hair. He gave another ‘hmm’, grimaced and then said, ‘I can’t admit or deny anything about your wife at all, Mr Crookham. But I can tell you about the general conditions that I, like any clinical psychiatrist, operate
The security men looked at the receptionist. She looked at me. She pursed her lips, gave a heavy, ‘suit yourself’ sigh and dialled a number. Then she spoke with her hand over the mouthpiece so that I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Finally, she put the phone down and spoke to the two security men: ‘Take Mr Crookham to Dr Wray’s office. He’s expecting him.’
I was marched off between the two men, half a head taller than either of them, but a lot less wide. We walked down a series of corridors at right angles to one another, right into the heart of the facility. Finally, they stopped outside a door that looked indistinguishable from any of the countless others we had already passed, but for a nameplate that said, ‘Dr Tony Wray’. One of them rapped twice and a voice from inside answered, ‘Come in!’
‘In you go,’ said the guard who had knocked. ‘We’ll be waiting for you outside.’
He said it in a way that was almost daring me to to give him and his mate the excuse to come in and give me the beating they were so obviously longing to dole out. I ignored him and went in.
16
Dr Wray stood up, leaned across a desk covered in files, assorted scraps of paper, random bits of stationery and a mass of nondescript junk, and shook my hand. He was a small, wiry man in a tweed sports jacket and black jeans and he had a mass of greasy, steel-grey hair that looked as though it had been left the same length for the past forty years, in defiance of the large, monkish bald spot clearly visible on the top of his scalp. All the years of dealing with the criminally insane had left their mark in the deep lines on his face, but there was, nevertheless, a buzz around him. When he spoke, his words were interrupted by vocal tics: hums, hahs and ers, like little bursts of excess energy being expelled from his system.
‘Sit down, sit down,’ he said, pointing to a chair. ‘Why don’t I join you, eh?’
He came out from behind the desk and sat in a chair opposite mine. ‘Hmm … I gather things became a bit fraught.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry about that. I’d been looking forward to seeing my wife. I was pretty upset when I heard I couldn’t. Took it out on the receptionist. I shouldn’t have done that, I know …’
‘Don’t worry, they’re used to it,’ he said. ‘Happens all the time.’
‘She didn’t seem to understand the situation, though. I mean, I have the judge’s permission. I am officially allowed to see Mariana.’
‘Well, ah, it’s not really the judge’s decision,’ said Wray. ‘I mean, he can say that he has no objection to your seeing your wife. But that does not mean that you can. Or even that she’s actually a patient at this hospital.’
I’d been comforted up to now by the delusion that I’d be able to talk to Wray man-to-man and sort the whole thing out. It suddenly struck me that he might be living in the same Alice-in-Wonderland world as everyone else I’d met in the psychiatric unit.
‘Look, I know she’s here,’ I said. ‘The police brought her here today. She’s bloody well here …’ I was conscious that my voice was rising. I thought of the gorillas waiting outside with their ears pressed to the door, and forced myself to lower the volume: ‘Why can’t you admit that she’s here?’
Wray frowned to himself. He pressed his lips together, deep in thought. He ran a hand through his tangled hair. He gave another ‘hmm’, grimaced and then said, ‘I can’t admit or deny anything about your wife at all, Mr Crookham. But I can tell you about the general conditions that I, like any clinical psychiatrist, operate
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