Frank, and you must be Alice.” I release my shoulder. “Come and sit next to me, Alice.”
As I sit, I smell nicotine on Frank, who is still smiling at me. The man in pyjamas is now opposite and also staring, his hands thrust into the sagging cotton, cupping his penis. Frank leans over. “Best just ignore him. He’s harmless. He won’t be here long anyway. The staff’ll come and get him in ten minutes to make sure he doesn’t shit on the floor.” I flinch, and Frank leans further my way. “I’ll take care of you, Alice. I always look out for the new ones.”
Suddenly the compulsive shoplifter claps her hands weakly. “Right then!” she says, falsely bright, “Shall we make a start?”
I look from her to Frank and back again. Are the lunatics running the asylum? I see then that he has slippers on his feet and the woman wears a name badge. She is the occupational therapist.
“We’ll warm up with a game of Murder Wink. Alice, have you played before?”
You’ve got to be kidding. “Yes, when I was about six.”
“Ha ha,” she says, good-naturedly. “We play it to create a sense of teamwork. And to have a bit of fun!” She says ‘fun’ with a leap, trying to believe it. The man in the pyjamas moves his hands more violently, rocking in his chair.
“Now, Frank, you be the detective. Go on! Stand outside the circle!” Like a trained monkey he does, nodding at me, as if to say that it’s wise to indulge this madwoman.
“Okay then, everyone close their eyes and if I touch you on the shoulder you’re the killer. Your job is to murder wink everyone before Frank detects you. Ha Ha!”
I keep my eyes on the guy in the pyjamas. The therapist touches the other man’s shoulder. He has glasses and a moustache and strikes me as rather military in an old-fashioned, fifties film kind of way. Watching him straighten his shirt where she has touched it makes me sad. Then I notice that although his clothes are perfect, his hands are red raw. He doesn’t touch the chair, or himself. His hands are suspended above his lap, awkwardly. He winks at me. I look at Frank, who is also watching me, as is the man in the pyjamas. Then I fall off my chair and die slowly on the floor.
“Oh excellent!” says the woman, “Wonderful dying, Alice. I can see we’re going to have fun with you.”
The game doesn’t take long. It’s fairly obvious who the murderer is when a nurse removes the pyjamas guy and the therapist has a noisy heart attack in her chair. I take my seat, wondering how much the state pays her to play party games with nutters. I want to yell, do you have any idea how many qualifications I have? Do you know how long it took me to train as a lecturer? Have you even heard of Keats, you miserable creature? I pity her, with her desperate need for approval. She wants us to laugh and clap like eager children. Frank and I exchange a look, and then she makes us play, What time is it, Mr Wolf?
I can’t do it.
I can’t stand with my back to Frank and the therapist and the obsessive. I hate having my back to anybody, so I don’t turn around properly and after a few failed attempts she says that she will be grandmother instead. But she’s too trusting, turns her back for too long, and Frank has touched her shoulder before she has a chance to call, ‘Dinnertime.’
After the lesson, Frank walks me back to the ward. I see the woman with red sloppy slippers coming out of a door. “She’s in my room!” I say, beginning to speed up. But Frank touches my arm. “Best ignore it. She only goes for the new ones. She’ll stop snooping in your room once someone else arrives.”
“Why are you here, Frank?” He’s saner than the staff. Nothing mad about him.
“No reason,” he says.
I linger with him in the corridor, watching the obsessive man attempt to open the doors with elbows alone, and avoid the eyes of the sloppy slippered woman with blackcurrant-stained teeth. She brushes against me as she skims by.
Shane pokes his head
As I sit, I smell nicotine on Frank, who is still smiling at me. The man in pyjamas is now opposite and also staring, his hands thrust into the sagging cotton, cupping his penis. Frank leans over. “Best just ignore him. He’s harmless. He won’t be here long anyway. The staff’ll come and get him in ten minutes to make sure he doesn’t shit on the floor.” I flinch, and Frank leans further my way. “I’ll take care of you, Alice. I always look out for the new ones.”
Suddenly the compulsive shoplifter claps her hands weakly. “Right then!” she says, falsely bright, “Shall we make a start?”
I look from her to Frank and back again. Are the lunatics running the asylum? I see then that he has slippers on his feet and the woman wears a name badge. She is the occupational therapist.
“We’ll warm up with a game of Murder Wink. Alice, have you played before?”
You’ve got to be kidding. “Yes, when I was about six.”
“Ha ha,” she says, good-naturedly. “We play it to create a sense of teamwork. And to have a bit of fun!” She says ‘fun’ with a leap, trying to believe it. The man in the pyjamas moves his hands more violently, rocking in his chair.
“Now, Frank, you be the detective. Go on! Stand outside the circle!” Like a trained monkey he does, nodding at me, as if to say that it’s wise to indulge this madwoman.
“Okay then, everyone close their eyes and if I touch you on the shoulder you’re the killer. Your job is to murder wink everyone before Frank detects you. Ha Ha!”
I keep my eyes on the guy in the pyjamas. The therapist touches the other man’s shoulder. He has glasses and a moustache and strikes me as rather military in an old-fashioned, fifties film kind of way. Watching him straighten his shirt where she has touched it makes me sad. Then I notice that although his clothes are perfect, his hands are red raw. He doesn’t touch the chair, or himself. His hands are suspended above his lap, awkwardly. He winks at me. I look at Frank, who is also watching me, as is the man in the pyjamas. Then I fall off my chair and die slowly on the floor.
“Oh excellent!” says the woman, “Wonderful dying, Alice. I can see we’re going to have fun with you.”
The game doesn’t take long. It’s fairly obvious who the murderer is when a nurse removes the pyjamas guy and the therapist has a noisy heart attack in her chair. I take my seat, wondering how much the state pays her to play party games with nutters. I want to yell, do you have any idea how many qualifications I have? Do you know how long it took me to train as a lecturer? Have you even heard of Keats, you miserable creature? I pity her, with her desperate need for approval. She wants us to laugh and clap like eager children. Frank and I exchange a look, and then she makes us play, What time is it, Mr Wolf?
I can’t do it.
I can’t stand with my back to Frank and the therapist and the obsessive. I hate having my back to anybody, so I don’t turn around properly and after a few failed attempts she says that she will be grandmother instead. But she’s too trusting, turns her back for too long, and Frank has touched her shoulder before she has a chance to call, ‘Dinnertime.’
After the lesson, Frank walks me back to the ward. I see the woman with red sloppy slippers coming out of a door. “She’s in my room!” I say, beginning to speed up. But Frank touches my arm. “Best ignore it. She only goes for the new ones. She’ll stop snooping in your room once someone else arrives.”
“Why are you here, Frank?” He’s saner than the staff. Nothing mad about him.
“No reason,” he says.
I linger with him in the corridor, watching the obsessive man attempt to open the doors with elbows alone, and avoid the eyes of the sloppy slippered woman with blackcurrant-stained teeth. She brushes against me as she skims by.
Shane pokes his head
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