Page 16 of The Stranger in Room Six

Now

‘Shhh, shhh. You’ve been having a nightmare.’

Mabel feels a hand taking hers, stroking it. For a minute, she thinks it’s her aunt.

‘It’s all right,’ continues the voice, much warmer and softer than Clarissa’s. ‘You’re safe. There’s nothing to fear. We’re all here to look after you.’

Mabel opens her eyes. The horrid Red Room has gone. In its place is a cream bedroom with a television at the far end. There are two reclining chairs and a table with a fruit bowl on it.

‘Where am I?’ Mabel asks, her voice wobbly.

‘In your room at Sunnyside.’

Sunnyside. Of course. Not the Old Rectory any more.

Mabel tries to focus but sleep blurs her vision. She can just make out a woman beside her, kind-looking, with sympathetic eyes, a touch of dark shadowing underneath.

‘Who are you?’

‘My name’s Belinda. I’m a carer here.’

Mabel doesn’t recognize her. ‘Are you new?’

‘I am indeed.’

‘Do you live nearby?’

‘I was lucky enough to get a room in the staff quarters, actually.’

Mabel snorts with amusement. ‘Lucky? Most people can’t wait to get out of this place when they finish their shifts.’

‘Needs must,’ says Belinda, smiling. ‘Now, would you like a drink of water?’

‘I’d rather have a large Scotch.’

‘A large Scotch?’ The new carer laughs as if she’s said something funny.

‘I mean it,’ says Mabel, waking up properly now.

‘You’ll find the bottle at the bottom of the wardrobe.

My brother set up an account for me, so I can order whatever I want.

They don’t let us have proper glasses because they’re “too dangerous”, so you’ll have to use one of those awful beakers made out of plastic, or Bakelite as they called it in my day. Would you like one?’

‘Thank you but I don’t drink any more and even if I did, I’m on duty so I mustn’t. Now, are you sure you’re allowed a whisky?’

‘I’m not a bloody child,’ says Mabel. ‘I don’t mean to be rude but if you can’t enjoy a decent drink at my age, when can you?’

The woman laughs again. It’s a warm, tinkling sound. ‘I take your point.’

‘I’ll have a bit more than that, thank you.’

‘Better not, don’t you think? It’s medication time shortly.’

‘Not for me. I refuse to be drugged like all the other old biddies in here. I’ve learned to grin and bear my pains like we did during the war. You had to get on with it then, you know.’

Mabel feels a tear begin to run down her cheek.

Belinda takes her hand again. ‘Is that what you were having a nightmare about?’

‘That and other things.’

‘Do you want to tell me about them? It can help to share. I’ve done quite a lot of listening in my time.’

Mabel hesitates briefly. ‘No, thank you. I’m quite all right.’

There’s a knock on the door. It’s the nurse on the drugs round. ‘I heard you shouting again, Miss Mabel. How about a little shot to make you feel better?’

‘You mean that bloody great needle that knocks people out? No thank you. I’ve told you that before.’

‘I think Mabel feels a bit brighter now, don’t you?’ Belinda says, her voice kind but decisive.

The nurse shoots her a look, as if to say, ‘Don’t interfere.’

‘Yes, I do,’ says Mabel firmly. ‘So you can take your medical wares away.’

The nurse’s eyes fall on the beaker by Mabel’s bedside. ‘Are you drinking enough water?’

‘Plenty, thank you. This flavoured stuff is absolutely delicious. Now please leave and shut the door after you.’

Then she turns to Belinda. ‘Thank you. The staff here drive me mad. All we need now is for bloody Butlins Bill to come in.’

‘Who?’

‘Haven’t you met him? He’s the activities manager.

Tries to get us to do things all the time.

Comes up with games, quizzes, paper flower making – although half of the poor sods here are too arthritic to fold a petal – and storytime sessions.

Though I don’t mind those. If you sit at the back, you can catch forty winks. ’

‘Butlins Bill, I assume, is a nickname?’

Mabel snorts with laughter. ‘One of my best! Apparently, he used to work for a bloody holiday camp. Sorry, I should tell you that I never used to swear.’

She takes a slug of whisky. ‘But the older I get, the less I care what I say. Well, up to a point, anyway. The other thing that gets me about Butlins Bill is that he’s always so jolly. You can’t miss him, always in his spotty red bow tie. My aunt would have considered that very bad form.’

As if on cue, there’s another knock on the door. A short man in a bowler hat and bow tie skips in.

‘There you are, Mabel!’ he booms as if surprised to find her in her own room. ‘I’ve been searching for you everywhere!’

Then he takes in Belinda and sweeps off his hat before giving a short bow. ‘You must be the new girl.’

Mabel makes a ‘come off it’ sound. ‘She’s hardly a girl. How old are you, Belinda? Fifty-odd? Fifty-five maybe?’

‘Now, now Mabel. It’s rude to ask a lady’s age, isn’t it? I was actually coming in to say that it’s time for Claudette’s concert. She’s going to sing us some old-time favourites.’

Mabel drains her glass. ‘Boring! Boring! I’ve heard them all before.’

‘Actually,’ says Belinda gently, ‘it might be fun, don’t you think?’

‘Exactly! We need to get a move on!’ Bill sings, the word ‘move’ a shrill high C.

‘I’m not going to pop my clogs yet, you know,’ huffs Mabel.

He drops to his knees. ‘My dear lady. That’s not what I was implying at all. Now perhaps your delightful carer might be kind enough to push you into the concert room.’

‘I’ve got my stick, thank you. I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.’

‘But a wheelchair would be quicker, don’t you think? After all, we’re ready to begin!’

Then he scoots off ahead of them.

As Belinda wheels her along the wide corridors, Mabel does her guided tour bit, out of habit.

‘The panels in this part date back to the eighteenth century and the concert room has a very fine chandelier that was installed when Queen Victoria paid a visit. I remember being mesmerized by it when I first arrived here during the war.’

Belinda’s surprise is evident in her voice. ‘You knew Sunnyside back then?’

‘I did indeed. It was called the Old Rectory then. My aunt, who used to own it, took me in after my mother and sister died in the Blitz.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Thank you.’ For a minute, Mabel’s eyes mist with tears before she wills them away again.

‘What was it like to move here? Was your aunt good to you?’

‘Let’s just say that she was more interested in her social life. She would have big dinner parties, even during the war. All kinds of people came – one or two were famous actors.’

‘Really? How exciting! Who?’

Mabel hears her aunt’s voice in her head. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone about the people you’ve seen here, Mabel. It might jeopardize our war work. Remember – walls have ears.’

‘I can’t remember,’ she says, crossing her fingers. But she can. In fact, she can remember all too much.

Sometimes she fears her memories might drive her mad. Maybe she’s crazy already.