Page 25

25

A STORY

DATE: JAN 12 TH

TIME: 16:00

LOCATION: SYCAMORE WARD

I watch him lean back against the wall, his face in the only patch of sun in the garden . It ’ s not really a garden, even though they call it one . Just a small concrete yard in the centre of the building with a few pot plants and benches, which is shaped like a polo mint . I saw a poster on the wall that said the circle shape of Sycamore Ward symbolises the ‘ continuity of life ’. But really it ’ s shaped like this so none of us can escape . Unless, of course, they climb on to the roof . Someone recently attempted it and failed . Wire mesh was put around the rim to stop it happening again, so now there ’ s no chance .

The person who attempted it was me . That was last week . It ’ s pushed things back a bit in terms of my discharge planning . Oh, well .

‘ Hi ,’ I say .

He doesn ’ t reply . Doesn ’ t even open his eyes . He ’ s holding a polystyrene cup of the instant coffee they give us . It tastes a bit like the floor, but I ’ m getting used to it .

I hardly see him around the ward . He seems to stay in his bedroom most of the time . But I have noticed a few things about him . I ’ ve noticed that he comes into the dining room once everyone has eaten to pick up a banana and a packet of crisps . I ’ ve noticed that he ’ ll then quietly ask the kitchen staff for two slices of bread, like he ’ s almost embarrassed, before taking everything back into his bedroom .

I ’ ve noticed that he only wears one outfit – a baggy grey jumper, a pair of light brown cords and some scuffed New Balance trainers . He always wears his sleeves pulled down over his hands . But sometimes when he reaches for something, like the bananas or the bread, I can see bandages poking out of the bottom of them, wrapped around his forearms near his wrists . Sometimes when the alarm goes off, particularly at night, the nurses rush into his room with various implements that I don ’ t know the name of, but can only guess what they ’ re used for, like the hooked scissors .

I noticed that once, when one of the patients was screaming so much that the nurses piled on her and injected her, he took her a glass of water as she sat huddled in the corner afterwards and spoke to her until she smiled . I ’ ve noticed that he rarely smiles himself . In fact, never . He has shoulder-length hair that hangs over his face, mousey brown, hiding his soft features like a form of protection . A shield from the world .

I ’ ve also noticed that when he goes into the clinical team room on a Wednesday, which is when we all do – Wednesday is the only part of the week that seems to matter to the staff, Ward Round Day – he doesn ’ t have any friends or family to join him, like the rest of us . He goes in quietly, comes out quietly, then goes straight to his room . He could easily be missed . I think some of the patients haven ’ t even noticed that he ’ s here .

But I ’ ve noticed .

There ’ s something about him I can ’ t help but feel drawn to, my eyes constantly looking for him . He ’ s the opposite of me, which I find interesting .

Quiet . Private . Gentle .

‘ Can I ask you a question? ’ I say . He doesn ’ t answer, but I decide to ask it anyway . ‘ Do you make crisp and banana sandwiches? ’

He reclines his head slightly so the sun hits his forehead, his eyes still shut . ‘ Sorry? ’

‘ I just wanted to know if you make banana and crisp sandwiches . I ’ ve seen you take the ingredients into your room and I ’ m intrigued . I can ’ t figure out if it ’ d be good because of the mix of textures, or if it all just turns into mush in your mouth . I ’ d imagine the crisps act as a sort of mush barrier, but I guess it depends on which crisp . If you go for Wotsits or Skips, you ’ d struggle – they ’ d just disintegrate . But if you go for something more sturdy like a bog-standard Walkers, or even a Pringle, then maybe you ’ re getting somewhere .’

He blinks his eyes open . I half expect him to tell me to back off, that I ’ m talking too much, like the rest of the patients tell me . But he doesn ’ t . He narrows his eyes in the sun . ‘ Doritos ,’ he says . His voice is barely audible . Soft .

I like the word soft . People think it ’ s a bad word, but I don ’ t .

‘ Yeah . See, I get that ,’ I say . ‘ I fully get that . For the necessary crunch .’

‘ For the necessary crunch ,’ he repeats . He leans forwards so the backs of his shoulders leave the wall, then takes a small step to the side, making space next to him in the light . ‘ You want some sun before it goes? ’

‘ Yeah, go on, then .’ I stand next to him and turn so my back is against the brick, just like his . I feel the small rectangle of warmth on my face . It calms me . Makes the buzzing in my brain subside a little . ‘ It ’ s nice ,’ I say .

‘ Uh-huh .’

‘ Do you like that coffee? ’

I see him smile . ‘ I fucking love coffee ,’ he says gently .

‘ That stuff tastes a bit like the floor .’

He smiles again . ‘ I’ll take what I can get .’

Neither of us says anything for a while, leaning back in silence . All I can hear is his breath next to me and the occasional shuffling of the support worker sitting on one of the benches in the shadows . He has someone assigned to him at all times . They call it ‘ one-to-one support ’ , but it really means they ’ re there to stop him from doing something dangerous . He really doesn ’ t seem to be the dangerous type, but then I don ’ t know him very well .

I look at her, sitting on her phone, not watching him . Most of the support staff help him by sitting on their phones . Sometimes they have their earbuds in and when I walk past I can see they ’ re watching a film, scrolling, even FaceTiming a friend .

I like standing next to him . His energy . It feels … I don ’ t know . Non-intrusive somehow . And in this place, that feels kind .

He seems kind . But maybe not to himself .

I feel the sun going down behind the top of the building and don ’ t want it to .

‘ So ,’ he then says in that quiet way, barely moving his lips . ‘ Since we ’ ve got the important question out of the way, can I ask a boring one? ’

‘ Sure .’

‘ Why are you here? ’ He says this without hesitation . It surprises me a little . It ’ s an unwritten rule on the ward that you don’t ask that question and people spend most of their time trying to figure out why the other patients have been admitted . But I’m more surprised by his bluntness . It makes me feel safe somehow . No pretence . No ulterior motives .

‘ Oh, I …’ How do I do the short version of this? ‘ I had a bit of a giddy spell .’ I heard one of the nurses say this once and I’ve decided to use it myself because it’s simpler . ‘ I think I’ve been a bit … chaotic, or whatever – that’s what they keep saying – and just needed some support to get back to myself . I don ’ t think I ’ ll be here long, though . Should be out soon . I hope .’

He nods .

‘ What about you? ’

He exhales slowly . ‘ I’ve been in and out of these places for a few years now . Since I was about thirteen .’

Oh . ‘ I’m sorry .’

‘ Don ’ t be .’ He raises his shoulders in a small shrug . ‘ It ’ s not your fault, is it? ’

I wait for a moment . ‘ Did something happen? ’ I say and immediately regret it, but he doesn ’ t seem to mind . He keeps his head back, eyes closed .

‘ Yeah, it did ,’ he says . ‘ They then diagnosed me with PTSD, or something . I dunno, it keeps changing .’ I can sense the faintest hint of embarrassment in his voice . He turns to me and opens his eyes . They meet mine, and I suddenly feel like I want to smile . Not because of what he ’ s saying, but because he seems to want to talk to me . To me, not at me, like I do to everyone . I like that . It ’ s different – it ’ s nice – and makes me want to try it .

‘ They say I need to want to get better ,’ he says . ‘ But that I don ’ t seem to want to .’

I look down at my shoes . ‘ Do you? ’

‘ Yeah ,’ he says . ‘ I do . Of course .’

Good, I nearly say . I probably should, but I don ’ t .

‘ I ’ m a bit … stuck ,’ he says . ‘ In one place . This place in my head …’ He trails off .

I wonder what to say to this . Whether I should say no, you ’ re not stuck, you ’ ll get out of here in no time . Or don ’ t listen to these people, they don ’ t know what they ’ re doing . This place is bullshit . No one really gives a crap …

Instead I just say, ‘ I ’ m Eli .’

‘ Jack ,’ he says . ‘ Nice to meet you .’

He holds out his hand . As I take it in mine, I hear a noise from the shadows .

‘ No touching ,’ the support worker shouts, glancing up from her phone .

We let go of each other, but our shoulders remain inches apart, still in the last patch of sun . We wait for her to go back to her phone .

‘ Apparently someone got pregnant in here once ,’ Jack whispers .

‘ No way .’

‘ She clearly doesn ’ t want that to happen again .’

I laugh . ‘ Yeah, she ’ s just being good at her job .’ I watch her tapping away at her screen .

We stand in the light until it disappears, the cold gradually replacing the pool of warmth as the shadows cover us . The support worker tells us to go inside for our evening meds .

‘ See you around ,’ Jack says as he turns to head down the corridor towards his bedroom .

‘ Yeah ,’ I say . ‘ I ’ d like that .’

He shrugs again . ‘ Who knows? Maybe I ’ ll come to art class .’

Does he know I ’ m the only one in that class? ‘ Yeah ,’ I say . ‘ I ’ d like that .’ Oh, wait . That was a bit … ‘ Or, not . I don ’ t care . You should – you know – do what ’ s best for you .’ My ears feel hot .

He continues back to his room, tugging on the sleeves of his jumper, followed by the sighing support worker .

‘ Jack ,’ I shout .

He turns . ‘ Yeah? ’

‘ Would you ever try it with Monster Munch? ’

He pauses and I see him considering this . ‘ Sounds a bit … chaotic . A lot of chaos for one mouthful .’

‘ True ,’ I say . ‘ But maybe sometimes we need a bit of chaos? ’ I try . ‘ Just to keep things … alive? ’

His mouth turns up in the smallest of smiles . ‘ Yeah ,’ he says . ‘ Maybe you ’ re right .’

DATE: FEB 9 TH

TIME: 14:03

LOCATION: SYCAMORE WARD

‘ Eli has been working on some woodwork ,’ Cameron says, rolling up the sleeves of his checked work shirt . Jack nods, loitering in the doorway . ‘ Come in, Jack . It ’ s very chill in here .’

Cameron loves to say the word chill, but he ’ s right . It is chill in the art room and he ’ s probably the most chill staff member . I like Cameron . He doesn ’ t try and make me say things that I have no intention of saying, which is nice . And the art room is quiet . It ’ s hard to find quiet spots here .

Jack tentatively shuffles into the room and perches on one of the little stools around the worktop .

‘ The brief is to make something meaningful from your past .’ Cameron hands him a brown work apron . ‘ But you don ’ t have to follow it, Jack, if you don ’ t want to . Eli hasn ’ t .’

‘ No, I have not ,’ I say proudly .

‘ Why? ’ Jack says, tying a brown work apron around his waist . ‘ What have you been making? ’

‘ I’ve carved an elf .’ I try to mute my excitement, but it just comes out of me . I stand and lift it off the shelf behind me . When I turn to show him, my cheeks are tense with excitement .

‘ Whoa ,’ he says quietly, raising his eyebrows . He has one of them pierced, which I really like . A small hoop . ‘ That ’ s really good .’

I hold it out to him .

He hesitates . ‘ Are you sure? I don ’ t want to break it ,’ he says . ‘ It looks delicate .’

‘ Course I ’ m sure . Take it .’

He opens his hands and I place it in them . He holds it like it ’ s made of glass, turning it in his fingers, running them over the grooves of the wood – the leaf headdress, the cape, the pointed ears .

‘ I like fantasy ,’ I say .

‘ Like Lord of the Rings ? ’

‘ Sure . Me and my parents made this hut out the back of the house in the woods when I was younger . I used to love going there and pretending I was an elf .’

He smiles at this . ‘ Well, it ’ s brilliant .’

‘ Thanks .’

He ’ s quite elf-like, actually .

He passes it back to me . ‘ Well, that seems meaningful enough .’

‘ I said that ,’ Cameron said .

‘ It ’ s not that important ,’ I say . ‘ It just reminds me of …’ I look at Cameron and smile . ‘ Simpler times .’

Cameron winks . ‘ Ah, simpler times .’

I laugh .

‘ Can you think of something meaningful, Jack? ’ Cameron says .

‘ Um …’ A flash of anxiety crosses his features . ‘ Maybe I ’ ll just watch for this session, if that ’ s OK? Join in next time .’

‘ Sure ,’ Cameron says .

‘ No music today? ’ I ask Cameron .

‘ Shall we let Jack choose? ’

‘ Yeah, course .’ I place the elf on the table and pick up my carving tool . I then pull out the little box of wood from under the work station that I ’ ve saved to make his bow and arrow . As I rummage through it, I hear Jack scrolling through Cameron ’ s Spotify (Cameron is a bit of a maverick – he lets us hold his actual phone and pick actual songs, even ones with swearing in them, God forbid) until classical music starts to play out of his little Bluetooth speaker .

‘ Good choice .’ I look up to see Cameron nodding his head .

I don ’ t know it, but I pretend I do . Slow synths, more like a soundscape . It ’ s almost hypnotic .

I work along to the music as Cameron carries on carving his own bowl that he said he ’ s been working on for months .

‘ There is something that reminds me of simpler times ,’ Jack says .

‘ Oh, yeah? ’ Cameron remains nonchalant, not looking up . ‘ Go on .’ I know what he ’ s doing when he does this . He ’ s done it with me . He ’ s trying to encourage him to open up .

But Jack doesn ’ t resist like I do . He rolls up his sleeves and I see the bandages around his arms – a few places where small splotches of red have seeped through .

‘ A rose .’

‘ A rose? ’ Cameron says .

‘ Yeah .’

‘ Why? ’

‘ It was my sister ’ s name ,’ Jack says quietly .

Was .

‘ That ’ s lovely, Jack ,’ Cameron says .

‘ Jack and Rose ,’ I say . ‘ Like in Titanic.’

Jack smiles . ‘ Yeah, it was my mum ’ s favourite film .’

Was .

‘ You have good memories of being with your sister? ’ Cameron says .

‘ Some ,’ he says . I take a small piece of wood and my carving tool and begin to shave around the edges . ‘ We grew up round here . Not the posh part, though . On one of the estates .’ He sounds a bit embarrassed .

‘ Nothing wrong with that ,’ Cameron says .

‘ Before my sister died ,’ he says slowly, ‘ I ’ d take her to the beach sometimes . But I find the sea quite scary . Something about it … I ’ d never swim in it, no chance . There ’ s something about how endless it seems that terrifies me .’ He pauses . ‘ So, instead, we used to jump on the train or a bus and go to all these places to get away from the foster placement we were in . We ’ d hide in the toilet so we didn ’ t have to pay the fare, then just spend the day together, dossing about . Me and Rose . We ’ d go and stare at all the massive houses in these country villages and pretend they were ours . See all their nice things on their nice lawns . All their cars, swing sets, those huge, outdoor seats with fireplaces . They all had these mad names . Hassocks . Ditchling . Lewes .’

‘ I ’ m from Lewes ,’ I say, then feel a bit stupid . I go back to focusing on the wood in my hand .

‘ It ’ s bloody nice round there ,’ he says . ‘ There was this one time – ’ he makes a small laugh, remembering – ‘ Rose was literally playing on someone ’ s front lawn with their hula hoop . This woman came out and yelled at her . Her kids were all stood in the doorway in their little jumpers, looking like they were watching a crime scene . The mum saw me and said I should be ashamed for letting my sister break the law . Trespassing . She just kept saying the word “trespassing” – and it was making me and Rose laugh . I was about to apologise, but Rose gave her the middle finger and called her a stuck-up cow . Her kids looked like they were gonna shit themselves .’

Cameron laughs . ‘ Wow . Ballsy .’

‘ Yeah .’ Jack smiles, his eyes a little glazed . ‘ I was scared we ’ d get in trouble with the police, so we got back on the train and laughed the whole way to Brighton, crammed in the toilet . Felt like such rebels .’

‘ She sounds great ,’ Cameron says .

‘ Yeah .’ The music keeps playing as Jack speaks and I keep carving, shaving, twisting the wood around in my hands . ‘ She was funny . Really naughty, though . Jesus . Got herself in lots of trouble . At the placement . At school too . I ’ d have to intercept all the letters they ’ d send . Some of them were hilarious . She ’ d get called into the head teacher ’ s office for causing trouble, nothing awful, just for being loud and talkative, and she didn ’ t respond well to authority .’ I already like the sound of her . I look up at Jack, his eyes glistening . He shakes his head and pulls his beanie down over his forehead, shifting his fringe to cover his eyes . ‘ Sorry ,’ he says .

‘ Don ’ t apologise, Jack ,’ Cameron says . ‘ Memories are important . They shape us . Make us who we are . We need them .’

Jack wipes the back of his sleeve on his nose . ‘ Yeah .’ He keeps his head down .

‘ Here .’ I hold out the piece of wood I’ve been shaving in the palm of my hand .

He moves his eyes down to it . ‘ No way .’ He looks up at me . ‘ Have you just done that? ’

‘ Yeah ,’ I say . ‘ Sorry, it ’ s a bit rushed .’

He takes it in his hands . ‘ It ’ s perfect ,’ he says, looking at the little rose I ’ ve carved . ‘ Sort of scrappy, just like her .’

I nod . ‘ You can keep it . I made it for you . I put your name on it .’

He looks at the four little carved letters .

‘ Thanks .’ He slides it into his pocket . But there ’ s a look in his eyes that ’ s a little unsure, a little sceptical, uncertain . Like there might be some sort of catch . Like he isn ’ t used to being given something without needing to give something in return .

‘ I don ’ t want anything back ,’ I say . When I hear it, it sounds a bit strange, but it seems to make him relax .

I can feel Cameron looking at me . ‘ That ’ s a lovely thing to do, Eli .’

‘ Yeah ,’ Jack says . ‘ Really. Thank you .’

DATE: FEB 22 ND

TIME: 22:42

LOCATION: SYCAMORE WARD

‘ I like the nights more ,’ Jack says . ‘ It feels more relaxed than the day . Less management around . The staff are nicer .’

‘ I like them too ,’ I say .

We ’ re sitting on the blue beanbags in the room where everything is blue and soft because blue is, apparently, the most calming colour .

I look at the sign on the wall .

DE-ESCALATION ROOM

‘ I ’ m glad they let us sit in here now ,’ I say . ‘ It ’ s been fun to de-escalate with you every night for the past two weeks pretending to play cards .’

He smiles . ‘ Same to you . And what do you mean, pretend? ’ He puts a seven of hearts down on top of the pile on the floor . ‘ Car ,’ he says .

‘ Interesting .’ I place a queen of spades on top of his seven . ‘ Jungle .’

‘ No .’ He feigns a gasp . ‘ Not jungle .’

‘ I ’ m afraid so ,’ I say . ‘ That means three cards to me .’

He looks up . ‘ Three? Why? ’

‘ Um … Lost . You ’ re completely lost .’

He sighs, shaking his head . ‘ Nice move, Pew .’

‘ Thanks .’

He hands me three cards, then puts a two of clubs down . ‘ Uh-oh .’

‘ What? ’

He pulls a face like something disastrous has happened . ‘ Apocalypse .’

‘ Shit ,’ I say . ‘ Now? ’

‘ Right now ,’ he says . ‘ Two of clubs . Means card of death .’

I nod slowly . ‘ So it does . How many do I need to give you to stay alive? ’

‘ Seven .’

‘ Seven? ’ I say . ‘ That ’ s a bit extreme …’

‘ Yeah, but …’ I watch him trying to think of a reason . ‘ Because of … all the zombies and stuff .’

‘ Why do I always forget about the zombies? ’

He shakes his head . ‘ You should never forget about the zombies .’

The door swings open . ‘ Hey, lads .’ It ’ s Fola, one of the night nurses . She smiles kindly at us . ‘ Just doing checks .’

‘ No worries ,’ I say .

She turns to Jack . ‘ You must be happy to be off one-to-one, Mr Quinn? ’

He nods . ‘ Yeah, I am .’

‘ You ’ re doing well . Keep it up .’

‘ Thanks, Fola .’

‘ So, you ’ re on fifteen-minute intermittent observation now, glad to hear it . All going in the right direction .’

A small smile flickers on his face .

‘ It ’ s nearly eleven .’ Fola ticks off something on her clipboard . ‘ You know the rules on a week night . You need to get to your rooms .’

‘ Bit longer? ’ I ask hopefully .

She sighs, but smiles, pointing her pen at us . ‘ Ten minutes, but that ’ s it . Jane is working, so best behaviour, please .’

Jane is like an army corporal . She seems to be allergic to teenagers . I have no idea why she works here .

‘ Thanks, Fola ,’ Jack says .

She cocks her head . ‘ It ’ s really nice to see you out of your room more, Jack . And keeping this one – ’ she points the pen in my direction – ‘ distracted so he doesn ’ t bother us .’ She winks at me . ‘ Ten minutes . That ’ s it .’ Then she leaves .

We sit in silence for a moment . I look at Jack . He has his head down .

‘ You OK? ’ I say .

He puts his cards on the floor and starts picking at the grippy bits on the bottom of his blue hospital socks . We all have them . I don ’ t know why they make them grippy – it only helps us run away faster .

‘ Can I show you something? ’ he says slowly . ‘ It might be a bit weird .’

‘ Yeah . Of course .’

He shuffles his beanbag towards me, then checks behind him, looking for the camera in the corner of the ceiling, shifting his position so he has his back to it .

He slowly lifts his sleeve up . No bandage this time .

Scars . Lots of them . I try not to react, keeping my face still . Some white and shiny – maybe months, years old . Some fresh and pink, but healing .

‘ No new cuts ,’ he says quietly .

‘ How long? ’ I say .

‘ Six days .’

I feel a lump rise in my throat . ‘ Well done, Jack . That ’ s amazing .’ I realise that might be why I haven ’ t heard the alarms going off so much at night .

He pulls his sleeve down . ‘ I really want to get out of here ,’ he whispers . ‘ I want to get out of this system . Start my life properly, even if …’ He trails off .

I watch him take out the wooden rose I made him from his pocket and turn it between his fingers .

‘ Jack? ’

‘ Yeah ,’ he says, a little absently .

‘ How long ago was it? ’ I say . ‘ That she died? ’

‘ Five years .’ He looks up at me . ‘ I know it seems a long time – everyone keeps telling me that . But I can ’ t help but still feel …’

‘ What? ’ I say .

‘ Guilt .’ He leans his head forwards and exhales slowly . ‘ I was there when it happened .’

He ’ s never told me what happened . ‘ You aren ’ t to blame, Jack . I can tell you really loved her .’

‘ Maybe .’

‘ What about your parents? ’

Jack shakes his head . ‘ Foster care .’

‘ So, where have you been living? ’

‘ I ’ ve been in and out of placements for years now . A few wards, like this . But it ’ s my first time here .’

‘ What are they like? The placements? ’

‘ Some are all right . Others are not . I get moved around all the time . But I ’ ll be eighteen soon and I ’ ll get my own place if …’ He pauses . ‘ If I show I ’ m not hurting myself . That ’ s what Dr Dexter said .’ He looks at me hopefully .

‘ You ’ re not to blame, Jack .’

He nods . ‘ Yeah .’ Then he holds up the rose . ‘ I love this .’

‘ Good ,’ I say .

His fingers brush against mine . ‘ Thanks, Eli .’

I link my fingers into his, just for a moment . ‘ You ’ re welcome .’

‘ And not just for this .’ He bows his head so his hair falls over his face . ‘ I dunno . Just being with you . Around you . It feels good . I feel … I dunno . Like I ’ m in the real world .’

He is looking at the rose, turning it in his hand .

Suddenly, the door slams open . Jack shoves it quickly into his pocket as Jane appears .

‘ What are you two doing? ’ she says . She looks mad .

‘ Playing cards .’

‘ I ’ ve been watching you from up there .’ She points to the camera . ‘ What are you concealing, Jack? ’

His face crumples in panic . ‘ Nothing . It ’ s not like that— ’

‘ Show me your hands ,’ she says .

‘ Wait ,’ I say . ‘ He wasn ’ t— ’

‘ Keep your mouth shut, Elias ,’ she barks .

Jack looks terrified . ‘ I swear . I wasn ’ t— ’

‘ I ’ ve seen you two .’ Jane steps towards us . ‘ Getting closer . It ’ s not good . We need to assert boundaries here . We don ’ t want you influencing each other .’ She holds out her hand to Jack . ‘ Give it to me .’

‘ N-no ,’ he stammers . ‘ I don ’ t have anything .’

‘ Tell me what it is .’ She waits . ‘ Is it a blade? ’

‘ No ,’ he repeats .

She shakes her head . ‘ We ’ re going to need to search you, Jack . You know your safety plan .’

‘ No ,’ he says .

‘ Turn out your pockets .’

‘ I-I …’ he stammers .

Jane sighs . ‘ Then I ’ ll have to call the team .’ She pulls the alarm on her belt . Alarms blare, smashing into my skull .

‘ No! ’ Jack cries, scrabbling to his feet and backing into the corner .

People begin to pile into the room . Two, three, four of them .

I try to move, to stand next to him, but feel hands grabbing at my arms .

‘ Jack! ’ I yell .

I can see them piling on top of him, pushing him to the ground . One of the men puts his knee in Jack ’ s back . He screams .

‘ Leave him alone! ’

‘ Get into your room, Elias . This instant .’

‘ What are you doing to him? ’

‘ He needs help .’

‘ How is this helping him? ’

‘ It’s none of your business, Elias . Now leave .’

‘ This is a joke! ’ I shout . ‘ You’re hurting him .’

I feel hands on my arms .

I try to get to him – to help him – and throw a punch . It lands right in the person’s face . Shit .

Suddenly I’m being pulled backwards along the corridor, in a blur of shouts and limbs . Pulled in the direction of the room I know I do not want to go into .

‘ No, please . I’m sorry – please . I didn’t mean to – please, not in there! I just wanted to know he’s OK .’

– CUT REMAINDER OF SCENE FOR USE AT TRAUMALAND –

DATE: MARCH 1 ST

TIME: 14:03

LOCATION: brIGHTON BEACH

‘ This is a good spot ,’ Cameron says, stopping in front of us . He places the box down next to him so it crunches in the pebbles . ‘ You ready? ’

I nod . ‘ Yep .’

Jack stands still next to me, staring out towards the water . The sun dances across its surface as a gentle breeze moves across the beach .

‘ Come on, give me a hand .’

I help Cameron unpack the canvases and paints . Jack stays where he is, arms wrapped around him, eyes closed . He doesn ’ t look sad . More, peaceful .

‘ Here, take these .’ Cameron hands me two paintbrushes .

I catch sight of the healthcare assistant sent to watch us standing about ten metres away, texting on her phone .

‘ Here, Jack .’ I hold out a brush .

Jack blinks his eyes open, a little startled, then takes it . ‘ Cheers .’

‘ Are you OK? ’

‘ Yeah … I ’ ve just … never loved the sea .’

‘ Why? ’

‘ I dunno . It ’ s kind of … deceptive . And unreliable .’ He looks at it for a moment, frowning, then turns to me and smiles . ‘ Ignore me .’

Cameron hands us each a blank canvas . ‘ Right, sit . Both of you . Face the sea .’

We do . Cross-legged on the pebbles, looking out across the water .

‘ Welcome to landscape drawing . Since you ’ re the only patients who signed up to it, I thought we could come down to the beach, get some fresh air . All I want you to do is to paint what you see . Whatever it is, the point is to feel something as you do it . Anything . Anger . Happiness . Just focus on that one feeling and try and put it into the picture .’

I look left along the shore and see the long platform held up above the water, the white arcade with a sloped glass roof on top . I turn right . There ’ s a second pier, further down, but this one is different . It ’ s just a shell . A ruin . It looks like it ’ s been burned down and is now just an empty metal structure, speckled with algae and worn away by the waves . It ’ s held up by a precarious criss-cross of rusted rungs, jutting out into the water . The whole thing looks like it might suddenly collapse .

‘ Do we just … paint? ’ I say .

‘ Yep .’ Cameron opens up a purple packet of NHS raisin biscuits . ‘ Just paint .’

I watch as Jack begins to dip his brush into the paint, moving it across the canvas in long blue streaks .

I look out to the old pier, take the black paint and start to etch its outline . It looks … nothing like the pier .

‘ What emotion are you feeling, Eli? ’ Cameron peers over my shoulder .

‘ Currently? Embarrassment ,’ I say .

He laughs . ‘ It looks like a spider . Now get angry with it . Anger is good .’

Anger is good . ‘ OK .’

I pick up the pallet, put dark blue, light blue, black – as many different colours as I can – on each finger and start smearing it across the canvas, pushing the paint to the edges, frantically filling the space . As I do, I feel a bubbling of something, maybe anger, maybe frustration, but definitely a release . I lose myself in it, until finally I stop and sit back .

It looks angry . It does . But also a bit … shit .

‘ Cool ,’ Jack says . ‘ Is that a bird? ’ He points to the m-shape that I appear to have drawn in the sky .

‘ Um … Yes .’

‘ It looks, kind of, I dunno …’

‘ Basic? ’

He laughs . ‘ I didn ’ t mean— ’

‘ Like a child did it? ’

‘ Ha! No . I like its simplicity .’

‘ Oh, God .’

He laughs again . ‘ Would make a nice little tattoo .’

‘ It would ,’ I say . ‘ Good shout . I ’ ve always wanted to try stick and poke .’

‘ No bloody stick and poke, please ,’ Cameron says from behind us .

I wink at Jack .

Then I see his canvas . It is … beautiful . The sky, the water, the reflection of the pale sun .

‘ Oh ,’ I say . ‘ You ’ re really good .’

‘ What are you feeling, Jack? ’ Cameron says .

‘ Um … I dunno ,’ Jack mumbles . ‘ It ’ s hard to describe . Something like nostalgia . Or longing . But I dunno if that ’ s an emotion .’

Longing .

‘ Yeah, I ’ m sure it is . Why not ,’ Cameron says . ‘ That works, but your picture feels hopeful too .’ It does . ‘ Good job .’

Cameron turns away from us, munching on his biscuit . When he ’ s out of earshot, an urge comes over me . ‘ Jack can I ask you a question? ’

He turns to me . ‘ Sure .’

‘ What happened to Rose? ’

He doesn ’ t answer . Just keeps looking out at the sea .

‘ Sorry, I shouldn ’ t have— ’

‘ That ’ s OK ,’ he says . ‘ I just …’ He stops .

Fuck . Change direction . Now .

‘ I ’ m going to go in ,’ I say .

He turns to me . ‘ What? ’

‘ The sea .’

‘ Now? ’

‘ Yeah . Screw it .’

‘ Eli ,’ Cameron says . ‘ Careful, please .’

But I ’ m already pulling off my shoes, my T-shirt . Then I ’ m running down the pebbles, wincing as they dig into the soles of my feet .

‘ What are you doing? ’ Jack shouts .

‘ Come on! ’

‘ No way! ’

I ’ m at the water now . My feet enter and I dive forwards . I hit the surface with a crash .

When I go under, a surge of ecstasy enters my body . I stay submerged for as long as I can, feeling the prickling in my skin like needles . My brain opens – the water, the cold, the adrenaline wiping it of every thought, until I ’ m blank . Until I feel free .

When I come up, I see Jack standing at the shoreline .

‘ Come on! ’ I yell . ‘ It feels amazing! ’

I watch him run his hand through his hair, contemplating .

The healthcare assistant tries to take his arm . ‘ Jack, don ’ t— ’

But he begins to pull off his shoes . I see Cameron behind them, smiling .

‘ Don ’ t think about it – just do it ,’ I yell .

Jack nods . And then he ’ s running towards me . When his feet meet the water, he yelps, hopping through the waves until he ’ s knee-deep . He plunges forwards .

When he surfaces, he gasps, a huge intake of breath . ‘ Jesus Christ! ’ He starts coughing, spluttering, rubbing the water from his eyes . He trips and submerges again .

I grab his arm and pull him up . He starts to laugh .

I can hear the healthcare assistant yelling at us to come out, but I don ’ t care .

‘ Wasn ’ t so bad, was it? ’ I say .

‘ Fucking freezing! ’ he gasps, his eyes alight with adrenaline . Euphoria .

‘ Again? ’ I say .

He nods . ‘ Again! ’

‘ Three … Two … One …’

We inhale deeply and together we go under .

DATE: MARCH 2 ND

TIME: 03:00

LOCATION: SYCAMORE WARD

‘ Quickly ,’ he says, opening the door to his bedroom .

I check behind the nurses ’ station behind me . Most of the lights are off inside . There ’ s just the low glare of computer screens behind the blinds, mingled with the faint fog from their vapes . They think we don ’ t see .

We see everything .

It ’ s been quiet tonight so they ’ ve kept themselves away from the patients . I heard the front-door buzzer go off about half an hour ago as their takeaway was delivered .

‘ Come on, Eli ,’ he says, and I can see that he ’ s smiling . I slide into his room through the gap and step towards the little desk in the corner . He has a small lamp on, covered in a piece of material that Cameron gave him, so the whole room is doused in a dark green . There are pictures stuck up on the walls – pictures he ’ s drawn, some I ’ ve drawn and given to him . There ’ s even one that Fola made for him that says:

FOR HE NEVER GAVE UP, HE KEPT GOING, THE SCARS OF HIS PAST A REMINDER OF HOW STRONG HE IS AND WAS, AND ALWAYS WILL BE .

He pulls the door shut, then closes the slats in its square window .

‘ You ’ ve made it nice in here ,’ I say .

He shrugs . ‘ I guess that ’ s a compliment for this place .’

I stand by the wall, suddenly self-conscious . I hold my hands together in front of me .

‘ What are you doing? You look terrified ,’ he says .

I am . In a good way . An amazing way . ‘ Just … don ’ t want to get caught . They ’ ll go apeshit if they find us in here together .’

‘ Don ’ t worry ,’ he says . ‘ They ’ re too busy eating their KFC . I ’ m on general observation now and I ’ ve just been checked, so we ’ ve got an hour .’

He sits cross-legged on top of his bed . I join him, facing him .

‘ How ’ s it feeling? ’ he says after a moment, pointing to my wrist .

I pull up my sleeve to reveal the stick and poke tattoo I did last night after the beach, using a biro and a safety pin . An m-shaped bird . It looks a bit red at the edges . ‘ A little sore . How ’ s yours? ’

He pulls back his own sleeve to reveal the one he did . ‘ Yeah . Same .’

‘ Cameron will kill us .’

We hold our wrists out in front of us, so they ’ re next to each other . ‘ Almost exactly the same .’

I look up at him . And then, for some reason, I put my hand on his . He doesn ’ t flinch .

‘ Is that OK? ’ I mumble .

‘ More than OK ,’ he says .

I feel his other hand on my knee . There ’ s something about the sensation that leaves more of an impression on me than the safety pin through my flesh . It does something to my insides, marks them with a heat, a pressure, that feels so big, so important, that I don ’ t want it to end .

And I think, I ’ ll never forget this . I ’ ll never forget this moment . Or at the beach yesterday .

The bird on our wrists will always remind me . Always .

‘ Thanks ,’ I whisper . ‘ For being here .’

He smiles . ‘ What do you mean? ’

‘ Well, I ’ m just glad … I ’ m just glad you ’ re here . I mean … I don ’ t mean I ’ m glad you ’ re here here, in this hospital – because of what happened and everything . I don ’ t want you to be here because of all that . I want you to be out there . Oh, fuck ’ s sake . You know what I mea— ’

And then he ’ s kissing me . He ’ s kissing me in the bedroom of a psychiatric ward between hourly checks, and although I should feel like this is incredibly wrong and bad, I don ’ t . Because nothing about it feels wrong .

‘ Thanks ,’ I then say .

‘ You ’ re welcome .’

And we laugh .

‘ Shh ,’ he hisses, looking back at the door . But we don ’ t stop . We stuff our sleeves into our mouths, stifling the noise .

We kiss again and laugh again .

‘ I really like you ,’ I say .

‘ I really like you too, Elias Gordon Pew .’

I always thought when people said they had butterflies in their stomach it was a crass, hyperbolic myth . I prefer moths . Now I feel like there are about three hundred moths in my chest . ‘ Well, that ’ s good .’

‘ Yeah ,’ he says . ‘ Everything is good .’

‘ Um … I spoke to my parents today on the phone . Told them a bit about you .’

He raises his eyebrows . ‘ Oh yeah? ’

‘ Do you want to meet them? ’ I say . ‘ They ’ re thrilled that I ’ ve met someone nice . They said it about twenty times . And now that I ’ m a bit more settled or whatever, and we both have to leave, they thought maybe they could pick us up and you could come over for lunch or something .’

I suddenly feel very silly . Very formal .

‘ Yeah ,’ he says . ‘ I ’ d love that . They sound great .’

‘ Yeah, they are ,’ I say . ‘ They thought maybe tomorrow . What do you think? ’

He shrugs, but I can see he ’ s a little nervous . ‘ Yeah – if that ’ s allowed .’

‘ I think the nurses should be cool with it, if my parents are there .’

Jack shuffles so he ’ s leaning back with his back pressed against the wall . ‘ It ’ s pretty nuts that your dad is Gordon Pew . I ’ m going to meet a politician . Jesus .’

‘ He ’ s pretty normal when you get to know him .’

Jack nods . ‘ I ’ ll have to be on my best behaviour .’

‘ He ’ s going to really like you .’

‘ I hope so .’

He pulls his knees up to his chest, crossing his arms over them . ‘ What ’ s your mum like? And your brother? ’

‘ They ’ re great . They ’ ve put up with a lot from me .’

He smiles . ‘ Obviously, I know who your dad is, but I ’ m interested to see what the rest of the Pews look like .’

I suddenly remember . ‘ I have a picture .’

‘ You do? ’

‘ Yeah, they left it for me when I was admitted .’

I reach into my pocket, take the folded photograph, now battered and creased, and hand it to him .

When he unfolds it, I see him smile . ‘ Ah, you all look just like each other .’

‘ You think? ’

‘ Yeah . Wow .’ He shakes his head . ‘ I can ’ t wait to meet them .’

‘ It should be nice .’

He sits, staring at the photo, then I see him frown .

‘ Jack? Are you OK? ’ I ask . But he doesn ’ t respond . He just keeps staring at it . ‘ Jack? What is it? ’

– CUT REMAINDER OF SCENE FOR USE AT TRAUMALAND –