Mr. Nobody(37)
I take a fortifying breath in and nod. “Great.”
Nick’s hand goes to the door and I suddenly realize I have no idea what we are calling the patient. “Wait, Nick. What are we calling him? The patient?”
“Oh, bloody hell, sorry, Emma. We’re using Matthew for now. I know—but he seems to like it and we can’t call him Mr. Nobody, obviously. So we’re stuck with it for now. I should have mentioned before.” He suddenly looks as vulnerable as I feel, which, thankfully, takes my focus off of myself for a second.
“No, it’s fine,” I reassure him. “Let’s get through this bit and then you can take me to meet Matthew.”
He nods happily, back on safe ground, and with that he pulls open the doors.
My hands are slick with sweat, my chest fluttering. I take in the faces as we enter the canteen. Nurses, junior doctors, paramedics, porters, canteen staff, groundskeepers. I try to scan each face for any sign of recognition. The crowd has hushed with our entrance and all eyes are on us as we make our way to the front.
Nick clears his throat and starts to speak. I notice a woman, standing by the hatch of the kitchen, turn toward us and I realize with sudden dread I know her. I rack my mind for who she might be, how I know her. She’s looking back toward the doors now, frowning. She’s waiting for someone. I struggle to focus on Nick’s words.
“—enormously lucky to have her with us. So, if you could all give a big hand to Dr. Emma Lewis, I’ll turn this over to her.”
I find myself stepping forward to join Nick, my eyes still locked on the woman. Then her eyes find mine, she gives me a tight smile before her gaze is pulled away by a younger woman sidling up beside her and I suddenly realize how I know her. It’s the receptionist from the lobby downstairs. Jesus. That’s how I know her.
I need to calm down. I need to stop being paranoid. Everything is fine. The relief I feel is overwhelming and I can’t hold back a smile. I let my body relax ever so slightly, take in my expectant audience, and begin.
19
THE MAN
DAYS 3–6—PATIENT
Rhoda sits patiently by while Matthew undergoes further scans on day three. He is assessed by multiple doctors, none of whom fully understand his problem, and none of whom manage to pry a single word from him.
He is moved to the psychiatric ward.
Rhoda moves with him. She plumps his pillows, she changes the dressings on his head wound, she brings in more library books and together they sift through the dry pages, hoping to find a glimmer of recognition in the darkness.
There is a small piece in the local paper that evening, an article about the man found on the beach. The patient doesn’t see it but Rhoda does. She particularly likes the photograph they used. The picture shows Matthew in the distance, a blurred dot, Officer Graceford with him and Officer Poole running toward the camera, caught in the moment, Poole’s mouth half open, shouting something at the photographer. The picture has an otherworldliness to it, like a painting.
She takes the evening paper home and carefully cuts the article out with her kitchen scissors. When this is all over, she decides, when he’s better, she’ll give Matthew all his cuttings, if he wants them. The picture is beautiful, she thinks. The great sweep of Holkham Beach, dunes she recognizes even without the caption under the photo.
The article beneath is about Mr. Garrett, how Matthew saved the day, right after being admitted to Princess Margaret’s. The article mentions how Matthew hasn’t spoken a single word since they found him. Portrayed as a mysterious hero, and easy on the eye, Rhoda can see how that would make a good story. Like a fairy tale, there is a magic to it, as delicate as filigree, and she feels that magic around him too.
Whoever wrote the article got it right, she decides.
Another day passes. It’s day four and Rhoda administers Matthew’s meds. He takes the pills from her trustingly, as if knowing in his heart she wouldn’t drug him. He doesn’t trust the doctors, he doesn’t know why exactly. He goes along with their tests, he tries to listen to their words, to what they say, but he is really only waiting. Waiting for everything to come flooding back in, like it should, soon. And he is waiting for her to appear. He knows she will come. It is just a matter of time.
To Matthew’s mind the psychiatric ward isn’t that much different from the ward he was on before. He knows there is something wrong with his brain, with his memory, and he’s picked up enough from his interactions to see the move coming. But the doors aren’t locked here, and his room isn’t padded, it’s just another blank hospital room.
There’s a courtyard garden on this ward, which Rhoda takes him out to if it’s not raining. She brings him in a puffer jacket from home. It smells of talcum powder and geraniums and it’s not new, but it keeps him warm, for which he is grateful.
He’s felt the cold more since the beach. He wonders if that might be because he’s not used to the weather here. Perhaps he comes from somewhere warm. There’s no way to be sure, it’s just a thought that occurs to him. He’s had so many fleeting notions of what his life was, is, but they float away as they come to him with nothing substantial to anchor onto.
He looks at the books Rhoda brings, the words in them, and he waits for the moment when they fall into place, as he knows they must.