The Asylum (11 page)

Jan prefers Rami’s whispering songs about loneliness and longing, but he still claps politely.

He raises his glass. The beer he is drinking tonight is stronger, and the alcohol has gone straight to his head like a rocket. His mind is floating free.

Right now it would be brilliant to be a regular here, but Jan
doesn’t
have much of a talent for finding friends in pubs. He realized this earlier in the evening when he pushed his way to the bar without making eye contact with a single person. He finds it difficult to relax in the company of adults; it’s much easier with children.

At least he got a friendly nod from the bartender when he went up for his second beer, and now his colleagues from work have joined him at his table. They just turned up and sat down: Hanna with her blue eyes, Lilian with her red hair.

Lilian empties her third glass and leans across the table. ‘Did you come here on your own, Jan?’

He thinks about quoting Rami –
I am a lost soul in a desert of ice
– but instead he merely smiles. Mysteriously, he hopes.

‘Oops, empty again.’ Lilian gestures in the direction of the bar. ‘Keep my seat, I’m just going for another.’

Jan and Hanna’s glasses are still half full, but when Lilian comes back she has bought them another drink too. ‘The next round’s on you!’

Jan doesn’t want to drink another drop, but he accepts the glass anyway. They carry on chatting, first of all about the Bohemos; according to Lilian they are definitely the best band in town, even if hardly anyone outside Bill’s Bar has heard of them.

‘They only play at Bill’s as a hobby,’ she says. ‘They’ve got other jobs.’

‘They work up at St Patricia’s,’ says Hanna. ‘Well, a couple of them do.’

Lilian glances at her sharply, as if she has said too much.

‘Do they?’ Jan looks over at the band with renewed interest. ‘At St Patricia’s?’

‘We don’t know them,’ Lilian says.

Jan is feeling good now; he buys the next round. And then Hanna buys three more bottles. The beer is flowing! That’s OK by Jan. After all, he can have a lie-in tomorrow, before his night shift at the Dell.

But Lilian is drinking more than Jan and Hanna put together, and her head is sagging lower and lower. Suddenly she straightens
up.
‘Jan … lovely Jan,’ she says, blinking tiredly. ‘Ask me if I believe in love.’

‘Sorry?’

Lilian shakes her head slowly. ‘I don’t believe in love.’ She holds up three fingers. ‘These are the three men I’ve had in my life … The first one took two years from me, the second took four, and I married the third one. And that ended last year. So now I’ve only got my brother. Just one brother. I used to have two, but now I’ve only got one …’

Hanna leans over. ‘Shall we go home, Lilian?’

Lilian doesn’t answer; she empties her glass, puts it down and sighs. ‘OK … Let’s go home,’ she says.

Jan sees that Bill’s Bar is closing up. The music has stopped, the Bohemos have left the stage, tables are emptying around them.

‘Fine,’ he says, nodding. ‘Let’s go.’

He keeps on nodding; he realizes he’s actually drunk for the very first time, and his feet seem to have a mind of their own when he stands up. ‘I
am a lost soul in a desert of ice
,’ he says, but neither Hanna nor Lilian seems to hear.

The air feels like the inside of a fridge when they get out on to the street, and the alcohol hits Jan over the head like a hammer. He staggers and looks at his watch; it’s almost two o’clock. Late, very late. But he’s free until nine o’clock tomorrow evening. He can sleep all day.

Lilian looks around and spots a taxi across the street. ‘Mine!’ she screeches. ‘See you!’ She makes her way unsteadily over the road, gets into the taxi and is gone.

Hanna is still standing there. ‘Lilian lives quite a long way out … Where do you live, Jan?’

‘Pretty close.’ He raises his left arm and waves it vaguely towards the east. ‘Over there, just across the railway line.’

‘OK, let’s head over there,’ she says.

‘What, back to mine?’

She shakes her head. ‘No, just as far as the railway line. I’ll walk with you. I’m heading in the same direction.’

‘Great,’ says Jan, trying to sober up.

They set off along the pavement, side by side, and after fifteen minutes they reach the tracks running past the town centre.

‘This is where we go our separate ways.’

The sky above them is black, the railway line is empty.

Jan lowers his gaze and looks at Hanna. Her shining blue eyes, her blonde hair, her cool face. She is beautiful, but he knows he isn’t interested in her – not in that way. But he carries on staring in silence.

‘What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?’ Hanna is asking him.

‘The worst thing?’ Jan looks at her. He definitely knows the answer. ‘I’ll have to think about that … so what’s the worst thing
you’ve
ever done?’

‘Lots of things,’ says Hanna.

‘Name one.’

She shrugs her shoulders. ‘Being unfaithful, letting friends down … The usual stuff, I suppose.’

‘Oh?’

‘When I was twenty I slept with my best friend’s fiancé, in a boathouse. She found out and broke off the engagement … but we’re friends again now. Kind of.’

‘Kind of?’ says Jan.

‘We exchange Christmas cards.’ She sighs. ‘But that’s my problem.’

‘What is?’

‘I let people down.’ She blinks and looks at him. ‘I expect to be let down, so I get in first.’

‘OK … Thanks for the warning!’

He is smiling, but Hanna isn’t. Silence falls once more. Hanna is beautiful, but all Jan wants to do now is sleep. He turns and looks over at the apartment block where he lives. No doubt they’re all fast asleep now, all those good people. Like the animals, like the trees …

‘So what about you, Jan?’

‘What?’

Hanna is staring at him. ‘Do you remember the worst thing you’ve ever done?’

‘Maybe …’

What did he actually do, that time at Lynx? Jan tries to remember. But the buildings are tilting around him and he seems to be feeling even more drunk, and suddenly the words just come out of their own accord: ‘I once did something stupid … at a nursery in my home town. In Nordbro.’

‘What did you do? What did you do, Jan?’

‘I was looking after the children, it was my first temporary post, and I made a mess of things … I lost a child.’ Jan stares down at the ground, smoothing out an uneven patch of grass with his foot.

‘You lost a child?’

‘Yes. I took a group of children out into the forest, along with a colleague … the group was much too big, really. And when we set off home we didn’t have the right number of children with us. One boy got left behind in the forest, and it was … it was partly my fault.’

‘When was this?’

Jan keeps his eyes fixed on the ground.
Lynx
. He remembers everything, of course. He remembers the air in the forest, just as cold as it is tonight.

‘Nine years ago … almost exactly nine years ago. It was in October.’

Don’t say any more
, he thinks, but Hanna’s blue eyes are gazing intently at him.

‘What was the name of the boy?’

Jan hesitates. ‘I don’t remember,’ he says eventually.

‘So what happened in the end?’ Hanna asks.

‘He was … everything was fine. In the end.’ Jan sighs and adds, ‘But the parents were absolutely devastated, they just broke down completely.’

Hanna shrugs. ‘Idiots … I mean, it was their kid who ran off. They hand over their precious little ones and then expect us to take all the responsibility. Don’t you agree?’

Jan nods, but he is already regretting his confession. Why did he tell her about Lynx? He’s pissed, he’s a drunk. ‘You won’t say anything about this, will you?’

Hanna is still looking at him. ‘To one of the big bosses, you mean?’

‘Yes, or to …’

‘I won’t say anything, Jan. It’s cool.’ She yawns and looks at her watch. ‘I need to go home … I’ve got to get up early for work in the morning.’ She stands on tiptoe and gives him a quick hug. A little bit of warmth in the night. ‘Sleep well, Jan. See you at work.’

‘OK.’

He watches her set off towards the town centre, like a blonde dream figure. Alice Rami is also like a dream to Jan – she is just as vague and indistinct as a poem or a song. All girls are like dreams …

Why did he tell Hanna about Lynx?

Jan’s head slowly begins to clear, and with clarity comes regret.

He shakes his head and unlocks the door. Time to sleep, then work. He’s behaved like an obedient dog for two weeks, and now it’s time for his reward. A night shift all by himself up at the Dell.

15

‘THIS IS THE
emergency telephone,’ says Marie-Louise, pointing to a grey phone on the wall in the staffroom, next to Jan’s locker. ‘All you have to do is pick up the receiver and wait, and it rings through automatically.’

‘Where to?’

‘To the main security office by the entrance to the hospital. They’re on duty around the clock over there, so someone will always answer.’ She gives Jan a slightly embarrassed smile and adds, ‘Sometimes it’s nice to know that there’s somebody not too far away at night … although I’m sure you’ll be fine here, won’t you?’

‘Absolutely.’ Jan nods and straightens his back so that he looks alert.

Marie-Louise runs her hand slightly nervously over her throat. ‘Obviously you must ring them if anything happens, but we’ve never needed to do that up to now …’ She quickly turns away from the emergency phone, as if she would prefer to forget about it. ‘So, any questions?’

Jan shakes his head. Marie-Louise has gone through all the routine procedures twice, so he is well prepared. And stone-cold sober. He felt quite shaky when he woke up this morning after the night in Bill’s Bar, but he’s fine now.

It is the Friday evening of his second week at the Dell, and his first night shift – his first night shift ever, in fact. He is on duty
from
nine thirty in the evening until eight o’clock on Saturday morning, but he has been told that he doesn’t need to stay awake all the time. There is a sofa bed in the staffroom and he can sleep all night, as long as he wakes up if one of the three children needs help or reassurance.

‘Everything seems very clear,’ he says.

‘Good,’ says Marie-Louise. ‘Did you bring your own bedlinen?’

‘I did. And my toothbrush.’

Marie-Louise smiles and seems satisfied. She has already put on her coat and her woolly hat, and she opens the door to face the darkness outside. ‘In that case I will wish you a peaceful night, Jan. Hanna will come and take over in the morning, and I’ll see you tomorrow evening. Goodnight!’

The door closes. Jan locks up behind her and looks at the clock. Twenty past ten. There isn’t a sound inside the Dell.

He goes into the staffroom and makes up the narrow sofa bed, then he has a sandwich in the kitchen before brushing his teeth.

But these are just the routine tasks he’s
supposed
to carry out; the problem is that he doesn’t feel the least bit tired. What else can he do? What does he
want
to do?

Check on the children
.

Quietly he pushes open the door of the children’s bedroom, and listens to their soft breathing in the darkness. Matilda, Leo and Mira are fast asleep in their beds. Even Leo is lying completely still. According to Marie-Louise, none of the children normally wakes until it’s time to get them up in the morning.

Normally. But when is anything ever
normal
?

Jan leaves the door ajar and goes into the dining room at the back of the school. He stands by the window looking out, without switching on the light.

St Psycho’s is also virtually in darkness. Floodlights illuminate the fence, but the complex beyond is full of shadows. Grey shadows on the grass, black shadows beneath the fir trees. No one is outside smoking tonight.

The hospital itself looms up some forty or fifty metres away, and there are lights in only four of the windows up at the top of the
building.
It looks as if the light is coming from white strip-lighting in a corridor – just like the ones down in the basement.

The basement
. The way into the hospital – although it isn’t really, because there are locked doors down there too. And the door to the basement is also locked, of course.

Jan thinks about that door for a while. And the underground corridor, and the sally port. Then he goes back into the kitchen and opens one of the drawers. There they are, the magnetic cards. He picks one of them up.

Can he remember the code? Of course he can, it was Marie-Louise’s birthday. He has delivered or collected a child on a dozen occasions and keyed in the code at least twenty times since he arrived at the pre-school. He taps it in again and swipes the card, and the lock clicks.

Open. So it works at night too.

The steep staircase looks like a precipice, or the mouth of a cave leading straight down into the underworld. It is dark down there, but not pitch black; a faint light is just visible along the corridor.

The light from the lift up to the hospital.

Jan hesitates and looks around furtively. The cloakroom is empty, of course – he locked the outside door when Marie-Louise went home.

He leans forward, reaches out and presses the switch. The strip-lights flicker and hum into life down below in the corridor. He can see the steep staircase clearly now, with the carpet leading towards the lift like a welcome mat. He can’t see the actual door of the lift, but if he just went down four or five steps he would probably be able to see it in the distance.

Rami, are you there?

He moves down two steps in silence, then stops with his hand clutching the rail. He listens. There isn’t a sound to be heard, neither in front of him nor behind him.

He moves down another step, then three more in quick succession. He can see the door of the lift now. The light in the little window tells him that the lift is down in the basement. It is standing there waiting for him.

One more step.

But he is finding it more and more difficult to move his legs. There is a mental barrier. He is thinking too much about the children, about Leo, Matilda and Mira; they are fast asleep in their bedroom and he is responsible for them, just as he was responsible for William nine years ago.