That’s one of the things I like about Ellie Pascoe. No girlish giggles there. She enjoys a real good laugh.
‘You old sod,’ she said. ‘I’m off now. I’ve got my own life too. Peter sends his love. Says to tell you that he’s got things running so smooth down at the Factory that he can’t understand how they ever managed with you. Take care now.’
She bent over me and kissed me. Bright, brave, and bonny. Pete Pascoe really was a lucky man.
And she’s got lovely knockers.
Any road, I did think about what she’d said and a couple of days later when I were talking to Cap, I said I were thinking of going to the Cedars.
She said, ‘But you hate that place. You once went to visit someone there and you said it was like a temperance hotel without the wild parties.’
That’s the trouble with words, they come back to haunt you.
‘Mebbe that’s what I need now,’ I lied. ‘Couple of weeks’ peace and quiet and a breath of sea air. Me mind’s made up.’
I should have known, men make up their minds like they make up their beds – if there’s a woman around she’ll pull all the bedding off and start again.
Next time she came she had a bunch of brochures.
She said, ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said, Andy, and I reckon you’re right about the sea air. But I don’t think the Cedars is the place for you. You’d be surrounded by other cops there with nothing to do but talk about crooks and cases and getting back on the job. No, this is the place for you. The Avalon.’
‘You mean that Yankee clinic place?’ I said, glancing at the brochures.
‘The Avalon Foundation is originally American, yes, but it’s been so successful it now has clinics worldwide. There’s one in Australia, one in Switzerland …’
‘I’m not going to Switzerland,’ I said. ‘All them cuckoo clocks, I’d never sleep.’
‘Of course you’re not. You are going to the one in Sandytown, where as well as the clinic and its attendant nursing home, there’s an old house that’s been converted into a convalescent home. My old headmistress, Kitty Bagnold, you may recall, is seeing out her days in the nursing home. I visit her from time to time, so it will be very convenient for me to have both my broken eggs in one basket.’
That were the clincher, of course, her managing to make it sound like I’d be doing her a favour by coming here. I asked who’d be paying. She said my insurance would cover most of it and in any case hadn’t I always said that if you ended up with life left over at the end of your money, the state would take care of you, but if you ended up with money left over at the end of your life, you were an idiot!
There’s them bloody haunting words again!
Any road, I blustered a bit for the show of things but soon caved in. When I told Ellie Pascoe I thought she’d have been dead chuffed, but she seemed right disappointed I weren’t going to the Cedars. Even when I assured her I wouldn’t let Cap be out of pocket here, she still didn’t seem too pleased.
Women, eh? You can fuck ’em but you can’t fathom them.
But Cap were happy and that meant I felt pretty pleased with myself when a couple of weeks later she drove me here to Sandytown.
I soon stopped being pleased, but. Cap had hardly set off back to the car park to drive home afore it was being made clear to me that the Avalon weren’t like a 5-star hotel with the guests’ wishes being law.
‘Convalescence is a carefully monitored progression from illness to complete health,’ explained the matron. (Name of Sheldon – calls herself Chief Nurse, but with tits a randy vicar could rest a bible on while he preached the gospel according to St Dick, she were a shoo-in for the role of matron in one of them Carry On movies!)
‘Oh aye,’ I said, taking the piss. ‘And visiting hours from three to quarter past every third Sunday!’
‘Ha ha,’ she said. ‘In fact no visitors at all to start with until we’ve had time to observe you and assess your needs and draw up your personal programme – diet sheet, exercise schedule, medication plan, therapy timetable – that sort of thing.’
‘Bloody hell,’ I said. ‘Schedules, timetables – makes me feel like a railway train.’
She smiled – I’ve seen more convincing smiles in a massage parlour – and said, ‘Indeed. And our aim is to get you puffing out of the station as quickly as possible.’
I could see she liked her little joke. But I didn’t argue. I just wanted to sleep!
That were a couple of days ago. Spent most of the time since then sleeping ’cos every time I woke up there were some bugger ready to pinch and prod and poke things into me. Assessment they call it. More like harassment to me!
Third day, matron appeared all coy and girlish, straightened my sheets, plumped my pillows and said, ‘Big day, today, Mr Dalziel. Dr Feldenhammer himself is coming to see you.’
And that’s when I first set eyes on Lester Feldenhammer, head quack at the Avalon. I could tell he were a Yank soon as he opened his gob. Not the accent but the teeth! It were like looking down an old-fashioned bog, all vitreous china gleaming white. Bet he gargles with Harpic twice a day.
‘Mr Dalziel,’ he said. ‘Welcome to the Avalon, sir. Your fame has preceded you. I’m honoured to shake the hand of a man who got injured in the front line of the great fight against terrorism.’
I thought he were taking the piss, but when I looked at him I could see he were sincere. They’re the worst kind. Never trust a man who believes his own crap.
I thought, I’ll have to watch this one.
He shook my hand like he wanted to make sure it were properly attached and he said, ‘I’m Lester Feldenhammer, Director of the Avalon, also Head of Clinical Psychology. I think we’ve just about got your programme sorted, but the greatest aid to speedy recovery must come from within. I’ve taken the liberty of putting a little self-help book I’ve written in your bedside locker. It may help you to a fuller understanding of what’s happening to you here.’
‘Gideon Bible usually does the trick,’ I said.
‘We like to think of them as complementary,’ he said. ‘I’m really looking forward to monitoring your progress, Mr Dalziel. On matters physiological you will, of course, have access to our specialized medical staff. On all other matters, I’m your man. Anything you want to know, you have only to ask.’
‘Is that right?’ I said. ‘So what’s for dinner?’
He decided this were a joke and laughed like an accordion.
‘I can see we’re going to get on famously,’ he said. ‘Now, there’s something I’d like you to do for me.’
He pulled out this little shiny metal thing.
‘I’m not swallowing that,’ I said. ‘And if tha’s thinking of getting it into me by some other route, tha’d best think again.’
This time, mebbe because it were a joke, he didn’t laugh.
‘It’s a digital recorder,’ he said. ‘State of the art, practically works itself. What I’d like you to do, Mr Dalziel, is keep a sort of audio-diary. Make a record of your feelings, your experiences, anything that comes into your mind.’
‘You mean, you want me to start talking to myself?’ I said. ‘Like the nutters do?’
‘No, no,’ he said. ‘Not to yourself. Just talk as if you’re speaking to someone who knows absolutely nothing about you.’
‘Like you, for instance?’ I said.
He gave me a smile I could’ve played ‘Chopsticks’ on and said, ‘I do in fact know a little