Patient Blue

The big day has arrived, my admission to Sapphire House. The unit is located at the far end of a non - descript residential road hidden behind a large evergreen hedge and a pair of electrically operated gates. Currently left open I assume due to the random nature of the increasing number of power cuts and more I guess to let the loonies actually gain access rather than escape.

It sits at the end of a short paved driveway with a discreet sign over the entrance reading WSCC Mental Health Facility - Sapphire House Residential unit. It’s a modern two storey building with a small car park at the front. The grounds seem attractive and well tended with several mature trees, which like the flower beds are showing signs of exceptionally early bloom. There is a spray of pink on each of the Flowering Cherry trees, encouraged no doubt by the freakishly hot weather that still shows no sign of breaking.

Today feels the hottest yet, with the thermometer in my car showing thirty eight degrees centigrade, a new record for the time of year and half a degree hotter than yesterday’s previous new record. In other parts of the world, where it’s normally hotter than here anyway, conditions and temperatures must be beyond human endurance and the mass exodus of populations from southern hemisphere countries heading north to cooler climes must have begun. Surely they won’t let them all in, not even in England, where they normally offer sanctuary to anyone no matter how homicidal, diseased or barking they may be. I’ve heard rumours that some border guards have taken to shooting at and sinking boats full of refugees from Africa trying to make it across the Med into Europe, but with hardly any media coverage these days who knows if it’s true, though it probably is.

Once Inside I register at reception and get taken to my room by an Asian man in light blue scrubs with Sapphire House embroidered above the pocket. He hands me a hotel style swipe card and tells me to make myself comfortable and Doctor Brain or her assistant Carol collier will visit me in about an hour. The room is basic but comfortable, with a single bed a lamp on each of two small cabinets either side, a small dining table with two chairs, and a walk in cupboard stroke wardrobe. There is a clean and bright en-suite bathroom with a shower, basin and toilet. My window gives me a pleasant view over the garden. There is a small flat screen TV.

Hanif, the orderly says in heavily accented English, ‘No satellite TV, no Sky, just not working anymore BBC only and not all the time. Lunch today is chicken and I will bring it to you here, then after meeting Doctor Julia, or Carol you may get to meet the other guests. You require anything then press this button, Hanif indicates a button just above the bed and someone will come quickly, or you can use the phone when it works. Dial zero for reception, it can’t make outside calls that is not encouraged. If you have a mobile phone that is also not encouraged, not that they work anymore anyway, but I will have to take that too I’m afraid and I must also search your bags, no alcohol, drugs or chocolate allowed.’

I hand over my phone it was pretty useless anyway as I haven’t been able to get a network signal for days and anyway there is no one I particularly want to call. But this request for me to give up my phone and even chocolate for fuck’s sake, suddenly makes this place feel like an institution rather than the provincial Travelodge it resembles. I feel a pang of anxiety. Yes I can still communicate with the outside world using the landline when it works, though that might be monitored, or by writing, but they may read my letters. Disconcertingly Hanif, starts to look more like a warder rather than a benign nursing orderly. Get a grip Michael, stop being paranoid.

Actually letter writing is making a comeback, though the illiterate, which is most of the population under the age of twenty who have only ever communicated by text, Facebook, or Twitter. Or whose life had been defined by Youtube, were starting to feel cut off and isolated. Bibliophobes, trapped in a renaissance era of the written word. In fact a new phenomenon was starting to surface, I’d noticed it myself. Confused and disorientated young people were often to be found staring slack jawed at blank screens and monitors, trying to connect to the Internet, not giving up hope, attempting to log on often for hours at a time. But the Internet was gone and maybe gone, in its present form anyway, forever. They sat fiddling with mobile phones and Blackberries that no longer worked, playing their ring tones over and over, trying to send texts that would never be received.

They become depressed and withdrawn, friendless, unsure of how to meet real people and communicate with them verbally. This condition has been given a name incidentally, abbreviated as TLPS, Technology Loss Psychosis Syndrome. People, in nearly all cases the young, affected by this are now known as TULIPS. They all seem to share similar symptoms of depression, loss of motivation and a blank hollow eyed stare. Many people, technophobes in particular, smirk and nudge each other as a sad looking hooded adolescent walks by, they whisper ‘Tulip.’ Or if they want to be more subtle whistle the ancient and seriously annoying Max Bygraves song, Tulips from Amsterdam, a song that no one under about the age of fifty would recognize. Up north I’ve heard it’s quite common for a young depressed looking person to be heartily greeted with, ‘cheer up flower it may never happen.’ Suicides are apparently on the increase.

Older people on the other hand, apart from the odd silver surfer, seem far more able to cope without computers, the Internet and mobile phones. In fact many see this as a positive development rather than a step backwards, maybe the start of a return to sanity and the old order. Too be honest I’m pretty unmoved myself by all this. Although I always think I have a young outlook, understand trends and stay current, though I’d never wear those ridiculous clown trousers with the arse that kind of hangs down to the knees, surely some bloke who works in fashion taking the piss and getting away with it. No, it’s not an age gap, a traditional generation thing that I feel between me and the young, but a technology gap, that is their exclusive world and not mine. That world, their world is gone. Now all their left with is Acne and those fucking ludicrous trousers, c’est la vie. I tell Hanif that I have no alcohol or chocolate just the Narcostym that was prescribed by Doctor D’eath and some Tictacs.′ ‘Sorry, no artificial substances I will have to take the drugs but you can keep the Tictacs’.

‘Whoopee!’

‘If you require medication during your stay Doctor Julia will prescribe that for you.’ says Hanif. I reluctantly hand over the box containing my Narcostym, feeling more than ever like a prisoner than a guest and wonder how I will cope without them. Already the effects of the one I took first thing this morning is wearing off.

About an hour later there is a knock on the door which is immediately opened and a woman sweeps into the room. Carol Collier, Julia Brains assistant is unusual, a mix of intelligence, certainty and fervor. She studies me with her dark piercing eyes in a rather unsettling way. ’Michael, Glad you were able to attend, Doctor Brain sends her apologies she was unable to be here herself to meet you but she will see you at group therapy tomorrow. I think you’d be surprised at the number of patients who don’t actually turn up. And as they are all, or mostly voluntary there isn’t much we can do about it other than send a stiff letter pointing out the cost and inconvenience and the fact that someone who could have benefited had to be turned away.

‘Oh I see.’

‘Dreadful about the Himalayas by the way, millions, perhaps hundreds of millions killed or missing including Doctor Shah and his family he is, was a therapist here brilliant actually, we’re all terribly worried.’

‘Himalayas, sorry I must have missed that not been able to get much news with most of the broadcast networks down, what happened?’

Terrible earthquake and tsunamis, nature appears to have gone mad, er, I mean become very erratic what with the heat, the auroras and droughts and the way all worldwide communications have been affected wiped out almost, not to mention microwave ovens, very inconvenient. I mean no Internet or mobile phones my daughter is crawling up the wall.′

‘Wang pulse.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘A Wang pulse, that’s what it’s called, the thing that’s crippled the internet and mobile phones and microwaves, it’s a phenomenon linked to all this strange activity on the sun.’

‘Oh I see; I thought for a moment you might be suffering from Tourette’s or something.’

‘A Tulip.’

‘Pardon!’

‘It’s an expression.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, for a young person, mainly, who can’t access the Internet and Facebook, mobile phones and whatever other little gizmos that the young seem to find vital to their continued well being and existence.’

‘I see, how quaint my daughter the Tulip. If I was a person not secure in my faith and the knowledge of what it all means and the wonderful things to come I might think it was a disaster, human extinction without purpose, the end of the world as we know it. Oh I think that might be the title of a song by REM, a line from one anyway, do you like them? and how are you feeling today? Not too worried by all this freakish climate disaster stuff, most of the other guests here are, or they seem to be once I’ve spoken to them.’

‘I wasn’t really, but now you’ve put it in those terms, it is rather frightening, what do you think might happen next?’

‘Undoubtedly some sort of cataclysmic global catastrophe, famine drought on a world wide scale maybe some big earthquakes and tsunamis and the end of humanity.’

‘Oh nothing too serious then.’

‘I believe the Rapture has begun I have no fear at all and if you were to truly believe neither would you. But anyway let’s not discuss all this now we’re here to make you better less anxious, able to cope with what life throws at you.’ ′

Like an earthquake or tsunami?′

‘No, able to cope with a touch of depression, give you a bit more confidence, confront your demons and give them a good kicking, allow you to fully explore your latent spirituality and understand the way to salvation. Wean you off the drugs and alcohol, allow you to make your peace with yourself find God and love everlasting.’

‘A fairly ambitious treatment program then.’

‘Very.’

I am now having very serious doubts about Sapphire House and the slightly scary Carol Collier. I notice she is wearing an unusual heart shaped badge on her blouse just above her left breast. It has an emblem of two doves in flight angled upwards at forty five degrees and with their beaks almost touching, I try to see what is written on the badge but become aware that I am staring at her breasts and stammer,′ the badge, it’s unusual I was just trying to read what it says.′

’It’s the badge of my faith, The Church of the End of Days, have you heard of us?

‘Owen Van Bowen.’

‘Yes, the Reverend Van Bowen, a truly great man who speaks with the voice of God. If you were a believer you would require no artificial medicines or drugs, because soon all your pain anxiety and confusion would be taken away and you would understand and welcome all of the signs now being manifested.’

‘I think at this stage I’ll stick with the drugs.’

Carol Collier brings the meeting to a halt. ‘Dinner tonight is at seven served in your room and your first group session facilitated by Julia will be tomorrow morning at nine thirty where you will get to meet all the other guests, they’re an interesting group all five of them and of course you, making it a round half dozen. I’m going to give you some sedatives, Calmodine, milder than the Narcostym that Hanif took away earlier, but far more effective in the longer term. You may take three a day, the first one now, make sure you take no more than three and do not mix them with alcohol, if you’ve managed to smuggle any in as that would be extremely dangerous.’

Following a good night’s sleep, courtesy of the Calmodine and a hearty breakfast, full English, brought to my room by a chirpy little assistant named Chelsie. I make my way along the corridor and stand with some trepidation in front of therapy suite one. It’s nine twenty five and from within the room with the light blue painted door I can hear muffled voices and someone coughing. I feel nervous at the prospect of meeting the other residents, or guests as they seem to prefer being called and to undertaking my first therapy session with Julia Brain. I do also feel a certain sense of excitement that a new chapter in my life is about to unfold and besides, at least it beats working.

After knocking on the door I enter, the hushed conversation ceases. The room has been arranged with six chairs formed into a semi circle each with a small desk in front, five of the chairs are occupied. The seats are facing towards a larger chair without a desk that is occupied by Julia Brain who stands as I enter and moves towards me with her hand outstretched. ‘Welcome Michael, great to see you, did you sleep well?’

‘Yes fine thank you.’

‘Please take a seat,’ she indicates the empty chair and desk at the end of the row. ‘Once you’re comfortable we’ll go through the introductions.’

As I make my way to the empty seat I nod and mumble a few hellos. None of the other guests respond verbally but I am very aware that every eye in the room is on me and all no doubt wondering how the group dynamic will change with my arrival. ‘Now then everybody first things first I would like each one of you to introduce yourself to Michael and then Michael, perhaps you can tell the group a little bit about yourself. So who wants to go first?’ No one volunteered so Julia points to the woman at the opposite end of the semicircle from me, ‘So it’s to be creeping death then, Anne, why not start us off.’ Anne is a rather plain middle aged woman who appears perfectly normal, perfectly boring, in fact non- descript and unmemorable in every way. She seems like the world’s most average woman, but will no doubt eventually manifest the reason she is here.

Anne now speaks.′ Hello Michael I’m Anne I live a quiet life and work in an office where I do admin work. I’m not married have three cats, now being looked after by my sister. My interests are knitting, romantic historical novels and crossword puzzles. I have been here three weeks and am looking forward to going home.′

’Thanks Anne, now Andrew, tell Michael a bit about you please. Andrew is a meek looking man aged I would guess about fifty with thinning grey hair and thin gold framed glasses. He seems over dressed for the occasion wearing a suit and red and blue striped polyester tie with which he keeps fiddling. ‘I am here following the incident and the lost weekend. When I leave here I will have nowhere to go and no one to go to. I have been here two weeks and want to stay forever as I feel safe.’

‘Thank you Andrew, you’re already so much better and you won’t be going anywhere until you are fully ready.’ Dilys, do you want to talk to Michael, or to communicate in your normal way?′ Dilys , a rather attractive dark haired woman who is probably in her forties does not speak but begins writing on a note pad in front of her on the desk. She seemed to be writing a lot. After she finishes she holds up the pad for me to read. I am Dilys Day. I am an agony aunt for a local newspaper and write a weekly column called, ask Dilys. I don’t fully know why I am here though I sense some form of remedial treatment may be the best way forward at this stage in my life. I would therefore urge myself to listen to my inner voice in order to get through this period of trauma and emerge a better, mentally healthier and more fulfilled person.

‘Thank you Dilys as concise and salient as ever.’ George.′

‘That’s Guru George and I really don’t want to say anything at the moment I’m formulating a new theory and do not want to be disturbed by mere formality and psycho babble.’

I look at the tall thin, white haired man who has spoken. He has piercing blue eyes but deliberately averts them to avoid making eye contact with me. There is something about the man’s presence and bearing that is forbidding, not a man to be messed with and I think I’ll try to avoid upsetting him.

‘Thank you Guru George, of course we all respect your right to not participate and I would be very interested to read or hear your latest idea once you have developed it fully, perhaps we can talk later just you and I?’

‘Perhaps.’ ′

‘Lynne, tell Michael something about yourself.’

Lynne is a slim attractive woman who maybe in her mid or early thirties. Her short blond hair is expensively cut and she wears tinted designer glasses. She is immaculately and expensively dressed. There’s something very familiar about her, perhaps a minor celebrity or TV personality. ‘Hello Michael, how are you, long time no see.’

‘Sorry but I don’t think we’ve ever met, have we?’

‘I’m sure it will come to you. I hardly recognized you, carrying that extra weight, but it’s certainly you. It’s a small world after all,’ she hums the annoying Disney tune. You being here, will either really set me back or may actually improve my tortured existence, only time and therapy will tell.′

‘Sorry, but I still don’t recognize you.’ But then with a jolt I realize that I do, ‘Rosslynne!’ My God is it really is you?′

‘I assume that you know each other?’ Says Julia.

‘Yes we do, did many years ago I didn’t recognize her Rosslyne—’

‘I prefer Lynne now less fussy, more me as I am now.’

‘Jesus, I can’t believe this, it must be about fifteen years now here you are, you’ve changed, but you look great I mean beautiful I mean hello, how are you? What have you been doing? I missed you I mean of all the loony bins in all of the world I had to walk into yours.’

‘We’re not keen on that expression here.’ Said Julia

‘Er sorry I didn’t mean it like that it’s just such a surprise. I never dreamed that we would meet again, not after so long and in a place like this, nice as it is.’

Lynne as she now is, seems rather taken aback by my obvious happiness at seeing her. she says, ‘nice to see you again Michael, larger, grayer but still you. Perhaps we can catch up later, over di- group dinner, you can tell me what you’ve been up to.’

Julia is looking quizzically at us. ‘This is indeed a new dynamic for the group and one that is rather unique. I need to analyze the effect this may have on you both and of course everyone else. It will either be cathartic or uncomfortable, maybe something of each. Anyway we can discuss this on a one to one basis and see how it works out.’

The door opens and Hanif enters the room, he walks over to Julia and hands her a sheaf of notes. Suddenly there is a violent almost deafening sneeze, quickly followed by a second. I flinch involuntarily and look around startled, I can see several of the others smiling including Hanif. The explosive high decibel sneezes have come from Anne. She looks rather sheepish and says, ‘sorry.’

‘Bless you’ says Guru George.

‘Nonsense Anne, only two, that’s far better than usual I think we may be making some progress. Thanks Hanif for bringing these in you can go now and as always you’ve made your presence felt. But only two sneezes this time, you must be losing some of your allure.’

I look at Lynne, who says quietly ‘I’ll explain later.’

The group therapy sessions are split into three two hour tranches and consist of a mixture of honest dialogue and confession which I assume must be rather like an AA meeting; ‘Hello my name is Michael and I’m a nutter, it’s been three days since my last schizoid episode.’ There are also role plays, mainly designed to address anger issues and social interaction. Apt, as this is a group that can easily be described as a bunch of angry loners. Julia seems determined to keep me and Rosslynne apart for the various scenarios and I’m mainly paired with Andrew, or “Mister lost weekend” as I now think of him.

By the end of the first day, I’m feeling tired and drained, still rather in shock at seeing Rosslynne again and looking forward to going back to my room for a few hours before group dinner in the dining area at seven. As I’m leaving the therapy room I catch Rosslynne’s attention and say, ‘see you at dinner. You know I still can’t believe you’re here.’

‘Yet here I am a lot of water under the bridge since we last met. I mean the last time I saw you your hair was really long and you were wasted on magic mushrooms.’

‘So were you, same mushrooms, in honey and you also had really long hair. I used to love that hair, the way it framed your face, not that I don’t like your new look, it suits you, just different that’s all.’

‘Hey I’m thirty five now, can’t be a wild child all my life.’

‘Me neither, though sobriety hasn’t quite taken over yet I mean my thirty fifth birthday wasn’t exactly a red letter day, talk about an early mid-life crisis.’

‘Anyway, I’m tired need to get these clothes off have a shower, so I’ll see you at dinner.’

I overcome the urge to say can I come in and scrub your back, but every fibre of my body tingles at the thought of her taking a shower no more than a few doors away from me. This is the only woman I have ever really loved, who I honestly thought would never see again. A woman who looks better than I could ever have imagined, not the blowsy booze addled horror that I sometimes, on a bad day, thought she had the potential to become.

Unlike me she has definitely not gone to seed and now she has been rediscovered like some priceless treasure. Close enough to touch though still, for me at least, untouchable a precious thing that might disappear, take flight and finally leave forever. I grow scared I had loved her far more than she had loved me, in fact I doubt she had ever loved me at all. We only went out a few times and she dumped me for someone else, some lucky bastard. She might be married or have a partner surely she must have looking like that. I can’t face the thought of finding her and then losing her again, forever. In the state I’m in now It will probably kill me.

Dinner is NHS average and I settle for cottage pie peas and mashed potatoes followed by apple pie and custard, a winter evening meal even though the outside air temperature is a stifling ninety five degrees.

I sit at a separate table to Lynne and don’t manage to make eye contact with her other than when I first entered the dining area and she raised a fairly limp hand in greeting. I share a table with Andrew and Dilys and neither of them speaks throughout the meal. Carol Collier hovers and moves between the tables and asks if everyone and everything is OK. I notice that she is still wearing the pin with the emblem of the Church of the End of Days on her lapel.

Before the meal has started she suggests we say grace, though no one seems that interested, but she goes ahead and says it anyway. ’Oh Lord we thank you for this meal and the sustenance you have provided for the long journey we believers have ahead of us. May we enter your kingdom soon, transported on the conveyor belt of your love to our place of peace and tranquility Hail oh Lord Hail.′

I am rather taken aback by the oddness of the grace, but nobody else seems to notice or care. After the meal is over I attract Lynne’s attention and we meet by the dining room door, ‘fancy a walk outside?’

‘OK the garden is quite attractive and it’s so hot in here, there’s a bench under the Oak tree we can sit there.’

We do a circuit of the well kept gardens, both remarking on the extraordinary heat even after nine at night. The grounds are lit by several spotlights placed subtly giving the garden a rather Mediterranean feel.

As we walk we make small talk about that English obsession and figurative icebreaker the weather, which for once is really something to talk about. Though when compared to the rest of the world is still mainly benign, not yet attaining the truly cataclysmic. But given time that of course may change. We sit on a rustic bench under a large Oak tree that despite still being midwinter is in full early leaf. I’m nervous and excited sitting this close to Lynne but I can sense that she seems tense. She has removed her glasses and looks more beautiful than ever. Oh God help me I am still smitten.

‘Why Lynne now and not Rosslynne?’

‘Well when I got married, it was to Danny Russlin and Rosslynne Russlin just didn’t work I mean people just took the piss so I shortened it to Lynne and now I’ve got used to it and actually prefer it less complex, more me as I am now, but if you want to call me Rosslynne that’s OK too. I feel a sick lurch in my stomach,’ you’re married?′

‘Was married, he died seven years ago, killed himself actually I am now the Widow Russlin.’

‘Oh I’m sorry’ I lie, actually feeling elation but trying not to show it. ‘That must have been awful I mean, why did he do it?’

‘Guilt I think, yes guilt. He was weak and selfish. There was no real love left. Though once, in the early days, it was overwhelming a true passion almost an obsession I couldn’t get enough of him he was very handsome, athletic charming and romantic a dream come true. But things changed, deteriorated, died.’

I feel a visceral overwhelming pang of jealousy hatred and even envy for the dead Danny Russlin. Lynne had felt a passion and obsession for this other man and whatever demon had chased him to his grave he would have taken that knowledge with him. I know that Rosslynne had never felt those things for me, she had let me go without a backward glance. To me the relationship, sex, everything had seemed something profound and beautiful. But it seems that for her it had just been a bit of fun and to be honest I didn’t noticed her laughing a lot in the time we were together. I was just another boyfriend and not an especially great one, while the true love of her life had been this Danny. Dead and gone handsome athletic Danny, Danny, who would never get fat, old or boring, who she had obsessed over and perhaps still secretly did. Dead Danny, who will always be there in her thoughts making his presence felt from beyond the grave. Bastard.

Now here am I Michael Johnson, fat fucked up and delusional. A man no one has ever obsessed over and who knows with an absolute certainty that no one ever will. This is somehow far worse than not meeting Rosslynne again. I think back to that time all those years ago at the Reading festival we were both twenty. It was during some set with Reggae music, can’t remember the band, defunct now. I was as always stoned, leaping about like an embarrassing twat and dancing next to me was Rosslynne, she seemed as totally out of it as I was, she had lost her friends. Her dancing, unlike mine, was sensual and beautiful. I offered her a toke on my joint and she said ‘yeah.’

I had gone to the festival with a whole pharmacy of drugs that had been supplied by Alvin Salter, a dangerous drug dealing little bastard. The Trebarton brothers were also there, big mean but hilarious both with hearts of gold. I had my own tent a small kiddy play tent, a birthday present from my parents when I was aged nine that I sometimes camped in as a child with a friend or my brother Davey overnight in the back garden. The other three were sharing some crap canvas Scout tent that Ewan Trebarton had nicked from somewhere. It pissed down with rain, mud everywhere but having sex with Rosslynne in that small squalid tent was the greatest and happiest time of my life.

We had gone out for a while after that, she lived in Reigate, some sort of manor house apparently, not that I had ever been invited there, which in hindsight was a rather ominous sign. I thought I loved her, and still do love her. I had done all the running. She soon cooled and after no more than about three months blew me out. This was at a time when I was still acutely feeling the loss of Davey. I was distraught I had taken these mushrooms and was hallucinating. I made a fool of myself begged her to come back. Although she was kind she was adamant it was over and she had already moved on to another man.

That was the last time I had physically seen her, though soon after she began to visit me nightly in fevered dreams, dreams that persist even now.

‘What have you been up to all these years, married or anything, kids?’

‘No I had a partner Alice, she left, a long story too boring to tell, but needless to say obsession didn’t come into it, luckily no kids.’

‘Where do you live now?’

‘Bognor Regis.’

‘The last resort eh.’

‘Yep, crap beach, Butlins, Birdman and six thousand itinerant Poles. How about you, do you still live in Reigate?’

‘Yes still in my parents old place, they left it to me. Do you know that area?’

‘Yes, nice, Stockbroker belt and Pony club territory, have you got any children?’

‘No I’m unable, now. I had a very late term miscarriage, a boy. There was an accident, well more than that, a malicious accident, Danny. He was, well he became a very paranoid and obsessive man. He did a lot of drugs, we both did, but I slowed down, cut back when I found I was pregnant. He kept going doing a lot of speed and coke and always mixed with booze. At this time I just smoked the very occasional joint and drank the odd white wine and soda, thinking about the health of the baby I was carrying. He became increasingly paranoid and aggressive always demanding sex, but due to all the drugs he was impotent, blamed me for not turning him on. Then he started to accuse me of having affairs, he said the baby wasn’t his and demanded I get an abortion. He lost his job and began stealing money to buy drugs. Then one day after he had been up for three days and nights without sleep he attacked me I was at the top of the stairs and I fell broke an arm and three ribs, lost the baby damaged my insides and any hope of ever having another child.’

‘God!’

′ I told the Doctor the hospital and the Police who also became involved, that it was an accident. Danny went mad with grief and guilt, begged for forgiveness. I told him I could never forgive him that the marriage was finished, we were finished. Two days later he killed himself, jumped under a train, he was full of drugs. When I heard I didn’t cry, in fact I felt nothing I still feel nothing. I believe the term is emotionally retarded. I feel nothing much of anything anymore no joy or sadness, maybe it’s the drugs Calmodine, but without them I know I would just die.′

‘Oh Rosslynne, I’m so very sorry.’ I really meant it I truly wish that things had gone well for her, that Danny had been a good man and she had a whole family of children and that she was happy and not here in a place like this, even if that would mean I hadn’t met her again. ‘I wish I could help you feel better, somehow make all those bad things go away. I love you.’

I straight away regret saying that, feeling my timing is crap and hoping it won’t scare Lynne away. ‘I mean I love that we have met again after all this time.’ She smiles weakly at my clumsy revelation but makes no other comment, choosing instead to talk about the other guests.

‘Anne is rather unusual, you know the big sneezer.’

‘Yes that was odd, what’s that all about? I mean she seems like the world’s most boring woman and then all of a sudden she lets fly, Christ knows what the decibel level was there?’

‘Did you notice she only started sneezing when Hanif came into the room? She fancies him and whenever she gets sexually aroused she starts this amazing bout of sneezing. She has made some progress there were only two sneezes normally there used to be a lot more. That’s why Julia said she was making progress and Hanif was losing some of his allure.’

I have to say at this stage I feel disappointed that Anne had not sneezed when she first saw me, not even a slight sniffle.

‘So is that why she’s in here then, sneezing?’

′ Yes, she is a forty eight year old virgin but not for the want of trying. Every time she gets intimate with a man and they end up on the verge so to speak, beyond the heavy petting stage, or during it, she starts sneezing, violently and very loud. This understandably puts the man off his stroke and they then tend to run for the door. Now she has met a new man, Indian I think and wants to try to break the cycle. I gather from the sessions that this all started, the sneezing, when she was a child. Apparently when her parents wanted to have sex they had a certain code in order to disappear upstairs for a bit of afternoon delight without the kids realizing what was going on. It turns out that this code was a fake sneeze. One of them would go atishoo and if the other parent was up for it they would respond with bless you and off they would go. Inevitably as Anne got a bit older about nine or ten, she became more curious about this behaviour which by now was second nature to the parents who were obviously quite sexual. So one day following the old atishoo and bless you scenario, Anne followed them upstairs and caught them at it doggy style. Big trauma and psychological damage, the upshot is that now she associates sex with sneezing and this association has remained with her for her whole life.

‘Let’s hope she never suffers from Hay fever.’

‘Behave.’

‘So, what about Andrew the lost weekend man?’

‘Quite a sad story with yet again elements of farce as well as pathos.’

‘Really do tell, you seem to have an ear for all the gossip.’

‘I think I must be one of those people that others want to confide in. Must be my air of neutrality, but really I’m as nosy as the next person and the more juicy and salacious the story the happier I am. Sex rears its pointy little head again I’m afraid. One day he came home from work early, actually his job is quite bizarre, he works freelance writing jokes that get put in Christmas crackers.’

‘My God, I always wondered what sort of people did that, are any of them any good?’

‘Judge for yourself, at one group session Julia encouraged him to tell us a few of the mottos and jokes he had made up and if I say he never seemed to get much work that might give you a hint.’

‘Go on tell me some, if you remember.’

‘Alright; who do fish pray to?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘Cod.’

I groan, though I actually quite like it.

’Try this one, name the 19th century canine chronicler of the southern USA?

‘God knows,’

‘Bark Twain.’

‘Oh Jesus.’

‘Or this, what do you call an Eskimo’s haunted house?’

‘I couldn’t guess, a chiller maybe?’

‘An Ig-Boo.’

‘That’s the worst.’

‘It’s probably not but they’re the only ones I can remember. So Andrew came home from his very stimulating and rewarding job and found his wife shagging the next door neighbour. So far so traditional, but the problem was it wasn’t actually the neighbour it was their twelve year old son Nathan. Anyway poor old Andrew lost the plot, he assaulted his wife she was, is I suppose, a Social worker. He screamed at Nathan called him a fucking little bastard who would get no more free complimentary Christmas crackers from him anymore and chased him from the room brandishing a golf club. After that things get hazy. He remembers boarding a train to London this was on the Saturday morning and then being picked up by the police at Victoria station on Monday morning in nothing but a Stetson hat and his underpants. He also had a new large tattoo on his chest of a leopard with the name Big Juan in large capital letters underneath, quite artistic really he showed me. He can’t remember how he got there or the tattoo, who the hell Big Juan is or little else about that lost weekend. Whilst here he has not only undergone the standard group and one to one cognitive therapy sessions, but also Hypnotherapy and regression in order to discover what really happened, who else was involved and was any one hurt. To date he has made very little progress but does remember something about a man in a turban and a male Dwarf in drag.’

‘Lynne, Michael, five to ten, time to come in and be back in your own rooms please.’ It was Carol who had called from the entrance and she beckons us over.

‘Perhaps we can finish this tomorrow I want to find out more about Dilys and Guru George and maybe we can catch up with other things a bit more.’

‘We’ll see’ said Rosslynne. ‘Anyway good night Michael, see you tomorrow with the rest of the loons.’

She stands up stretches which shows her ample breasts and hardened nipples to wonderful effect as they strain against her slightly damp and clinging pink silk blouse. She makes her way back inside Sapphire House, leaving me excited and still sitting on the bench waiting for my hard on to become less obvious before following her inside. I can still smell her perfume, Channel number 5 at a guess. I think longingly of those nipples, reasoning that as it certainly isn’t cold they had to have been standing hard and proud for a reason and just maybe there was still a spark between us after all. I may have to stay sitting on this bench for quite a while yet, curfew or no curfew.