Poppet Read Free Page A

in her understanding of reality. For example, her belief she has given birth to all the other patients – they are all monsters and have committed vile deeds because they sprung from her poisoned womb. ‘Monster Mother’ is the name she has given herself, and if you spend long enough talking to her you will hear a detailed account of the birth of every patient in the unit – how long and troublesome the labour was, and how she could see from the first moment that the baby was evil.
    The other kink in her reality is a belief that her skin is detachable. That if she removes it she is invisible.
    AJ knocks again. ‘Gabriella?’
    The protocol is always to use the patient’s real name, no matter what fantasy they’ve developed about their identity.
    ‘Gabriella?’
    Nothing.
    Quietly he opens the door and glances around the room. She is lying in her bed, the sheets up to her chin, her eyes like saucers, staring at him. AJ knows this means she is ‘hiding’ and that her ‘skin’ is elsewhere in the room – placed somewhere to draw attention away from herself. He doesn’t play into the delusion – though he’s permitted to express gentle doubt, he must avoid challenging it directly. (More protocol.)
    Without making eye contact he comes in and sits and waits. Silence. Not a murmur. But AJ knows Monster Mother, she can’t keep quiet for ever.
    Sure enough, eventually she sits up in bed and whispers, ‘AJ. I’m here.’
    He nods slowly. Still doesn’t look directly at her. ‘Are you OK?’
    ‘No, I’m not. Will you close the door?’
    He wouldn’t close the door behind him for most of the patients in this place, but he’s known Monster Mother for years and he’s a coordinator now, responsible, so he gets up and pushes the door shut. She shuffles herself up in the bed. She is fifty-seven but her skin is as unwrinkled and pale as an eggshell, her hair a red explosion. Her eyes are extraordinary – the brightest blue with dark lashes, as if she takes hours putting mascara on. She spends all her allowance on her clothes, which would look more at home on a six-year-old at a fairy party. Everything is floaty tulle in a rainbow of colours, tutu skirts and roses in her hair.
    Whichever colour she chooses to wear is a reflection of how she sees the world on that particular day. At good times it’s pastels: pinks, baby blues, primrose yellows, lilacs. At bad times it’s the darker primary colours: dense reds, dark blue or black. Today a red lace negligee is draped at the foot of the bed, and that gives AJ an idea of her mood. Red is for danger. It also tells him that her skin is hanging on the end of the bed too. He directs his attention halfway between the negligee and her face. Somewhere on the wall above the bed. Neutral.
    ‘What’s happening, Gabriella? What’s on your mind?’
    ‘I had to take it off. It’s not safe.’
    AJ resists the urge to roll his eyes. Monster Mother is sweet and she’s gentle and yes, crazy, but mostly kind of funny crazy, not aggressive crazy. He takes his time answering – again neither denying nor confirming her delusion. ‘Gabriella – have you had your meds tonight? You did take them, didn’t you? You know I’ll ask the dispensary if they saw you take them. And if they didn’t see you … well, I don’t need to search the room, do I?’
    ‘I took them, AJ. I did. I just can’t sleep.’
    ‘When’s your depot up again? I haven’t checked, but I think it’s got a long way to run.’
    ‘Ten days. I’m not mad, Mr AJ. I’m not.’
    ‘Of course you’re not.’
    ‘It’s back, though, AJ – it’s in the corridor. It’s been running around all night.’
    AJ closes his eyes and breathes slowly. What did he expect coming up here? Did he really think it was going to dispel his nightmare? Did he imagine laughter and gaiety and people telling jokes to take his mind off things?
    ‘Look, Gabriella. We’ve talked about this before. Remember all those chats we had in