(1998) Denial (59 page)

Maybe one day, Nietzsche’s dictum, ‘That which does not kill me makes me stronger’, would come true for him.

For them both.

In the meantime they slept every night with the light on. Amanda wanted it on and, silently, he was grateful. He wanted it on too, but to tell her would mean admitting his own fear to her, and in trying to make her strong again, he needed to pretend to be strong himself.

Churning it all over again and again inside his head. That last consultation with Gloria Lamark. Wondering, always wondering, whether five people, an editor called Tina Mackay, a junior newspaper reporter called Justin Flowering, two police constables called Nick Goodwin and Simon Roebuck, and the actress, Cora Burstridge, might still be alive today if he had handled that consultation differently.

Gently, trying not to disturb Amanda, he prised himself free of her arms and eased himself up in bed, as he did on so
many nights, and picked up his worn copy of the writings of the grand old father of medicine, Hippocrates. The book fell open at the passage he had read and reread so often in these past sixteen months.

Life is short, and the Art long; the occasion fleeting; experience fallacious, and judgement difficult. The physician must not only be prepared to do what is right himself, but also to make the patient, the attendants, and externals co-operate.

He moved on to the next passage, which also fell open to the touch.

Medicine is of all the arts the most noble; but, owing to the ignorance of those who practise it, and of those who, inconsiderately, form a judgement of them, it is at present far behind all the other arts. Their mistake appears to me to arise principally from this, that there is no punishment connected with the practice of medicine (and with it alone) except disgrace, and that does not hurt those who are familiar with it. Such persons are the figures which are introduced in tragedies, for as they have the shape, and dress, and personal appearance of an actor, but are not actors, so also physicians are many in title but very few in reality.

He put the book down on the bedside table. He liked the wisdom of the ancients. Sometimes, it showed how little humans had progressed between millennia in the areas that really mattered. We were better at easing pain than the ancients; we were better at dealing with diseases and with injuries. But we weren’t a whole lot wiser.

He had given Gloria Lamark the advice that in his heart he had felt was the right advice. Events had proved otherwise. He felt deep sorrow for the victims, but no disgrace. He had done what he thought was best for his patient. And he knew that, for his own sanity, he had to go on believing that.

This was how he lived now, in a state of denial.

One day, perhaps, that might change. Maybe today. Or tomorrow. Or in a year, or ten years, or when he was old and infirm and thinking back over his life, thinking about regrets, thinking about what might have been. And maybe there was, in a parallel universe somewhere out there in another dimension, a psychiatrist called Dr Michael Tennent who had an ageing movie star called Gloria Lamark as a patient, and this Dr Tennent never told her to face the fact that she had lost her looks and had blown her career, and never told her to stop living in the past and go out and get a life. And this Gloria Lamark was still alive, and in this parallel universe, so were Tina Mackay and Justin Flowering and Cora Burstridge and the young policemen.

And in this parallel universe, Dr Michael Tennent was a lousy psychiatrist who hadn’t the guts to tell his patients the truth about themselves.

Big day today.

A massive crowd of press and media were gathered early outside the Central Criminal Court at the Old Bailey. Many of the morning papers carried the story on their front pages.

Months back, Thomas Lamark’s lawyer had failed in his efforts to have his client declared unfit to stand trial. The case had lasted for seven weeks and the jury had unanimously found Lamark guilty on five counts of murder, on one count of attempted murder of a police officer, and on four counts of kidnap.

The judge had delayed pronouncing sentence for two months, pending further psychiatric reports requested by Lamark’s counsel.

Today he would announce whether Lamark went to prison or to a secure psychiatric hospital, and for how long.

Michael and Amanda climbed out of their taxi into the bright October sunshine, and ran the gauntlet of the barrage of flashlights and microphones, up the steps and in through the doors.

Through the mêlée of people in the foyer, one man made
his way across to them, smiling broadly, hand outstretched in greeting. He was a tall, bald, black man in a sharp brown suit, white shirt and sober tie.

‘Good to see you two guys!’ he said.

Michael pumped his hand warmly, and Amanda gave him a kiss on both cheeks.

‘So!’ Glenn said. ‘Congratulations are in order! I got your wedding invitation.’

‘You’re coming?’ Michael asked.

‘Try and keep me away!’ His smile was tinged with sadness. There would always be a shadow in his life. The responsibility he carried in his soul for the death of Nick Goodwin.

Michael grinned and Amanda laughed. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lulu pushing her way over to them. Amanda was leaving 20–20 Vision to go freelance, so she could spend more time with Michael. Lulu was being promoted to her job.

The two women hugged. Then Amanda said, ‘Lulu, let me introduce you to the man who . . .’ She faltered. ‘Who saved our lives. Detective Constable Glenn Branson.’

Glenn raised a finger, a feigned hurt expression on his face. ‘You didn’t hear?’ Then with a proud beam, he said, ‘I’m not a detective constable any more. I’m now a detective
sergeant
!’

Michael congratulated him warmly, so did Amanda. Then all four stood in awkward silence, as if suddenly they had become aware that their good news was tainted with the collective guilt they all carried. Guilt, because in some way all of them had gained from their encounter with the monster to whose house the press had given the soubriquet, ‘Holland Park Chamber of Horror’.

As they shuffled forward towards the courtroom door, unsure quite why they had come today, Michael put one arm round Amanda the other round Lulu. He squeezed their shoulders. They hadn’t come here to see a man sentenced. The sentence did not matter. That was a formality. A symbol. A marker. An end.

They had come because it was also a new beginning.

wednesday, 9 july 2000

I haven’t decided whether I am going to tell Dr Michael Tennent. I have a lot on my mind right now
.

There are some very weird people in here and, frankly, they irritate me
.

It seems I am destined for ever to go on despising Dr Michael Tennent. He no longer appears to have the high public profile he used to; in fact, he seems to have gone into hiding. He doesn’t write his newspaper column any more, and I don’t hear him on the radio these days, although it is difficult tuning into that station on the one communal radio we have: all the idiots here can never decide what they want to hear, so usually we end up hearing nothing
.

Instead, Dr Michael Tennent has taken to publishing serious papers in medical magazines. He seems quite obsessed with the responsibilities of psychiatrists and psychologists in our society. In the latest
British Medical Journal
he was even having a go at the so-called media and celebrity shrinks – which he himself was, for God’s sake! Sound-bite psychiatry, he calls it
.

I see my own name appears in two papers. He never asked my permission, and there is perhaps the question of royalties I should raise. However, I’m not about to seek revenge, I’ve learned to my cost that revenge is indeed its own executioner
.

They don’t even allow me a computer in my little padded cell. What do they think I’m going to do? Beat my brains out on the keyboard?

They really are idiots here. Last week, my mother’s film
, Wings of the Wild
was showing, but I didn’t watch it. Too many memories. And you know something? Not one single colleague of mine in here said they had even heard of my mother.
I will have to make an example of someone and punish them for this, but there is no hurry: looks like I’m going to be here for a while
.

I really ought to write a book to set the record straight, but the thought of having to do it in longhand, with pen and paper, is really too degrading. And, besides, do I want Dr Michael Tennent to know the truth?

This is a question I have asked myself repeatedly over the last year and a half that I have been here. That old proverb, and the truth shall set you free
.

Do I want to set you free, Dr Michael Tennent? Do I have any reason to? Do I owe you anything?

All I ever wanted was to be free. It’s strange, how I didn’t remember, because my memory is so much better these days – I think it must be the medication they’re giving me. But honestly, I had no recollection then at all. I seemed to forget so much
.

I forgot that afternoon, that Monday afternoon in July 1997, when my mother came home in such a bad mood after she had been to see you. She went up to bed and asked me to make her a large whisky. I didn’t tell her about the message on the answering-machine you had left, because this was my own chance to be free
.

I popped the blister packs and dissolved the Nembutal in her whisky. I poured in the liquid Valium also; and just to speed the process along, and to make sure, after she had drunk the drink and was fast asleep, I injected curare through her heel
.

Funny how it has all come back to me now. And to think I blamed you for this, Dr Tennent! I really did, I was so angry with you. Perhaps what my mother said to me as a child was true all along. Perhaps I am not right in the head
.

Although I really do feel fine now
.

All I wanted was to be free. And now, in reaching for my freedom, I have committed myself to a lifetime in institutions for the criminally insane
.

Huh!

I’ve been locked up and they’ve thrown away the key
.

But you are locked up, also, aren’t you, Dr Michael Tennent? In your own way, you are just as much a prisoner of your actions as I am
.

But I at least have the power to set you free. I will deal with this the way I have dealt with so many decisions I’ve had to make in my life
.

I will let the coin decide
.

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