The Da-Da-De-Da-Da Code (4 page)

Jonny awoke the following day to find that things were quiet in his head.

Very quiet indeed.

Jonny lay, without restraints, upon a nice, neat hospital bed. It was in the ‘Special Wing’ of Brentford Cottage Hospital. The wing that housed the ‘special cases’. Jonny had been in such wings before. He had been in
this
wing before.

Jonny rolled over and blinked towards the window. Sunlight peeped in through it. There were no bars at the window.

‘Up and away, then,’ said Jonny, rising from the bed and making for the window.

‘Or perhaps I’ll stay,’ he continued, as he viewed the steely fixings and the ‘High Security’ etchings on the glass. The plaster around this secure window looked quite fresh and new. It had recently needed replacing when a patient, a large Red Indian, had thrown the water cooler out through the previous window.

But that was another story.

Jonny tried the door and found it locked. He returned to the bed and sat down upon it.

And then he became fully aware of just how very quiet things were inside his head.

‘Mister Giggles,’ said Jonny, ‘are you there?’

But answer came there none.

‘Mister Giggles?’

Silence. In his head. Light traffic sounds from without the window. Within the room and within his head, silence.

‘Oh,’ said Jonny. And then he said, ‘Damn!’

‘Damn, damn, damn,’ went Jonny. ‘Damn.’

He’d been drugged. Done up once more with the old anti-psychotics.

Jonny glanced all down at himself. Now fully
fully
aware, he was fully aware of his attire. The foolish do-up-the-back hospital smock. The identity wristlet. The – Jonny checked his left arm – the Elastoplast, beneath which he would find the puncture marks.

‘I have to get out of here,’ said Jonny. Taking very deep breaths. ‘I’m still up for winning that prize, me,’ he continued, rather startling himself as he did so, for having a sense of purpose in his life was something new to him. ‘Yes, I
do
want to win that prize,’ he furtherly continued. ‘In fact, I am determined to do so. And in order to do so, I must certainly get out of here.’

There was a kind of simultaneous knocking, unlocking and opening of the door and a face peeped in and a voice said, ‘Were you talking to somebody in here?’

‘Ah,’ said Jonny. ‘No,’ said Jonny. ‘Not me, never at all.’

The face entered Jonny’s room. It entered upon a head, which was secured at the neck to a body, to which in turn two pairs of standard appendages were attached. The entire ensemble was of the female persuasion. The young and sightly female persuasion.

Jonny looked up from his bed as the figure entered his room. It
was
a sightly figure and no mistake about it. Short black hair and bright-green eyes and the sweetest nose imaginable, the—

‘Have to stop you there,’ said the nurse, for such was she.

‘Stop me where?’ asked Jonny.

‘You were looking at my nose and you were smiling foolishly.’

‘It’s a very sw—’

‘Please don’t say it.’

‘Sweet?’

‘You said it,’ said the nurse. ‘The bane of my life, this nose. You can’t imagine what trouble it gets me into.’

‘No,’ said Jonny. ‘I don’t think I can.’

‘What about my mouth?’ asked the nurse.

‘Very nice,’ said Jonny. ‘Very silent-film star, that mouth, rather Theda Bara, in fact.’

‘And my tits?’ The nurse drew back her shoulders and thrust her breasts forward.

‘Very nice, too,’ said Jonny. ‘Very pert.’

‘I’ve nice legs as well and a nice bum. And I have a tattoo on my bum.’

‘This is all very good to hear,’ said Jonny, who now was most perplexed. ‘You are actually a nurse here, I suppose, not a patient.’

‘You naughty boy. I am Nurse Hollywood. I
was
a patient, but that was years ago. I am now a fully qualified nurse, and I can assure you that there is a great deal more to me than a sweet nose.’

‘I’m sure there is,’ said Jonny. ‘We’ve already touched upon the tits and the bum.’

‘We’ll take this no further,’ said Nurse Hollywood. ‘I
am
more than just a sweet nose and that is that.’

Jonny felt that this was probably very much the case, as women who boast of having tattooed bums the first time you meet them are probably, as they say, ‘up for it’.

‘Oh,’ said Nurse Hollywood, ‘and don’t you go getting any ideas about me being up for it just because I mentioned that I have a tattoo on my bum.’

‘As if I would,’ said Jonny. ‘Could you tell me where my clothes are, please?’

‘I could,’ said the nurse, ‘but I won’t. There’d be no point as you will not be allowed to wear them for a while. You’re having tests this morning.’

‘Are you here to test me?’

‘No,’ said the nurse, ‘I’m here simply to introduce myself, as I will be your personal carer during your stay here. And to ask you what you’d like for breakfast.’

‘Ah,’ said Jonny. ‘I’d like the full English if that is on the go. Two sausages, two bacon, two eggs, two toast, black pudding, beans and a fried slice.’

Nurse Hollywood clutched one of those hospital clipboards to her pert bosoms. She took up the pen that was attached to it by a string and made certain notes.

‘Am I getting the full English?’ Jonny asked. ‘Or did I just fail one of the tests?’

‘We don’t like to use the “F” word here,’ said Nurse Hollywood. ‘Nobody fails. It’s just that some take longer to succeed than others.’

‘I am a very fast learner,’ said Jonny. ‘You’d be surprised at all the things I’ve learned so far. For instance, I’ve learned that life isn’t fair,
that I am a have-not and that I have absolutely no skills at all when it comes to predicting the future. However, I do remain cautiously optimistic.’

Nurse Hollywod made further notes. Something told Jonny that he was not making a particularly good first impression and that the chances of seeing that bum tattoo were getting smaller by the minute.

‘I’d like you to have this,’ said Nurse Hollywood, peeling an underpage from her clipboard and presenting it to Jonny.

‘Your phone number?’ Jonny asked.

‘A questionnaire of sorts. While I fetch your breakfast, I’d like you to fill it in. Do you think you could do that for me?’

‘Not without a pen,’ said Jonny.

Nurse Hollywood presented Jonny with a crayon.

‘No pointy objects,’ said Jonny, pointedly. ‘I know the drill.’

‘Yes,’ said the nurse, ‘you do have something of a history, don’t you? But things have changed quite a lot since the last time you were admitted. I think you will find that the new techniques and treatments will have a positive effect.’

Jonny said nothing, but nodded as if he agreed.

‘Well, we’ll see. Do what you can with the questionnaire and I’ll be back with your breakfast.’

And with that she left, sweet nose, green eyes and tattooed bum to boot. As it were.

Jonny rose quietly and listened at the door. Assured that she had gone, he tried the handle. Well, there was always an outside chance that she might have forgotten to lock it.

‘Naughty, naughty,’ came the voice of Nurse Hollywood. Jonny returned to the bed.

Sighing and cursing by turn, he viewed the questionnaire. Of course, if Mr Giggles had been there he would have been a great help. Mr Giggles just loved such questionnaires. He was capable of coming up with some most inspired answers.

Although.

Jonny recalled the last time he’d been sectioned – five years before, and also because of his mum. He’d been given a form to fill out then and he’d taken Mr Giggles’ advice. Things hadn’t gone too well for Jonny after that.

But then, for now, there was no Mr Giggles. Mr Giggles’ chatter had been suppressed by the drugs that now saturated Jonny’s thinking parts. That chemically altered his perception. It was a
very
difficult business for Jonny, this, because although he did hate Mr Giggles (well, some of the time (well,
most
of the time)), he
really
hated being drugged up against his will. Because he knew, just
knew
, that with the drugs inside him, although he felt certain that he was thinking
straight
, he was
not
.

The drugs don’t work, they make things worse
.

Jonny sang this softly.

At length and at not too long a one at that, Jonny perused the questionnaire. He knew better than to ignore it, or screw it up, or eat it. Compliance was the name of the game. As it so often is, when one is all locked up.

‘“List five things that you like about yourself”?’ Jonny read. To himself.
Not
aloud.

Jonny could not think of
one
. So Jonny tried to think of someone that he liked, so he could list five things that he liked about them.

‘This questionnaire is really beginning to depress me,’ said Jonny to himself. And he thought once more of Mr Giggles. And he shrugged and made notes upon the questionnaire.

And at a length that was neither too long nor too short, but somewhere comfortably in between, there was another simultaneous knocking, unlocking and opening of the door.

And a face peeped in, and then all the rest made an entrance.

Jonny smiled up, then stopped smiling. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘I am Nurse Cecil,’ said Nurse Cecil. Nurse Cecil was a very large nurse, of the
male
persuasion. He had that broken-nosed ‘useful’ look about him that bouncers (or door-supervisors, as they prefer to be known) have about them. He carried a tray. It did not look like a breakfast tray, as there was no breakfast upon it. Just a sort of a napkin that bulged slightly in the middle.

‘Oh,’ said Jonny. ‘I was expecting Nurse Hollywood.’

‘Nurse
who
?’ said Nurse Cecil.

‘Nurse Hollywood – black hair, green eyes, sweet nose. You must know the nose.’

‘Know the nose,’ said Nurse Cecil. Thoughtfully.

‘She’s getting me the full English breakfast,’ said Jonny.

‘I’ll just bet she is,’ said Nurse Cecil. ‘And she’ll probably want to sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” while she feeds it to you. Don’t you think?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Jonny.

‘No,’ said Nurse Cecil. ‘And nor do I. Because we do not have a Nurse Hollywood. We have no female nurses here.’

‘But she gave me this questionnaire.’

And Jonny reached for the questionnaire. Which was there on the bed.

But which wasn’t.

‘I think we’re going to have to up your medication,’ said Nurse Cecil. And he removed the napkin from his tray to reveal a large and lethal-looking hypodermic.

It was late afternoon when Jonny next awoke. Not that he knew for certain that it
was
late afternoon. It could have been any time really for Jonny, because the room in which he now awoke did
not
own to a window. It was a windowless room.

In fact, it was more of a cell, really.

In fact, it
was
a cell.

A padded cell.

Good and proper.

Padded walls and padded door and padded floor as well. A single light bulb somewhat above. And all hope sinking fast.

‘Oh great,’ said Jonny. ‘This is
just
great.’ And he said it loudly, then shushed himself. The cell was probably bugged – most of them were nowadays.

Well, at least he wasn’t in restraints.

He wasn’t in a straitjacket.

Which was something. Although not very much, considering. Jonny’s stomach rumbled loudly. Jonny tried to shush it. But he
was very hungry
.

Jonny, who had been lying where he’d been left, flat on his back in the centre of the cell, rose unsteadily to his feet. He had that terrible post-medication hangover effect: all the pain, whilst not having previously experienced all of the pleasure. Jonny’s knees were shaky and his mouth was dry. Things really weren’t going his way at the moment. Not that they ever really went his way, but what had brought all this lot on was anyone’s guess.
He
hadn’t done anything.
He
had tried to rescue a drowning child.
He
was an innocent man. And given that this was a loony wing – although of course they would never use the ‘L’ word – he really didn’t qualify to be here. He was no more loony now than he ever had been. And
the amount of loony that he ever had been was insufficient to merit him being banged up in here now. So to speak.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.

And then Jonny recalled that he had already learned that life wasn’t fair. And so this unjust confinement was not teaching him anything he didn’t already know.

But, God, was he hungry.

Jonny took himself over to the padded door and addressed the little sliding shutter jobbie. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, in as polite a fashion as he could manage, ‘is there someone there? I’d really like to speak to a doctor, if it would be convenient for one to speak to me.’

The little shutter shot instantly open. The face of Nurse Cecil grinned through it.

‘Hello, Sunshine,’ said Nurse Cecil. ‘Up and about again, are we?’

‘Could I please speak to a doctor?’ asked Jonny.

‘But of course,’ said Nurse Cecil. ‘I’ll see to it at once.’

And he slammed shut the grille.

And he turned off Jonny’s light.

And time can pass slowly in a padded cell with the light off.

But presently, when afternoon had become evening, although Jonny was not, of course, to know this, the door to Jonny’s padded cell opened and he was beckoned to accompany Nurse Cecil on a little walk to somewhere.

Although sadly
not
the canteen.

These offices are always the same, no matter the hospital. A desk, two chairs, bookshelves with the inevitable textbooks. A file of Rorschach ink-blots. The big, big file of the patient. An object of interest or two, perhaps a plastic human skull or a phrenology head (out of the reach of the patient, of course).

And a certain smell. A certain medical smell. Which somehow conjures images of Nazi concentration camp experiments. Somehow.

Jonny shivered as he was thrust by Nurse Cecil into this office. Behind the desk sat an earnest-looking fellow in a white coat. He was tinkering at the keyboard of that other thing that all these offices, indeed all offices everywhere, has nowadays.

The computer.

‘I’ll never get the hang of this,’ said the earnest-looking fellow. ‘Do sit down, please,’ and he consulted the big, fat file upon his desk. ‘Mister Hooker.’

Jonny Hooker sat down.

‘You may leave us, Nurse Cecil.’

‘Wouldn’t hear of it, sir,’ said the male nurse. ‘Leave you alone with this raving maniac? It’s more than my job’s worth.’

‘I’m sure Mister Hooker is not going to cause any bother. Are you, Mister Hooker?’

Jonny Hooker shook his head. ‘Definitely not,’ he said. ‘Do you think that Nurse Cecil might go to the canteen and fetch me something to eat? I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours, at least.’

Moonlight shone through the uncurtained window. Jonny’s timing guesswork was right.

‘Please get Mister Hooker some supper, would you, Nurse Cecil?’

Nurse Cecil grunted in the affirmative and grudgingly left the office, slamming the door behind him.

‘A willing enough fellow, really,’ said the chap behind the desk, ‘but not the brightest star in the firmament. My name is Doctor Archy. You may call me Doctor Archy.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Jonny. Who wasn’t.

‘I have you in here,’ said Dr Archy, tapping some more at his computer keyboard. ‘The trouble is that I just can’t get at you. You’re on the database. You’d be surprised at all the information there is on here about you.’

No I wouldn’t
, thought Jonny. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘Might I have a glass of water?’ he continued. ‘My mouth is really dry.’

‘Of course, of course. There’s a machine thing over there with paper cups, help yourself.’

Jonny turned in his chair and noticed the other thing that these offices always have: the little water cooler jobbie. They also have the box of tissues, for when you’re having a good cry. But Jonny hoped that he would not be needing the box of tissues. He rose from his chair, passed by the open window – making a mental note of just how open it was, and how open it would need to be for him to shin out of it – and took himself over to the water cooler.

‘So much information,’ said Dr Archy. ‘Too much, some might
say. Or the wrong information. Or information parading, indeed masquerading, as information when it is anything but. If you understand my meaning.’

Jonny turned from his water-cup filling. Eyes met across the office.

Jonny shrugged in as non-committal a way as he could manage. ‘Thank you for the water,’ he said, and he drank from the cup and refilled it.

‘I understand your feelings,’ said Dr Archy when Jonny, with water-filled cup, had returned to the patients’ chair. ‘You’re being cautious. You do not wish to say anything that might incriminate you in any way. Give the impression that there is something, how might I put this,
wrong
about you.’

‘Politeness costs nothing,’ said Jonny. ‘That’s what my mum always says.’

‘Ah yes,’ said Dr Archy. ‘Your mother. Tell me about your mother.’

Which rang a bell somewhere.

‘I think,’ said Jonny, ‘that I must be a terrible disappointment to her.’

‘You love your mother?’

‘Everyone loves their mother,’ said Jonny.

‘Interesting reply.’ The doctor tapped some more at the keyboard of his computer. ‘This business with the drowning child,’ he said. ‘How do you feel about that now?’

‘I can’t say,’ said Jonny.

‘Can’t?’ said the doctor, raising his eyes.

‘I have been medicated,’ said Jonny. ‘I cannot be certain of anything.’

‘Nurse Cecil told me that you hallucinated a female nurse this morning.’

‘Apparently so,’ said Jonny. ‘I can’t explain it. She did seem very real.’

‘But now you know that she was not?’

‘How can she have been?’

‘Good,’ said the doctor.

There was a knocking and an opening. Nurse Cecil appeared, bearing Jonny’s supper on a tray. He placed this tray on Jonny’s lap.
‘Salad,’ he said. ‘You did say that you were a vegetarian.’

‘Did you?’ asked the doctor, raising his eyebrows.

‘Yes,’ said Jonny, who knew better than to argue. ‘Just this week. You won’t have it on your records.’

‘Enjoy,’ said Nurse Cecil. And, grinning, he left the office.

Jonny Hooker viewed his supper. Lettuce and uncooked vegetable stuff and a glass of tomato juice.

‘Mm,’ went Dr Archy. ‘Looks yummy. Do tuck in.’

Jonny Hooker tucked into his salad. As a hungry man will do.

‘Ah,’ said the doctor, still tapping at his keyboard, ‘something coming up here, I think. Ah yes – it says here that you have developed a recent compulsion to enter competitions.’

Jonny Hooker looked up from his salad, a spring onion stuck between his lips like a green cigarette. ‘What?’ he mumbled, with his mouth full.

‘You are apparently trying to crack the Da-da-de-da-da Code. What would that be all about, then?’

Jonny Hooker’s jaw hung slack.

‘That’s not a very good look,’ said Dr Archy. ‘I think you should swallow before you open your mouth like that.’

Jonny munched and then swallowed. ‘
That
is on your computer?’ he asked. ‘That
I
have entered a competition? But I haven’t done it officially. I have decided to do so, that’s all.’

‘I told you that you’d be surprised by what’s on here. You do
look
surprised.’

‘I’m amazed,’ said Jonny. ‘And also rather concerned.’

‘Why so?’

‘Because—’ Jonny paused before saying more. Indeed, he now intended to say no more. He knew full well, because. Because it meant that he had been ‘observed’, ‘listened in to’. That he was under surveillance. How else could that piece of information about himself be on the doctor’s computer?

‘Because?’ said Dr Archy.

‘Nothing,’ said Jonny. ‘Do you think I might have a look at this computer entry about myself?’

‘Not permitted, I’m afraid,’ said Dr Archy.

‘No, I rather thought not.’

Jonny forked the last of his salad into his mouth and munched
upon it. Plastic knife and fork, he noted. No weapon potential there. Dr Archy smiled towards Jonny. Jonny smiled back at the doctor.

And then Jonny leapt from his chair, paper plate and cup of juice all spilling to the floor. He swung the computer monitor around. The screen was blank. The computer wasn’t switched on.

And Jonny cocked his head on one side and smiled at the doctor. And then swung his fist with a good wide swing and clocked that doc full-face. And the doctor fell back in a flurry of case notes.

And Jonny leapt out of the window.