The Lost Bookshop(71)

‘Your brother has brought you here because he is concerned for your welfare, Opaline. You seem to be suffering from what we term puerperal insanity – a type of psychosis that can develop in pregnant women causing them to become violent to themselves and others.’

‘She tried to attack me in the car on the way here,’ Lyndon said, looking every inch the victim.

‘You lying bastard!’ I screamed. I stood up to go, but the nurse had returned and, displaying extraordinary strength, restrained me in her arms and forced me back into the chair.

‘Please, try not to upset yourself, Opaline.’

I tried to free myself but it was pointless. The woman had me in a vice-like grip. My breath was short and ragged, like a trapped animal. It was then that I realised Lyndon had set the entire thing up. He knew how I would react and that my anger would only serve his purpose – to make me look unhinged. An angry man was dominant. An angry woman, on the other hand, must have lost her grip on sanity. I vowed to keep quiet after that and focus on regaining my breath.

‘Your sister does seem to be suffering from some type of persecution complex, as you stated in your letter.’

This was it; they had already begun talking as if I wasn’t there. Any argument on my part would be seen as further evidence of a fraying mental state. My head lolled on to my chest as my body seemed to collapse in on itself. With one fell swoop, all of the energy left me.

‘I’m sure you understand, Dr Lynch, my family can’t risk this kind of scandal getting into the papers. Opaline’s lifestyle has long been a source of embarrassment to our mother, but this’—Lyndon said, gesturing to my pregnant belly—‘well, it really is too much to bear.’

‘Indeed. It is this century’s loss of morality that has led to so many ills,’ the doctor agreed, in deference to my brother, the war hero. He assured Lyndon that a stay in their asylum would cure me of whatever it was they both found so distasteful in my character. ‘Now, if you’ll just sign this committal form and release the agreed-upon funds, we will give your sister the appropriate care.’

With a great will of effort, my breathing had slowed and I was able to connect with some deep, primal part of my being. There would be no escape today, that was certain. But I could use my wit and intellect to convince this doctor over the coming days that I did not belong in this place. I did not know then that half the women already incarcerated had attempted the same futile exercise. I should have realised, they did not listen to women. The female sex was a curio for them; something to be studied but not understood. A nuisance to be controlled.





The nurse led me away from the doctor’s office and down the hall, a firm grip on my arm. Away from the public areas of the building, the aesthetics changed. What struck me immediately was the bareness of the place. Nothing on the walls, which were painted a sickly green, and the smell of bleach made me want to retch. I was taken to my room, although they might as well have called it what it was – a cell. Two iron-framed beds (it appeared I would not be alone for my incarceration, and I could not decide if this was a good or a bad thing) were the only things in the room. There was a high window that I would have to stand on the bed to see out, although I noted that there were bars on it, should any notion of escape cross my mind.

‘I need the bathroom.’

‘There’s a basin under the bed,’ the nurse said, still with a tight grip of my arm.

I didn’t fight her off – in truth, I could not have stood without her aid. I felt nauseous and asked for some water.

‘This isn’t a hotel,’ she replied, vexed at my audacity to speak. ‘You’ll hear the bell for supper and you can follow the other women down to the hall.’ With that, she let go of my arm, unceremoniously shoved me into the room and slammed the door behind me.

I heard the key turn just as I slid down the wall, no longer able to stand.





I lay on the floor that night, as though climbing into bed would signal that I had accepted my fate. I must have fallen into an exhausted sleep at some point, because I woke to the sound of shrieks and whimpering coming from the other inmates. Or patients. Did it matter? I didn’t belong here and I had to break free. But how could a pregnant woman escape a place like this? It was physically impossible. I whispered Matthew’s name, over and over. He would come and find me, surely. Somehow. I knew he would. I couldn’t stay here.

‘Everything will look brighter in the morning,’ I told my little bump, but this time I didn’t believe it.





Chapter Thirty-Eight





MARTHA





The solicitors had sent over the contracts for signing. The sale had gone through quickly and after the bank and agent fees were paid, I was left with the guts of €20,000. The property market was booming again and I had sold at just the right time, according to the agent. I saw the figures on paper but couldn’t believe that it would actually be mine – in my bank account. I would be able to afford a full-time course in university, if I wanted it.

I wasn’t sure what I wanted. When you’ve always had nothing it’s hard to know how to react when a windfall comes your way. I needed more time to decide and, while I did, I wanted to stay in the one place where I had felt safe since leaving Shane: in Ha'penny Lane.