Chapter 17: Acute Psychosis

Coventry and Warwick. Tuesday, 13 days after Jennifer reappears

The Official

The next morning, Cathy gives me a lift to the University so Joe can go into the office for 'half an hour.' I am trying to pick up the threads of the life I used to have. Just now, I am sitting in an office in the University administration building.

"Hello", says the woman in front of me, "My name is Sandra Thornton. I don't think I met you before? I work for Human Resources. I have heard a bit about your adventures recently! I understand you are trying to find your feet again?"

"Yes", I say. I don't feel confident here. I don't know what I ought to say, but I do know that I have to be loyal to my Owners and not betray them.

The Sandra Thornton woman is talking again. It's hard to follow what she is saying. I can concentrate when I am told to do something but, with no specific instructions, my mind starts to wander — to what the office looks like, what she is wearing, her glasses, the rings on her fingers...

" ... is that all right?"

My head is starting to hurt again. I say, "I am sorry, can you just say that last bit again?"

"I said, when we have employees who have been on long term sick leave, and that's the nearest experience we have for you, we get you to see Occupational Health and then get you to see your Head of Department to try and agree on a 'back to work' plan. Probably start you part time. Maybe half-days, two days a week, something like that and build up from there. Would that be OK?"

Inside, I don't know. Provided someone can tell me what to do, I can work properly, but what if they don't tell me? What I actually say is; "Yes, I am sure I can manage that. That's sounds like a very practical approach."

Where are these words coming from? I don't know who is speaking. This is not what Vyera says and I can't remember how to be this other person I am trying to be. The more I try to be 'Jennifer, ' the harder it is.

The Thornton woman is starting to speak to me again...

"So I 'phoned your old boss, Professor Dawney, and she said she could give you a couple of minutes this morning. Just to touch base. Do you remember where to go?"

Professor Dawney's Unwelcome Visitor

I am standing outside the door of Angela's office. There are butterflies of anxiety in my stomach. What will she say? What will I say?

Should I tell her about completing the project in Moscow? Should I keep quiet and see if I can take up the reins of the project at home once again? After all, I cannot be Dr Kuznetsova in the UK without admitting to all the things which have happened to me and I do not have the permission from my Owners. I ought to have asked Neena for her advice. There is time. It is 10:30 here but in Russia, it is 1:30. Everyone there has been awake and busy for hours.

I have stood in front of so many significant doors: The door to Angela's flat, when we were having an affair. The door to Angela's office, when I began my project. The door of Ylena's studio at Inward Bound. The door of the study at the Dacha, before I met Dr Mendeleyev. The door of the dining room in the Dacha, before the viva examination for my Thesis, when I was Vyera. The door of my cell which would never open to let me go but would only open to let me do the bidding of my Owners. These closed doors still cause me anxiety, when I stand before them in memory and the feeling is just as sharp as I wrestle with what to do.

I have made my decision! I will 'phone Neena and ask her what I have to do.

I reach into my handbag and fumble for my mobile. Without warning, the door to Angela's office opens and there is Angela, standing in front of me, on her way somewhere.

"Did you want me? Because I have someone else coming to see me soon," she says

"Yes, er, I wanted to see you, Professor."

"Do you have an appointment? There was no name in my diary and I am very busy and I have just told you: I am expecting someone. Who are you... ?"

Angela is looking at me with a mixture of irritation and interest. She obviously does not recognise me anymore.

"Professor, it is Jenny McEwan."

"Jennifer McEwan? But you can't be ... I mean you don't look ... are you sure?"

"Yes, Professor Dawney. It's me. Jennifer McEwan. I was able to re-join my husband in Stockholm the week before last week. I have been back in the UK just over a week. The HR people said they would let you know and I thought I should come to see you."

"But you can't be Jennifer McEwan. You look so different. Your skin and your body... are you?"

"Yes, I am afraid so. It's me, Professor."

"I suppose you had better come in. It was you I was expecting anyway. HR 'phoned me, too — as if I have not enough to do." Irritation has got the upper hand over interest. Angela sweeps back into her office and throws the pile of papers she had in her hand down into a chair. She resumes her seat behind her desk which now reminds me of a gun battery, behind which she is safe from others and from which she can fire the ammunition of her ambition and her anger at her enemies, whoever they may be at the time.

"Well, I don't know what the hell you think you have been playing at or where the hell you have been, but life has had to go on here."

"Professor, I was wondering if..."

"And as far as your project is concerned, you will be interested to know that another research group have managed to publish ahead of us. Almost an identical piece of work, I may add. I don't know how you have been occupying your time, whether you abandoned your responsibilities to dig holes in the road or something (Angela gestures towards my chest and arms) but academic research is a perishable entity and your project is now hardly worth prosecuting. As I said, the lead position I gave you, the position you could have had, has been taken up by others." All the time she is delivering this bitter speech, she is riffling through some papers. She finally thrusts a reprinted article from an academic journal across her desk and into my hands. I glance down at it. It is all in Russian.

It says: "BDSM Games: How Adults Relieve the Stress of Daily Life During Adult Play Behaviour. A Strategy For Investigation."

But I know what it says because I can read it and I also read: 'II Mendeleyev. JV Romanova. VA Kuznetsova.'

It is my paper! Recognition floods across my face — and joy! Dr Mendeleyev published my research under my name! I never thought they would do that!

I can't help myself: I let out a cry of recognition and happiness which crumples into sadness at being separated from people I have almost grown to love.

I rapidly leaf through it. Everything is just as I had written it, except it has been translated into Russian, but that is no obstacle to me now.

Angela recognises the new situation! "Ah, so it was you, was it? I thought so. Well, how dare you take my research ideas to other people and just walk out of this institution into the arms of our rivals? This is the sort of thing that ... that... footballers do!"

"Look, Professor, I did not walk out. I was..."

Angela turns her face from me, squeezing her eyes tight shut. She carries on as if I had made no reply at all: "Just walked out on all your responsibilities! Well, Mrs McEwan, you will not get any future help from me and if you were going to ask if you could resume your project, the answer is a flat No! The University has had to employ another postgraduate to cover your duties. I do not see why I should waste another of my research ideas on someone so duplicitous and disloyal as you obviously are. I do not think there is anything else we have to say to each other, so I will wish you Good Morning. Perhaps you can leave my office now?"

Cathy Corbin's Bad Morning

There is a diffident knock at Cathy Corbin's office door.

"Come in," she calls. The door opens. Jenny is standing on the threshold.

Cathy gets up and welcomes her in. She knew that Jenny was going to talk to HR and possibly to see Professor Dawney. Cathy can see from Jenny's face that she hasn't had a good time. She puts her arms around Jenny. There is a sofa in the office. It adds a touch of informality to the bland institutional décor. Cathy guides her friend across to it and they both sit down.

"So, Angela was her usual charming, helpful self?" Cathy knows Angela's mean side every bit as well as Jenny does.

Jenny nods her head. There is nothing she needs to say. Cathy does not need to know the details of Angela's unpleasantness. Jenny knows Cathy can imagine that for herself.

Cathy squeezes Jenny's hands in encouragement. She feels she has to provide some explanation for Angela's bitterness and aggression. "Jenny, when you were away, Angela called me in to speak with her and showed me a paper from a Russian journal which she thought meant that another research group was getting ahead with the problem you were working on. Did Angela say anything about it?"

"Yes", replies Jenny. "She did. She told me that I had given her ideas away."

"When Angela called me in," continues Cathy, "she just wanted someone to shout at, but I remembered some work you had asked me to review. Jenny, the thing is, I offered to read the article and let Angela know if I thought it really was like your work. There was an English translation of it which I could use."

Cathy turns towards Jenny. She is almost square on to her, almost confronting her. In a way she is. It is no surprise to Jenny when she says:

" ... because when I laid out the work you gave me and the Russian paper side by side, it was your words. Paragraph after paragraph. You are not Mendeleyev or Romanova because I know who they are, so you must be Kuznetsova? That's right, isn't it?"

The room feels very hot to Jenny. She stands up, abruptly. She goes to the window. She stares out for a long time. Cathy has found out, through the agency of Dr Mendeleyev. Surely, Dr Mendeleyev could not have meant this to happen?

"Jenny? What really happened to you?"

"Cathy, it's really dangerous for me to tell you," replies Jenny. She's almost panicking, barely keeping her voice under control. It's as though every wall around her is crumbling and tides of fear are rushing in. "It's better that you do not know. Did you tell Angela what you thought? Because I accidently admitted it was me. She showed me the paper and guessed from my reaction that I must be Kuznetsova."

Cathy can see Jenny is scared. "I am sorry, Jenny. I told the police. There was this man who seemed to be in charge of your case. I told him. I think he was called Ackroyd?"

Jenny turns towards her friend, aghast at what Cathy has just said. It's even worse than she thought. She buries her head in her hands. "Oh Cathy, Cathy. You should not have done that. You should have left well alone. They will find out. The more people discover the truth, the more they will need to have me back."

"Jenny, truth is supposed to bring freedom. The Truth will set you free!"

"Cathy," Jenny replies, "truth is dangerous. You must be very careful with Truth." She turns away and looks towards the window. It's almost as though she expects someone to be standing there, watching her.

"Jenny, why not try to tell me what happened?"