Emma Chapman: How to Be a Good Wife

There is an electric strip light running across the ceiling which is not turned on.

The room is in semi-darkness, and when I sit up, I think I see the shadow of a man sitting on the end of my bed, waiting for me to wake up. I kick out with my legs, and the man disappears.

My eyes adjust to the darkness. There’s a door with a small glass window: shatterproof, which throws a warm yellow square of light on the linoleum floor. The walls are white and smooth, and in the corner of the room is a sink. There is a box with the fingers of gloves protruding from it, and a large canister of hand sanitizer. There’s no mirror above the sink. A toilet to my right, plumbed into the wall.

I get out of bed. I am wearing a hospital gown, tight across the chest and open at the back. I turn the door handle, but it’s locked.

I start to shout then. Help me, please. Open the door. Anybody. Please.

I bang on the glass until it rattles. I look around for something I can use to break it, but everything in the room is secured to the ground.

A woman’s face appears at the door. She has red hair in a neat bun, and a warm, round face. She puts her finger to her lips.

I step back from the door and she unlocks it.

‘Is everything all right?’ she asks.

‘I can’t stay here,’ I say.

‘It’s only for the night,’ she says.

‘I want to see my son,’ I say.

‘Your son is at home,’ she says. ‘He’s coming for you in the morning. It’s best you try and get some rest now.’

‘I don’t want to stay here,’ I say. ‘Not on my own.’

‘It’s only for one night, Mrs Bjornstad,’ she says. ‘They’re making plans to move you tomorrow.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ I say. ‘I can stay with my son.’

‘The doctor wanted to keep you in,’ she says. ‘Just for tonight.’ Her face softens. ‘Do you want anything to eat? I think the kitchen is closed but I can try and get you something?’

‘Can I call my son?’ I ask.

‘I can’t let you use the phone,’ she says. ‘But he’s coming in the morning.’

‘Alone?’ I ask.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’

‘Can we put the lights on?’ I ask.

‘Sure,’ she says. ‘If you need anything else, just press the button on the wall.’

‘I’m sorry for the noise,’ I say. ‘I just wasn’t sure where I was.’

‘That’s all right,’ she says. ‘I hope you get some sleep.’

As she leaves, I hear the click of the lock behind her.

All night, I pace from one end of the room to the other.

I was out there, driving through the vast valleys, and I came to the city, only to end up here.

I tell myself not to be, but I am angry with Kylan for not believing me. I came to him because I needed help.

There’s no clock in the room, so it is hard to tell what time it is. The only window is the one in the door which leads to the corridor. For some reason, they have removed the watch from my wrist.

Outside in the corridor, the other lights start to go on, and I know it must be nearly morning.

When breakfast arrives, two powdery eggs and toast, I try to ask the new nurse.

‘Is my son coming?’ I ask.

She barely looks at me, putting the tray on the cabinet by the bed.

‘Excuse me,’ I say, ‘can you please tell me if I am leaving here today?’

‘Someone will be here to see you shortly,’ she says. ‘I just deliver the breakfasts.’

‘What time is it?’ I ask.

‘Nine o’clock,’ she says, as she shuts and locks the door behind her.

I sit on the edge of the bed, waiting.

A young doctor with a clipboard comes into the room.

‘Morning, Mrs Bjornstad,’ he says, reading the name from his chart. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘What time is it?’ I ask.

‘Just gone eleven,’ he says. ‘You haven’t eaten your breakfast.’

‘I’m not hungry,’ I say. ‘When is my son coming?’

‘Visiting hours are between four and nine p.m.’

‘I thought I was being moved today.’

The doctor smiles at me as if I am a child. ‘It’s not as simple as that, I’m afraid, Mrs Bjornstad. You won’t be moved until you are referred elsewhere,’ he says. ‘We need to determine your diagnosis.’

‘How do you do that?’

‘A mixture of group and one-on-one therapy sessions. You’ll have one group session every morning, and one evaluation every afternoon.’

‘And the rest of the time?’

‘Free time, for contemplation in your room.’

My chest tightens. ‘How long will I be here for?’

‘Until we can decide what is wrong with you, and then you will be sent to a different facility for treatment.’

‘But, Doctor,’ I say, sitting up straighter and pulling my gown around me, ‘there is nothing wrong with me.’

The doctor smiles again. ‘That is what we are here to determine.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘There’s been a mistake. I need to speak to the police.’

‘For now,’ he says, ‘we just need to focus on making you feel better.’

‘But you need to investigate,’ I say. ‘I am the victim of a crime.’

‘Everything you say will be kept on file, Mrs Bjornstad.’ He sounds bored.

I grab his hand. ‘I need to speak to someone,’ I say. ‘My name is Elise Sandvik. We need to find proof that I am a missing person.’

‘I don’t think that should be the priority at the moment,’ the doctor says, shaking himself free of me and rising to his feet. ‘We need to focus on your recovery.’ He picks a small white cup of pills from the breakfast tray and hands it to me. ‘Starting with your medication.’

I take the cup, nodding my head.

‘Please can I have my watch back?’ I ask.

‘We can’t let you have anything with glass in it, I’m afraid,’ he says.

‘Can I have a clock, then?’ I ask. ‘I need to know the time.’

He half smiles, writing something on my chart. ‘I’ll mention it to the nurse,’ he says.

When he is gone, I tip the pills into the sink.

The hot anger rises. Why won’t they listen to me? Even though it happened over twenty years ago, there must be files on my disappearance. It shouldn’t be hard to trace.

I feel like throwing things against the wall, like shouting and screaming, but I know that will only prove them right.

Shortly after I have eaten dinner, Kylan comes to see me. Despite me asking, they still haven’t given me a clock, so I can’t say what time it is. Though he smiles when he enters the room, his eyes are a little bloodshot and he looks exhausted.

‘Hello, Mum,’ he says, sitting next to me.

‘Hi,’ I say.

He looks around the room. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘How do you think I’m feeling?’ I say. I don’t want to be, but I am annoyed with him. I have spent the whole day in this room, and I am sick of it.

‘Look, Mum,’ he says, ‘I’m so sorry about what happened yesterday. I couldn’t sleep at all last night.’

‘Neither could I,’ I say.

He looks at the narrow bed, the sink, the locked door. ‘I don’t like thinking about you in here.’

‘Take me home with you, then,’ I say.

‘I can’t,’ he says. ‘The doctors say it’s the best place for you.’

I can’t believe he is going to leave me in here.

‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ he says. ‘When I couldn’t sleep last night, I looked up the name you mentioned on the Internet, to see if I could find anything out.’

‘Oh, Kylan,’ I say. ‘What did you find? If we can prove it, I can get out of here …’

He puts his hand over mine. ‘I couldn’t find anything, Mum,’ he says.