Read The Chameleon's Shadow Online
Authors: Minette Walters
‘Your CO spoke very highly of you,’ Willis reminded him now, ‘described all three of you as men of the highest calibre. Aren’t you being decorated for it?’
‘Only mentioned in dispatches. If we’d been the best we wouldn’t have been taken out so easily.’
Willis eyed him thoughtfully for a moment, then flipped through the papers on his knee. He withdrew a sheet. ‘This is a paragraph from the investigators’ report. “Lieutenant Acland’s Scimitar was attacked by two improvised explosive devices which were buried in freshly dug culverts at the side of the road and detonated simultaneously as the vehicle passed. The culverts were tunnelled by sophisticated moling equipment and the explosives detonated by remote signal.”’ He ran his finger down a few lines. ‘It details evidence taken from the scene and from a video made by the insurgents, and it goes on: “This suggests an expertise in the construction, camouflage, placing and detonation of IEDs that has hitherto only been seen in Northern Ireland. Future training must include this development to avoid further loss of life. It is no longer enough to alert men to the possibility of a single roadside bomb in a burnt-out car or rubbish bin.”’
He looked up. ‘What they’re saying is that there was nothing you could have done. You and your men were the first victims of a new form of attack, and your only mistake was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ He read continued cynicism in Acland’s expression. ‘What makes you think it was your fault?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Did any of your squad express dissatisfaction with your command?’
‘Not that I recall . . . but maybe I’ve chosen to forget it.’
Willis gave one of his dry smiles. ‘You’re confusing different types of amnesia, Charles. Yours – which goes by the general term of retrograde amnesia – is usually the result of head injury or disease, and is not governed by choice. Emotional amnesia – which
may
involve an element of choice – follows a traumatic psychological experience. In some cases this is so devastating to an individual’s ability to function that he blocks all memory of the incident in order to cope.’ He paused. ‘Nothing that I’ve seen suggests your amnesia has an emotional basis . . . but perhaps there’s something you haven’t told me?’
‘Like what?’
‘Did anything happen before you left for Iraq?’
Acland stared at him for a moment. ‘Nothing important.’
It was his favourite answer, thought Willis. ‘Perhaps not,’ he murmured, ‘but I suspect most people would say that being ditched by their fiance´e on the day of their departure was –’ he sought for a word – ‘
upsetting
.’
Anger flared briefly in the younger man’s face. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Your parents. They couldn’t understand why you never mentioned Jen or why she hadn’t phoned or sent a card . . . so your mother called her. Jen told her she couldn’t go through with it and felt it was fairer to let you know before you left. Is that what happened?’
‘Pretty much.’ Acland produced a tissue ball and tossed it idly from hand to hand. ‘It must have pissed my mother off something chronic to hear it was Jen who ditched
me
.’
‘Why?’
‘She spent months trying to make it happen the other way round.’
‘You were supposed to ditch Jen? Didn’t your mother like her?’
‘Of course not. She hates competition.’
Willis could believe that. He’d admired Mrs Acland’s fine-boned looks but he hadn’t liked her. He’d seen no more sincerity in her showy displays of grief than her son had done. ‘Were you upset by Jen’s letter?’
‘I never read it.’
‘She told your mother she sent it by registered post to your base.’
‘I didn’t bother to open it . . . just chucked it in the bin.’
Willis tapped the end of his pen against the notes on his lap. ‘You must have known what was in it. You had Jen’s name deleted from your records as someone to be informed in the event of your death.’
‘When?’
‘Presumably on your arrival in Iraq.’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Do you remember feeling any grief? Do you feel grief now?’
‘No.’
Willis was sceptical. ‘Most of us do when relationships end, Charles. Novelists don’t write about broken hearts for no reason. Sometimes the pain can go on for months.’
‘I don’t feel anything for her at all.’
Willis tried a different tack. ‘What did you think of your CO? Would you describe
him
as a good bloke?’
‘Sure. He lost his rag from time to time but he never held grudges.’
‘What about the job you were doing? You talked about loss of morale earlier. Was morale low while you were out there?’
‘Not where I was . . . but we didn’t have much contact with the locals. It was the guys on the ground in Basra who took the brunt of the resentment, and they all said that was hard to deal with.’
‘Were you afraid at any point?’
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘Every time a car came towards us with a solitary driver. We held our breath until he passed in case he was a suicide bomber.’
‘So you remember some feelings – you liked the people you worked with, you empathized with low morale, and you were afraid – but you’ve suppressed your feelings for your fiance´e. What do you think that means?’
Acland gave an ironic shrug. ‘That I had to forget her to function properly?’
‘Except you haven’t forgotten her, you just don’t like her any more.’ Willis watched him pump his hands together, monotonously squeezing air from between his palms. ‘What emotion do you think you’d have felt if you had read her letter?’
‘I didn’t read it.’
He was lying, Willis thought. ‘Would you have been hurt?’
The lieutenant shook his head. ‘I’d have been angry.’
‘Then you must have been angry whether you read it or not, since you obviously knew it was a “Dear John” letter.’ He took off his glasses and rubbed them on his cuff. ‘Why does anger worry you?’
‘Who says it does?’
‘You implied your amnesia had an emotional basis, and you’ve been struggling with anger since you arrived here. It’s a strong emotion. I’m wondering if you think it caused you to fail your command in some way.’
‘How?’
‘Lack of concentration.’ Willis replaced his glasses and studied the young man. ‘I think you’re blaming the deaths of your men on the fact that your mind was on Jen . . . and you’ve convinced yourself that’s why you’ve forgotten the attack. You believe you were guilty of negligence.’
Acland didn’t answer.
‘I don’t pretend to understand every working of the brain, Charles – it’s a complex organ that contains around one hundred billion neurones – but I doubt the two events are related. You might have been distracted during the first week of your deployment but not after two months. I imagine you placed Jen in a box to concentrate on suicide bombers – it’s what most of us would do in the same situation – and anger never came into it. It’s hardly plausible that you’d box up the bombers to concentrate on her, is it . . . not if you held your breath every time a car went by?’
‘No.’ The young lieutenant’s hands relaxed suddenly. ‘But it’s odd. She was a damn good fuck. I’d expect to feel
something
.’
Extracts from notes on Lt Charles Aclan
d
January/February 200
7
. . . Charles is suspicious of me. He wants to return to active service, and his reluctance to talk about his anxieties is clearly associated with this ambition. He thinks I’m acting for the army as a ‘mental health monitor’. [Query: How worried is he about his state of mind?]
...He places too much weight on his mental health assessment and not enough on his physical handicaps. I wonder if the reason for this is that he’s adapted well to the loss of his eye but hasn’t come to terms with the psychological impacts of sudden inactivity . . . the death of his men . . . feelings of inadequacy . . . guilt, etc....
. . .
Personality change
It’s hard to form an opinion after the event, but his current demeanour – cold restraint broken by occasional bursts of temper – seems to be new. His CO describes him as a ‘popular, outgoing officer with excellent leadership ability and good social skills’ . . . his parents as ‘loving and dependable’, a ‘nice person with numerous friends’. Both suggest a confident extrovert personality who conformed well to the conventions of the middle class. [Query: Why am I seeing an angry, introspective ‘rebel’?]
. . . I’m struck by Charles’s intelligence, which appears to be well above average. He is alert and observant – viz. his ability to reattach his own drips correctly – and has learned to compensate for his blind side in record speed. He’s also highly motivated and has developed his own fitness regime since being allowed out of bed.
. . . He’s reticent about his relationships, blocking questions about his parents by saying he gets on well with them. [NB This is clearly untrue, particularly re his mother.] However, he did describe them on one occasion as ‘mutually absorbed’ and ‘complacent’. When I asked if this meant he felt excluded, he said, ‘Not at all. I’ve always been my own person.’
...He claims he had no problems being sent away to boarding school at eight. ‘It gave me independence.’ [NB Independence seems to matter to him. He refers to the family farm as ‘the ball and chain’. ‘I’m an only child. I’m expected to marry and have children and inherit the damn thing.’]
. . . His indifference towards his fiance´e appears to be genuine, although mention of her irritates him. He says she’s ‘history’, therefore talking about her is pointless. He shows a similar indifference to the people who’ve sent cards. He doesn’t write letters or make phone calls, and he’s requested no visitors.
. . .
Self-imposed isolation
He spends hours alone in thought or watching the news channels on television. He avoids, or cuts short, any attempts at communication, often through rudeness. He distrusts and/or is contemptuous of the medical staff and other patients, has difficulty containing his frustration at what he perceives as stupidity or slowness, and transfers his anger and aggression into physical activity, such as pumping his palms together or clenching his fists.
...He rejects any idea that disfigurement is a contributory factor, claiming he doesn’t care what people think. [NB This is almost certainly untrue. He shows typical symptoms of a patient with facial deformity . . . refers to himself as a ‘freak show’ . . . dislikes being stared at . . . has difficulty judging other people’s reactions . . . distrusts shows of friendship . . . talks regularly about being in ‘a zoo’ . . . turns his chair so that his uninjured side is towards the door.]
. . .
Attitudes to sex
Despite describing Jen as ‘a damn good fuck’, he blocks every question on the subject and presents as a sexually repressed individual. He’s highly protective of himself, particularly his genitals. He objects to female nurses and has accused one of the men of being gay. [Query: Is this repression or obsession? Query: Sexual orientation? Not clear.]
. . .
Traumatic brain injury/subsequent antisocial behaviour
I asked Henry Watson to take another look at the CAT scan for frontal lobe damage. He remains of the opinion that there is none but suggested a second scan, using MRI. He confirmed my assessment that Charles’s current symptoms are not typical of an antisocial disorder but refused to offer a view on whether a changed personality occurred suddenly or evolved over time.
...He expressed some concern about Charles’s contempt for others, which implies arrogance, lack of empathy and an inability to connect emotionally, but was less troubled by the shows of aggression – attack on mother, clenched fists, etc. – which he described as ‘hot-blooded’. [NB Typically, sociopaths show no emotional discharge when they’re angry but plan their violent reprisals in dispassionate ‘cold-blooded’ ways.]
. . .
Reprisal
Watson suggested I contact the ex-fiance´e to find out if Charles has made any attempts to communicate with her...
| From: | Jennifer Morley [jen�morley.freeline.net] |
|---|---|
| Sent: | 21.02.2007 16:56 |
| To: | robert.willis�southgeneral.nhs.uk |
| Subject: | Lt Charles Acland |
Dear Dr Willis
Thank you for your letter. I hope you don’t mind an email in return, but I thought it would be quicker. I’ll answer your last question first. No, Charlie hasn’t been in contact since before he went to Iraq. In fact I wouldn’t have known he’d been injured, or which hospital he was in, if his mother hadn’t phoned. I gathered from what she said that Charlie hadn’t told her we’d split up. Well, I’m not surprised! As far as I know, he never tells his parents anything.
I was extremely sorry to hear what happened, and I hate the idea that Charlie doesn’t want me to know. He must realize I still care about him. We were together for about nine months in total – dating on and off for the first two, an ‘item’ for the next four, and engaged from July of last year. I’ve written several times, but I haven’t had a reply. I’ve also phoned the hospital every few days, but the operator won’t connect me.
I assumed this meant he was unable to write or talk, but your letter says he’s up and about and doing well. His mother said he has amnesia, and from the letters after your name I’m guessing you’re a psychiatrist. Am I right? So is amnesia what you’re helping him with? I should perhaps mention that my phone’s rung a few times recently but when I pick it up there’s only silence and the caller’s number is always withheld. I was thinking it was a nuisance caller, but now I’m wondering if it’s Charlie. If so, can you tell him I’d like to speak to him?
I can’t believe he’s forgotten me – that wouldn’t be possible, would it? I mean, we were
so
close. I’m not sure how amnesia works, but I’m quite hoping Charlie’s forgotten why we split. It was a stupid row about nothing and I feel
awful
about it now. I get the feeling the person on the other end really wants to talk to me but loses courage when he hears my voice. Do you think it’s Charlie?
You say it will help his recovery if you know more about me and the relationship we had together. Which means Charlie hasn’t told you anything. Why aren’t I surprised?!!! (You’re looking at the original zipped mouth. Charlie never talks about anything to do with himself, and it all goes back to his mother. She’s the original control freak. You could have knocked me over with a feather when she phoned. I only met her once and she didn’t like me one little bit. Too much competition in the ‘looks’ department, according to Charlie!)
Charlie’s a chameleon. He projects different images of himself to different people. With his regiment, he’s a man’s man. With me, he’s a woman’s man. With his parents, he clams up and pretends he’s not there. I accused him once of lacking the confidence to be himself, but he said there was no point getting into arguments unless he had to. The trouble is, when the arguments finally happen, it’s always red-mist stuff. That’s why we split. A silly little row turned into a full-scale war.
I’m not what Charlie’s parents wanted in a daughter-in-law. He was supposed to marry a home-maker, not an ambitious London-based actress. I’ve had a few small parts on TV but most of my work’s in the theatre, and Mary and Anthony went from approval of the engagement to disapproval in ten seconds flat when I said I wasn’t planning to leave London or have babies any time soon. If at all, in fact. Charlie then dropped his bombshell about the farm – that there was no way he would ever take it on – and his parents blamed me for setting him against the place. It caused a huge number of rows between them, which inevitably spilled over into our relationship.
We met at a New Year’s Eve party at the end of 2005. Charlie was more smitten than I was at the beginning – he told me it was a
coup de foudre
when he first saw me – but he’s the kind of guy who grows on you. He’s very persistent, very generous and very difficult to say no to. In some ways, he’s every woman’s idea of the perfect man – respectful, patient, good-looking, determined, kind – Mr Darcy in fact. But in others, he’s a bit of a nightmare, because he keeps his emotions bottled up and only says what he
really
thinks when he’s angry.
Yes, I did send a ‘Dear John’ letter the day before he went to Iraq. We’d had this huge bust-up (the row) the last time I saw him – the week before – and he hadn’t bothered to apologize. I think now that he was stressed out about going to war, but he did and said some things that were unforgivable and I decided the relationship wasn’t worth it. I talked it over with a friend and she said there was no excuse for violence. She also said it would be fairer to tell him sooner rather than later.
I regret the letter now because I should have been more understanding. Charlie masks his feelings so much that it’s difficult to tell when he’s nervous or afraid, and I truly believe he was both before he left for Iraq. He said once that manoeuvres were no real test of ability under fire because soldiers knew they wouldn’t die in training. Another time he said that a commander had to be up to the task or he’d be letting his men down. I think those worries may have been preying on his mind and I feel so guilty that I added to them by taking my friend’s advice. I shouldn’t have listened to her. Perhaps he would have come home in one piece if I hadn’t.
There’s not much else I can tell you except that I’d love to see him. I did wonder if your letter meant that he feels similarly . . . I’m not saying that we can retrieve what we had immediately, or in precisely the same way – I can’t take that level of possessiveness again – but we were very close for a long time and on my side there’s still a huge amount of love and affection. Will you tell him that?
Thank you.
With best wishes,
Jen Morley
If you want to know more about Jen Morley, visit
www.jenmorley.co.uk