THE ATMOSPHERE IN THE dining hall is subdued, like the aftermath of a drunken orgy. Quietly clinking spoons, shamefaced chewing of cornflakes. The staff table has been moved some distance away from the rest. Dr Mallory and Admin sit amongst the nurse aides, decorously eating toast, as if to negate the fact that, twelve hours earlier, they were involved in pandemonium: fighting, flying food and fire.
Shining-haired Donovan sits in solitary state at the end of the table like a glamorous dunce. When he sees Bright enter he raises his teacup in a furtive welcome.
But where’s Gibby? Bright skirts around the Swede, who is crouched on a chair filming Raven tucking into a plate of mackerel. ‘Vitamin D is a proven mood elevator,’ he intones, ‘which is why oily fish is frequently served at The Palace.’
‘Bright! Come and sit with us!’ Mirabelle waves with her serviette, while Rosalind holds her orange juice aloft like a beacon.
‘In a minute,’ he fibs. After yesterday evening, he feels a trifle nervous being around the Twins and any liquid substances. ‘I need to talk to Gibby.’
As if conjured up by his name, there he is, half-camouflaged by a pillar, his pale face and beige shirt merging into the plaster. He’s ploughing stolidly through scrambled eggs, but when he sees Bright he drops his fork and looks both eager and anxious. ‘How is she?’
‘Much better.’ Bright pulls up a chair and lets out his breath: whoooosh. ‘She didn’t feel like coming down for breakfast. But she sends her love to you.’
‘Is she really okay? When I saw her lying there —’ Gibby closes his eyes for a second. ‘Did she talk about what happened?’
‘Not much. But maybe last night was the turning point that Geoffrey’s always going on about? When I left her just now she seemed like a different person. A totally different person.’ Remembering her, remembering what happened just twenty minutes earlier — flustered, he knocks over the salt shaker. ‘Whoops. Sorry.’ He throws a pinch of salt over his left shoulder.
The Swede is there in an instant, zooming in on them. ‘Although The Palace is a modern medical institution, superstitious customs abound. In this instance, salt has been thrown over the shoulder to ward off the devil.’ Already he’s adopted the most annoying traits of the documentary film-maker: the low meaningful voice, a calm disregard for personal boundaries.
‘Considering that this is a modern medical institution, what you’re doing may well be illegal.’ Bright stares stonily into the lens until the Swede moves away to find a more willing subject. ‘He’s out of control,’ Bright says to Gibby, ‘and it’s partly your fault for inventing a camera so simple that even idiots can use it.’
‘He was less annoying when he was depressed,’ admits Gibby. ‘Do you want some of my eggs?’
‘I guess. But they look watery. And tasteless.’ Bright grinds pepper vigorously over the plate. ‘So we’ll go to Geoffrey this morning —’ he peers through the pepper storm — ‘and pitch the idea of mutual support in England.’
Gibby sneezes. ‘Do you think he’ll agree to it?’ For a second, with his eyes watering, he looks as anxious as he’s ever looked.
‘It’s the best possibility for — well, for all of us. We just need to stick close for a while. Even I feel better when you’re around! Less likely to shuffle off buildings, for instance.’ But even as he jokes, his mind leaps back to the heart-stopping moment when he saw Lace’s face, the waxen skin and the lips, the lifelessness. ‘Besides,’ he says through a mouthful of egg, ‘we’d be leaving next week anyway. We’re no longer Geoffrey’s responsibility, after next week.’
‘All the same, that phone call to Alabama — it sounded pretty serious.’ Gibby wipes his eyes with a paper serviette. ‘He’ll take some convincing.’
‘Yes, Alabama.’ Bright speaks in a spray of parsley. ‘God knows, we need to save her from that! Whoever left Alabama feeling better?’ But as he swallows and reaches for his coffee mug, the light through the window fades to grey. He knows, as definitively as the cloud blocking the sun, that for Lace’s sake they’ll have to accept Geoffrey’s decision.
‘If she isn’t fit to come home —’ Gibby blows his nose with a trumpeting sound.
‘We can go there,’ nods Bright.
‘And if she can come home now —’
‘Then things get better all the sooner.’ But as Bright looks around the room, his head spins. For one second he feels as if he’s back on the ledge, where he started.