The Reunion

Chapter 5

THE MENTAL HOSPITAL

The drive only took about twenty minutes. The "hospital" was situated on Dartmoor. I had always loved the moor. Haytor Rock is one of my most favourite places on Earth. Judith and myself have brought the children here many times in the past. And, now, they're bringing their children here. The first thing that struck me about the place was the high stone wall that was surrounding it. It felt more like a prison which, I suppose, in a way, it was. Ullacombe House was situated in a remote part on the moor. Not to be confused with Ullacombe Farm, Shop and Barn which offers excellent meals (especially breakfast) to this very day. They are nowhere near each other. Ullacombe House was built in the 1800s. Many files were burnt in a bad fire in the late 19th century so it was unsure what it was first used for when it was constructed. The favourite consensus was that it was a poor house or workhouse. It could well have been. It was probably adapted a few times over the years. It was used as a hospital during the Second World War and, thus, it

220

remained like that. Although the patients now have psychological problems.

I was admitted by the security guard and was escorted up to the main door. The gardens were immaculate and the grass had clear mown stripes as easily defined as they are on football pitches. The flower beds were grouped with climbers, shrubs, small perennials and seasonal plants. They were well pruned and maintained. I couldn't see a gardener so wondered if the patients were permitted to garden.

The reception room was huge. It had a desk, like you get in a hotel lobby. There was black and white tiled flooring; laid out diagonally and not like a chess top. It looked clinical and smelt very clean, like bleach was used daily. The receptionist was pretty and youngish; about thirty-something. She was wearing a white starched uniform like the nurses used to wear. She smiled at me as I approached.

'Good morning, Mr Avery,' she said.

'Good morning,' I replied. I wasn't surprised that she knew my name. The security guard had obviously informed her that I was here. A medium-size potted conifer proudly stood one side of the desk whilst a fern adorned the other side. I was sure they were real as it had been thirty-five to forty years ago that the world had cut back on plastics. I guess they served their purpose as they did break up the clinical element of the room.

'You're here to see Dominica Robertson,' she said.

'That's correct,' I replied.

'If you'd like to take a seat, I'll let Dominica know you're here.'

221

'Thank you,' I replied and went to sit down on a white, metal-framed bench with pure white cushions.

I watched as the receptionist contacted Dominica via the TV monitor. To be honest, there was not much else to look at in this room. A few pictures wouldn't go amiss.

I must have been sat there about ten minutes – the receptionist had offered me a drink but I had declined – before Dominica descended the somewhat plain staircase. She reached the bottom and had a beaming smile on her face. She extended her hand.

'Mr Avery,' she said.

I stood up and accepted her proffered hand. 'Ms Robertson,' I smiled back. It certainly was infectious.

'Oh, tush,' she rebuked. 'Please call me Domy.'

'It's a pleasure to meet you, Domy,' I said.

'The pleasure's all mine, Graham,' she replied. 'Do you mind if I call you Graham?'