Killing the Beasts

He was led quickly across into a room at the top of a corridor. Inside was a table and a few soft chairs. A children's mobile hung in the corner, garishly coloured tigers, giraffes and parrots stirred by the commotion as they entered the room. Sitting in one of the chairs was an overweight man in a white tunic, long hair tied back in a ponytail. He smiled at Tom and waved him to a seat. Turning his body so he wasn't directly facing Tom, he said, 'Hello, my name's Keith Pilkington. I'm the psychiatric nurse on duty this afternoon. PC Hines tells me they picked you up in Piccadilly Gardens. Can you tell me what was upsetting you so much?'

Tom breathed deeply and when he spoke his voice quivered only slightly. 'I'm sorry to have caused such a fuss.'

Apologetically, he glanced at each officer. PC Garrett smiled and said, 'Don't worry about it. By the way, these are your trousers. 'He placed them on the shelf near the door.

The psychiatric nurse had been watching Tom carefully and now he said to the officers, 'I don't need to keep you two any longer, thanks.'

The officers nodded in reply and quietly left the room. Once the door had shut, he looked at Tom. 'So what was it all about?'

Tom could still feel the sheen of sweat coating his face. But he knew how to put that right. The remedy lay in the top drawer of his desk at work. Looking at his bare knees, he said, 'I've had them in the past. But that's the first for years.'

The nurse was looking at his notepad. 'The first what?' he gently coaxed.

'Panic attack.' He raised a hand to show how his fingertips trembled.' It suddenly hit me. I just had to run.'

'Why did you feel the need to remove your trousers?'

Tom shook his head. 'They had chewing gum on them.'

'Had chewing gum on them?' Tom took another deep breath. 'I think I've developed a bit of a phobia. It's a long story, but it started with rubbery things. The mouthpiece of a diving mask, in fact.' He let out a short and cheerless laugh. 'Then it somehow got to be anything rubbery that's been in someone's mouth. It makes me want to be sick — I get flooded with a kind of revulsion. 'He stopped and looked up. 'I sound mad, don't I?'

The nurse's features were full of understanding. 'I've dealt with far worse. Could I ask your name?'

'Tom. Tom Benwell.'

'Are you using drugs, Tom? You look like you haven't been getting much sleep. And the sort of state the officers described… I assumed you were heavily under the influence of something.'

Tom shook his head. 'I've just got so much on at work. I was having lunch with a client. God!' He turned his head, and looked at the door. 'I left him in Mr Thomas's Chop House. Just sprinted out of there.'

'Well, your health is far more important than any contract,' said the nurse. 'Just think of it as a lunch he'll always remember.'

Tom appreciated his attempt at making light of the situation and, taking advantage of the softening in the atmosphere, asked, 'So what happens now? I'm not under arrest, am I?'

'No, not at all. Do you have any history of mental illness, Tom?'

Now Tom wanted to get the interview over with as quickly as possible. 'No,' he lied, not mentioning his episode of a few years before. 'Apart from the panic attacks, of course.'

'And this attitude you have towards,' he glanced at his notes and quoted,'“anything rubbery that's been in someone's mouth”. You called it a phobia. We'd refer to it as a neurosis. Are you familiar with the word?'

'Like a weird habit?'

'Compulsive or obsessive behaviour, usually provoked by an irrational fear or belief. It's amazingly common, so don't worry. Have you mentioned your concerns about rubbery things to your GP?'

'No; I'm so busy at work. But I should do. I mean, will do.' Eager to please, eager to get out.

'Yes, you should. Who is your GP?'

Tom gave him the doctor's name and practice address.

The nurse noted it down and said, 'Dr Goldspink can arrange for you to be referred to a counsellor; there are very effective forms of therapy available. You needn't let it have such a detrimental effect on your life and job.'

Tom nodded. 'Fair enough. I will.'

'Right. I'll let your doctor know what happened and recommend that he book you in to see a therapist. In the meantime, you'll need some trousers. Now, I can get you a pair of these.' He pointed to the thin green cotton pair he was wearing. 'Or there's a little trick I know about for removing chewing gum. We can freeze it off

— there's a gas here that can do it.' Tom looked bemused. 'Freezing chewing gum turns it brittle, then we can scrape it off with a scalpel.' 'Option number two, please.'

He had a ten-pound note ready for the taxi driver. As soon as the car pulled up outside his office he said, 'Here mate, keep the change.'

The driver said, 'Cheers! You want a receipt with that?'

But Tom was already half out of the car, keys to the office in his hand. 'No, you're all right,' he called over his shoulder.

Reception was deserted and the door locked, but when the alarm didn't start buzzing as he opened up, he knew someone else was still in the building.

Quickly he walked through to his office, shut the door and made straight for his desk. Two large dabs of powder later and he was sitting in his chair staring at the screensaver of the Cornish beach. Though it no longer gave him the same sense of exhilaration, the drug was working its way through his system, easing his nerves and smoothing the ruffles of his mind. He was just contemplating pulling out the bottom drawer and putting his feet up when there was a knock on the door.

'Yeah?' he said, surprised at the dreamy way the word came out.

The door opened halfway and Ges poked his head into the room. 'Where've you been? All hell's been breaking out here.'

'Go on,' said Tom. For the moment, nothing really mattered but the relief coursing through him.

'The guy from the chewing gum company called. Then his boss called from London. Then our bosses called from London. No one can get hold of you, so suddenly everyone's after you. Was there

some sort of problem with the chewing gum promotion?'

'Ges, I'll fill you in tomorrow.'

Ges frowned, but didn't say anything. Without a word he stepped back out of the office and disappeared up the stairs.

Tom went on the internet and checked that the cafe in Cornwall was still for sale. Seeing that it was, he gathered up his jacket and set off home. He hadn't even put his briefcase down in the hall when Charlotte called from the sitting room. 'Tom, your bloody mobile can't be turned on. One of the directors down in London has called here three times. He's left his home number for you.'

Tom went up to their bedroom, climbed out of his suit and dumped it in the wardrobe. Pulling on jeans and a T-shirt, he went back down the stairs, preparing his speech to Charlotte. He'd use the beach location to persuade her — emphasize the prospect of fresh air and opportunities for exercise. He'd already enquired about membership at the best gym in the area.

As he walked into the sitting room, he saw the TV was tuned into the build-up for the Opening Ceremony in the Commonwealth Games stadium. The place was already packed, every seat sold out. But his wife was sitting on the edge of the sofa, looking tense and uncomfortable.

'Charlotte,' he began, 'don't worry about that knob down in London. What has he said, anyway?'

'Nothing,' she said, biting on the edge of a thumbnail. 'Just for you to call him immediately.'

Tom moved to the sofa and sat down. He put his arm around her. 'Charlotte, it's all going to be fine. I've got this plan-'

She cut him off. 'I'm not bothered by some rude prick down in London. I'm bothered about this.'

She held up a white plastic object the shape of an ice-lolly stick. Halfway up was a little window with a blue cross in it.