A Keeper(35)

She was woken with a start by a dishevelled Mrs Foley bursting into her room, a red and white tea towel flapping in one hand. She picked up the chair that was lying on the floor and put it back by the bed. Then she turned her full attention to Patricia. Mrs Foley’s face was crimson with rage and spittle flew from her mouth as she spat out her words.

‘You’d better learn to behave, Missy. Any more nonsense like that, I will tie you to that bed. Do you hear me? Hand and foot! Your precious Edward won’t save you! Do you understand?’

This was a Mrs Foley that Patricia hadn’t seen before. She seemed crazed and unpredictable. Dangerous. The tea towel was twisted tightly between her fists and Patricia was reminded of the night she had seen the old woman wring the chicken’s neck in the outhouse. ‘Do you understand me?’ she asked again.

‘Yes,’ Patricia whispered and then a little louder, ‘I understand.’

‘Good. And maybe that will blow some sense into you.’ The old lady waved a hand, trembling with anger, at the broken window, ‘because I won’t be fixing it.’

She slammed the door and turned the key.

Patricia didn’t know how long she had been left alone for or what time it was, but it was dark outside when the door opened again and Edward inched his way into the room. He was carrying a sheet of cardboard. She knew her eyes must be red and swollen but she didn’t care.

‘I’ve come to fix the window.’ He was speaking in a whisper. Patricia wondered if his mother knew that he was doing this.

He crossed the room and began to tear out a square of cardboard.

‘It was my friend Rosemary. People are looking for me. You are going to have to let me go. I have to go home, Edward,’ Patricia implored him. ‘You can’t just keep me here. It’s wrong!’ She had to make him understand.

He turned and walked to the bed. ‘You’re not to upset Mammy. Please. You don’t understand, Patricia. Don’t rile her. It will only make things worse for you.’

He sounded deadly serious. Patricia wasn’t sure if it was the cold from the broken window or fear, but she was shivering. What was Mrs Foley capable of?

More days went by. How many? Patricia couldn’t be certain. It became light, it got dark, the days crept past her window. Sometimes the wind whistled around the eaves, or she might wake to hear it roaring past the house, rattling the windows, but it never seemed to stop. Patricia struggled to remember what silence sounded like. Once or twice she thought she heard a car or voices but it was just the crashing of a high tide or the wind in the branches. She found some old magazines in an otherwise empty wardrobe, and dutifully flicked through them. The People’s Friend. Woman’s Weekly. Not magazines she could ever imagine Mrs Foley buying. She read stories of romance. Nurses falling in love with doctors while they saved lives in Africa, Scottish chieftains grabbing red-haired farm girls roughly and throwing them down on banks of heather, but always with a happy ending. Patricia had no idea how her strange tale would conclude. They couldn’t keep her here forever and why would they want to? It made no sense.

One morning Mrs Foley came into her room as usual and placed the tray along the side of the bed. Patricia ignored her. There was nothing to be gained from asking questions. How many times had she pleaded with the old woman to tell her about Rosemary, what she had said to her friend? But nothing. Just the plates of barely touched food collected at regular intervals.

Mrs Foley jabbed a finger at the tray. ‘Some post for you there.’ Patricia jolted with the shock of hearing a voice and rattled the cup and saucer. Before she could gather her thoughts and respond, the old woman had left, turning the key in the lock.

There were four envelopes. Two were white, one blue and the other a sort of pale yellow. They looked like Christmas or birthday cards. She opened the first one and pulled out its contents. On the front of the card was a picture of two birds, doves perhaps, using their beaks to tie a knot in a long piece of red ribbon that spelled out in its curves and folds the word, ‘Congratulations’. How odd. She opened it up. In black print it said, ‘Congratulations on your wedding day’, and below that was a handwritten note. ‘We are all so happy for you. Many congratulations to yourself and Edward. Please come and visit. Love from Gillian, Jerry and the family.’ Patricia didn’t know what to think. She felt as if she was going crazy. Her stomach tightened and her breathing had become swift and shallow. The next card showed some wedding bells in a throng of roses and inside was a note from Carol Daunt. Carol Daunt? They hadn’t even been friends in school. Why would she send a card? The third one was a cartoon of two rabbits sharing a carrot. Inside it said, ‘May there be more than fences running around your garden!’ The message was from Rosemary. ‘Sorry to have missed you. Hope you are feeling much better. I’m so happy for you and Edward. I wish you a long and happy life together.’ This was madness. Impatiently she ripped open the fourth envelope. It was from Rosemary’s parents. They too shared her joy. Pushing the tray aside Patricia got out of bed and began to hammer on the bedroom door. ‘Mrs Foley! What is going on? Mrs Foley!’

The sound of footsteps on the stairs followed by the familiar sound of the lock and then Edward’s mother stood before her. She looked defiant. She smoothed her apron and in a perfectly calm voice enquired, ‘What can I do for you, dear?’ Patricia didn’t know where to start. Her mouth opened and closed but no words came. Finally, she grabbed the cards and held them up to Mrs Foley’s face.