A Keeper(36)

‘What are these? Why are people sending them?’

‘Well, I suppose people are happy for you.’

‘Happy? What for? I’m not married. You are keeping me a prisoner. What lies have you been telling people?’

‘Edward loves you very much and the sooner you understand that then the sooner we can all carry on as normal.’ She paused and the women stared at each other.

‘This is madness. Madness! You are out of your mind!’ Patricia screamed and then, breathless, crushed the cards into her fist. She stood barefoot, wearing nothing but a nightdress that wasn’t even her own. Mrs Foley’s face was steely as she met the young woman’s eyes. Slowly she moved one foot away from the other, bracing herself, almost challenging her young charge to try and get past her. ‘It’s up to you, my dear.’ And with that she turned on her heel, locking the door behind her.

The hours passed. Bouts of crying were interspersed with sleep. Darkness came but Patricia didn’t bother with the light. Mrs Foley had turned it on when she had delivered the dinner tray but Patricia had quickly extinguished it, preferring to lie forgotten and unseen in the night. Her dinner sat on the floor, untouched. Patricia wondered how long it would take her to starve to death. Would Edward and his mother allow that to happen? Surely they would take her to the hospital before she died? Then she could raise the alarm and this torment would be over. Maybe they would just tell the doctors that she was crazy and the more she insisted she wasn’t, the madder she would seem. That happened in films all the time.

At first Patricia paid no heed to the knocking. She assumed it must have been Edward with a hammer or Mrs Foley working on something, but then she heard voices. A man’s voice! That wasn’t Edward. It must have been the door knocker. There was a visitor in the house! She knelt on the floor and pressed herself against the door. Yes, that was Mrs Foley and the voice of a stranger. One of the doors at the front of the house was opened and closed. Patricia stood up. This was her chance to raise the alarm. Somebody from the outside world could tell people she was here. She looked around the room for something to make noise, but then decided to simply begin stamping on the floor. They might be sitting in the room below. After stamping loudly, she paused and listened, waiting for some reaction – feet on the stairs, a voice calling – but the house remained in silence. Had they left the house? Surely she would have heard them moving around the hallway? She stamped again, but still there was no response. Patricia moved to the door and began to hammer on it, but again there was no reaction.

‘Help!’ she called and knocked on the door as hard as she could. Silence. How could it be that she couldn’t be heard? She banged again and yelled out for help. Nothing. Had she been mistaken? Had she imagined the voices? She went and lay on her bed.

A short while later she heard a door and the man’s voice in the hall again. She hadn’t dreamt it! Rushing to the door she began to drum hard against the wood with her fists. ‘Help! Please help me!’ She waited, but the only sound she heard was the front door being swung shut.

She crossed the room to the window and saw a priest cycling unsteadily down the thin gravel path towards the lane. She knocked on the window but she knew it was futile. Her rescuer had gone. She braced herself for the arrival of Mrs Foley. Doubtless, she would storm up the stairs to berate her for daring to make such a racket, but no visit came.

It was hours later when the door opened slowly and Mrs Foley placed a cup of tea delicately on her bedside locker.

‘I thought you might have worked up a thirst.’

Patricia couldn’t look at her.

‘I had a nice visit there from Father Manning. He called out to meet Edward’s new bride.’

Despite herself, Patricia looked at Mrs Foley aghast. This was so completely insane, she thought she might faint.

The old woman was leaning against the door frame, with a studied air of nonchalance.

‘I explained to him that you suffer something terrible with your nerves. He was most sympathetic. Very understanding. We said a little prayer together for you. Do you feel any better, Patricia?’ Mrs Foley’s voice was cloying with mock concern.

Patricia wanted to get as far away from this woman as she could. She ran to the corner of the room and pushed her face against the wall, grinding her teeth with fury and frustration.

A small voice from across the room said, ‘Ah, the power of prayer.’ And the door closed with a click.

Downstairs a door was opened and then shut and she heard a little snatch of the theme to The Late Late Show. Saturday. It must be Saturday, she thought. How many nights had she lain in her own bedroom in Buncarragh while her mother watched the television in the living room beneath? In her mind she saw the faces of people she knew back home lit up by the flickering screen as they sat in front of their televisions. Not one of them thinking of her lying alone and helpless in the dark.

She must have fallen asleep again because the next thing she was aware of was someone gently tapping her shoulder. Opening her eyes with a start she could immediately make out Edward’s large frame against the light spilling into her room from the landing.

‘Edward?’

‘Shush, she’ll hear you,’ he whispered urgently. Then getting his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath against her cheek, he spoke slowly and quietly. ‘Tomorrow night. Be ready. And eat. The food is safe now.’ He stood up straight and turned to the door. Just before he closed it he put his head back into the room and repeated in a whisper, ‘Tomorrow night.’