A Keeper(65)

Clutching the letter in her hand, she went to the door. It was open. She rushed down the stairs.

‘Edward! Where are you, Edward?’ she called.

Mrs Foley came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a cloth.

‘What is it? Is the baby all right?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Patricia said impatiently, pushing her way past into the kitchen. ‘Where’s Edward? I have to speak to him!’ Her voice was louder now. Her feeling of hysteria was building. Something awful was happening and she had to stop it.

‘He’s out working. He’ll be in for lunch.’ Mrs Foley was not going to indulge this behaviour. ‘You need to calm down, my girl,’ she said sternly, but Patricia had caught a glimpse of Edward through the window. He was on the far side of the yard, walking towards the milking parlour. She lunged at the back door. It was unlocked. She stepped outside and called his name. ‘Edward!’

He turned, astonished to see her outside. She began to run barefoot across the uneven farmyard.

Mrs Foley was at the door, barking at her. ‘Patricia! Come back here.’ She began to make her way unsteadily after her in pursuit.

Edward ran towards Patricia and they were now standing in the centre of the yard. Her light housecoat was being lifted by the breeze and was flapping around her.

‘What is it?’ He put his hands on her shoulders, to steady her. Patricia’s face was now stained with tears and it was hard to understand what she was saying.

‘Jerry. My brother, Jerry, is trying to sell my house!’ She brandished Rosemary’s letter as evidence, but the wind caught it and carried it up into the grey sky, sailing around the side of the castle towards oblivion. Patricia sank to her knees, while Edward tried to hold her up.

His mother had joined them. She was holding her hair back from her face with one hand. ‘What is it? What is wrong with her?’

‘I’m not sure. Bad news.’

Patricia leaned against him and pleaded. ‘Please. I’ve got to go home. I’ve got to!.’ She twisted her head towards Mrs Foley. ‘Let me use the phone. I must call someone! I must!’ She was hysterical with frustration and panic. ‘Please, Edward! Please!’ His face showed no emotion. He grabbed her under one arm and lifted her up. His mother held her other arm tightly.

‘We need to get her back to bed.’ It was Mrs Foley speaking but Edward didn’t disagree. Patricia was frantic. He couldn’t be doing this.

‘Edward, you said I could go. You said you’d help me. Please. Please let me go. I have to go!’

She felt a sudden sharp pain on the left side of her face where Mrs Foley had slapped her.

‘You need to calm down.’ They began to half-carry, half-drag her back towards the house. Patricia struggled but it was useless. She felt the skin of her feet being torn and scratched as they pulled her across the yard and then into the kitchen. She was wailing now, screaming at the top of her voice. Words failed her.

Up the stairs they pulled her and then she was pushed onto the bed.

‘Hold her,’ Mrs Foley commanded and Edward, her Edward, eyes almost shut, as if he was in pain, pinned her down while his mother went across the room and picked up Elizabeth, who had begun to wail in unison with Patricia.

‘Leave her now,’ the old woman barked without a backwards glance as Edward trailed after her. The door was slammed and locked.

Patricia leapt from the bed and began to hammer on the door.

‘Edward! Please! Don’t do this!’ She pummelled her fists against the wood until they hurt. ‘Just one phone call! Please! Please!’ She slumped to the floor and buried her head between her knees, her body overcome by sobs and fatigue. Her house. The only thing she possessed in the world. She felt as if she was being slowly erased. Soon there wouldn’t be a trace left.

Hours crept by. Occasionally she could hear Elizabeth crying in another part of the house. She longed to be the one picking her up, cradling her, and kissing the sweet soft top of her head. Patricia tried to sleep but the cuts on her feet had begun to pulse with pain. She wondered if they would get infected and then she would die alone in this room. She began to cry again.

Much later (had she been sleeping?), she heard the scrape of the key in the lock. Patricia turned her face towards the wall.

‘Patricia?’ It was Edward’s voice. He spoke in a whisper.

She turned and saw him silhouetted against the landing light. He was holding the baby. She reached out her arms and he placed Elizabeth into them. Patricia held the baby tightly and pressed her cheek against the child’s face, breathing in deeply.

Light was still flooding into the room and Edward hadn’t moved.

‘I’m sorry.’

Patricia glared at him and hissed over the baby’s head, ‘Sorry? You say you’re my friend, you claim you want to help me, but you are just as bad as her!’

‘No. I … please, Patricia. I do want to help. I will. I promise.’

‘I don’t believe you, why should I believe you?’ She shut her eyes, willing him to leave the room.

‘I brought up some hot water.’

‘What?’ She didn’t understand.

‘For your feet. They’ll need cleaning.’

She wanted to scream. If she hadn’t been holding Elizabeth, she would have struck him. How could this man, who was holding her against her will, allowing her old life to be taken away from her, also be this man, who wanted to care for her?