What had just happened? Patricia looked at her tray and then at the flaking paint on the back of the closed door. Could Edward be trusted? Was his mother putting something in the tea? She found it so hard to think. Her head felt heavy and thick with sleep, and yet a small spark of reason told her that this must be what being drugged felt like. Why would Mrs Foley not want her to leave? She took a couple of sips from the glass of water that Edward had brought her and then lay her head on the pillow, panting slightly from the effort of just trying to think.
For the next two days she made it her mission to avoid drinking every cup of tea she was given. Some she poured into the commode but it was too obvious-looking so she began to simply pour it down the side of the bed next to the wall. She hoped she would be long gone before Mrs Foley discovered the brown soaked corner of carpet under the bed.
At first, she felt a little stronger, more alert – but then she was plagued with bad headaches, stomach cramps and diarrhoea. Mrs Foley kept her plied with tea to aid her recovery but Patricia didn’t drink a drop. By the end of the third day she felt a little better. She wondered if she was well enough to get to the bathroom because she was becoming concerned the tea lake under the bed might make its way into the room or cause a stain to appear on a ceiling downstairs. She got out of bed and for a moment felt so dizzy she was certain she would fall. Grabbing the chair by the bed for balance, she waited till the room steadied itself. Tentatively she moved one foot and then the other before letting go of the chair. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. Opening the bedroom door as gently as she could she stepped out onto the landing.
Patricia was struck by how big it seemed after the fog of days spent in her simple cell. She took a step towards the bathroom, holding her cup carefully. She didn’t want to leave any tell-tale stains on the carpet. Another step and she was able to steady herself on the banister. She held her breath and listened. Just the wind and the distant call of a gull. Putting one foot carefully in front of the other, she slowly made her way towards the bathroom. Her heart was beating loudly and her blood seemed to be rushing inside her ears. The inside of her mouth was dry. Once more she paused and strained to hear any sounds in the house besides the groans and rattles caused by the constant storm. Silence. Another few steps. She was nearly there. A floorboard creaked. She gripped the cup and held her breath. Nothing. Another couple of steps and she had reached her goal. She lunged towards the toilet and poured the tea into the bowl. Immediately she regretted it. She was a fool. Why hadn’t she used the sink? If she flushed the toilet Mrs Foley would come running but if she didn’t the tea would just sit there to incriminate her. Her breathing was coming in short bursts now as she began to panic. All at once the bathroom was flooded with light and turning her head she found Mrs Foley’s face inches from her own. She screamed.
‘Look at you, out of bed,’ the old woman said, her voice betraying no emotion. ‘Isn’t that …’ She stopped short and Patricia realised she had seen the cloudy tea-coloured water in the bowl. Her eyes went to the empty cup in Patricia’s hand. Mrs Foley’s lips tightened and a hard cold stare took hold of her face. Edward had been telling the truth. Patricia felt sick. She realised that for reasons she couldn’t comprehend, she was in real danger. Her whole body was gripped by a breath-stealing fear.
‘Let’s get you back to your room, shall we?’ Without waiting for an answer Mrs Foley put her arm around Patricia’s shoulder, the bones of her fingers digging into her flesh, and guided her with some force across the landing. Back in bed, the blankets were tucked tightly around her and then as she left, Mrs Foley smiled sweetly. ‘If you want anything just call.’
Patricia stared at the ceiling as she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock.
NOW
She kept listening to the voicemail.
‘To hear the message again press two.’
There was his voice, so calm and plausible as he lied to her. Life had taught her to doubt men but somehow she had always believed her relationship with Zach was different. Thinking back she realised that she had chosen to delude herself. She never quizzed him about his life or asked the really difficult questions, and she had to admit that was less to do with trust and more about her fear of what she might find out. Everything she knew about his teenage life came through the filter of what he had chosen to tell her. She remembered how she had sat quietly while Laura and Jocelyn at work recounted horror stories about their teenage sons and assured them that her relationship with Zach was different. ‘He tells me everything,’ she had told her friends. ‘We are more like roommates than mother and son.’ Elizabeth rolled her eyes, thinking what a gullible idiot she had been. She reminded herself to give Laura and Jocelyn permission to openly gloat and really relish hearing about the enormous slice of humble pie she had been served.