Patricia didn’t know how she should respond. Part of her longed for the opportunity to get out of this room. The possibility of using the phone, or simply making a run for it down the lane, was exciting, but she knew she mustn’t betray her enthusiasm or Mrs Foley might retract her offer. At the same time, she bristled with fury that her gaoler thought she should be doing chores to help with the running of her prison.
As blandly as she could, Patricia simply replied, ‘I see.’
‘After you use the bathroom I’ll sort you out with an old housecoat of mine and some slippers.’
Since her recovery from her fever she had been given bathroom privileges. She had been provided with a small silver bell to ring when she needed to go. Mrs Foley would then unlock the door and wait for her while she used the bathroom. Patricia had checked and the window seemed even further off the ground than the one in her room. Some days Patricia had rung the bell more than she needed to, just to hear Mrs Foley making the effort of climbing the stairs, but soon the old lady had become suspicious, and now she didn’t respond if the rings were too close together.
Dressed in her borrowed finery an hour or so later, Patricia found herself seated at the kitchen table. She had thought the room might look different but it was exactly as she remembered it from the night after the pub, weeks before. Mrs Foley placed a plastic basin of potatoes in front of her.
‘You can start by peeling those.’
Not feeling the need to respond Patricia picked up the peeler and began her work. Looking around, her eyes came to rest on the back door. She could just make a run for it. Even in her second-hand slippers, she guessed that she could outrun Mrs Foley and Edward would let her escape. Of that she was certain.
Mrs Foley turned from the sink and evidently noticed where Patricia’s gaze was fixed. Walking slowly, she went over to the door and turned the large key in the lock, before removing it and placing it in the front pocket of her apron. She gave Patricia a long, hard stare.
‘If you’re not going to peel them spuds, we can just put you back in your room.’
Patricia began scraping the potatoes.
About ten minutes later the handle of the back door turned and someone rattled the lock with no success. There was a knocking and Mrs Foley went and used the key to open the door. Edward burst into the kitchen.
‘Why was the door …’ he began, but noticing Patricia, stopped speaking.
‘Look who has come down to join us,’ his mother said, pointing at the table with a tight smile.
A look of confusion crossed Edward’s face.
‘I see.’ He sounded very uncertain about what he was looking at. ‘That’s great.’ He smiled at Patricia. She did not return his enthusiasm, but instead, with an expressionless face, reached into the bowl and took out another potato.
‘I mean, great that you are feeling better,’ he elaborated. Patricia gave him nothing. He deserved to squirm.
‘I’ll put the kettle on for you,’ his mother chimed in.
‘Fine, so. I’ll just wash my hands.’ As he walked to the door Patricia noticed that he was still wearing the shirt from the night before. Had that really happened? It seemed so hard to imagine that this man had fallen asleep cradled in her arms, when now here she sat like some modern-day slave, being held captive by a mad woman.
Patricia watched the tea being made and saw no sign of it being drugged, so drank a cup with the others. Very little was said. One of the neighbour’s sheep had been with the herd this morning, so Edward was going to have a word and block up the fences. Someone Patricia had never heard of had driven by in a new car. Pellets were needed for calves.
After Edward had returned to work in the yard, the back door was relocked. Once Patricia had finished her peeling, Mrs Foley gave her a brush and instructed her to sweep the floor. As resentful as she felt, it was preferable to lying in bed all day staring at the ceiling, drifting in and out of sleep. When she was finished with her broom, Mrs Foley gave her a dustpan and brush.
‘Good work.’ Edward’s mother was positively beaming. ‘Now, I think that’s enough for today. Let’s get you back upstairs.’
Patricia didn’t want to go back to her room to spend a long, dull afternoon but could think of no excuse to stay downstairs. She glanced around the kitchen looking for some task she might help with but nothing leapt out at her. She shuffled to the door obediently and made her way upstairs to her room. Once inside, Mrs Foley pointed at the borrowed slippers.
‘I’ll have those, thank you.’