Love Changes Everything (16 page)

She knew Fred was waiting for her to say something. Screwing her hands into fists to summon up her courage she asked, ‘Where do I wash myself and . . . and things like that? You haven't told me where the lavvy is, is it down the yard?'

‘No! It's out here.' He led her through to another, smaller room off the kitchen. In one corner was a brick built-in wash boiler and a brown stone sink alongside it. Next to that was a boxed-in lavatory.

‘There you are; there's the bog and you wash yourself and do all the washing out here, so you've no need to go out into the yard at all. In fact, you won't be able to, because I'll keep the door locked and take the key with me.'

‘What about when I have to hang the clothes outside to dry?'

‘You'll dry them indoors. There's a pulley rack in the kitchen. You lower that down, spread them out on it, and haul it back up to the ceiling. They're out of the way and they only take a couple of days to dry.'

Suddenly the enormity of what was happening struck home. ‘Does that mean I'm not going to be allowed to go out at all?' she demanded.

‘You mean your dad didn't explain it all to you?'

She shook her head, afraid to speak because she knew she was on the verge of crying and she didn't intend to let him see how upset and dismayed she was.

‘You're not going out of this house till Easter. I don't intend letting any of your family come round here either, and certainly not that Ivy O'Malley or any other friends you might have. Three months while you learn to run my home as I like it to be done, and then I'll decide if I'm going to marry you or not.'

‘Marry me! I don't want to marry you; you're as old as my dad!' Trixie shouted angrily.

‘Temper, temper,' he laughed in the tone he had used when taunting her at work. ‘Mind, I was expecting that and I'll enjoy bringing you to heel.'

‘I don't intend staying here,' Trixie told him furiously. ‘You sacked me on purpose from the biscuit factory, didn't you, and then you told my dad that you'd offer me a job as your housekeeper. You've even paid him my wages already to make sure he forced me to come here. You're a wicked, scheming pig; both of you are.'

She stared at him with loathing, inwardly scared that he might hit her, but determined not to let him see how frightened she was.

‘Well, I'm not staying here another minute so don't think that you can make me,' Trixie stated indignantly, pushing past him when he made no reply. She grabbed hold of her hat and coat and began putting them on.

‘You're wasting your time, doing that,' he told her. ‘There's only one door and that's locked and I have the key. You're staying right here for the next three months. By then I'll have tamed you, my girl, and if I like the results then I might make an honest woman of you. If I don't, then I'll send you packing.'

Ignoring him, Trixie went out on to the landing and ran down the stairs to the front door. Fred didn't even bother following her. She turned the handle, tugged and pulled, but nothing happened. The door was as solid as a rock and securely locked.

‘I'm still not staying here,' she fumed as, slowly, she came back upstairs. She ran across to the window and tried to open it but that was as securely locked as the front door.

‘All the doors in this place are locked and so are all the windows,' Fred told her with an amused smile on his face. ‘What's more, it's a good twenty-foot drop to the pavement because there's a shop down below this flat. You're a prisoner, my girl, and you'll stay that way till the three months are up. What's more, you'll do exactly as I say.'

Trixie took a deep breath and tried to calm down. If she couldn't escape in the normal way then she'd have to think of some cleverer ruse. She might have to stay here for a few days but, sooner or later, she was determined to get free.

Surely someone would miss her, she reasoned. Cilla would soon start fretting for her and her mother would eventually find out where she was and come looking for her for Cilla's sake.

Even though Trixie had lost her job at the factory, Ivy would wonder why she hadn't been to see them. She was bound to go round to Virgil Street to find out why Cilla hadn't been taken round to see them and then her mother would explain what had happened. Only, of course, her mum didn't know where she was, she thought unhappily.

Andrew would wonder why she hadn't been in touch with him to arrange to go to the pictures like he'd asked her to do. She sighed. Would he talk to Jake about it? she wondered. Or would he simply think she didn't want to go? She hoped he wouldn't think that, because she really liked him and after the dance at the Dorrington, she was pretty certain that he liked her quite a lot as well.

Although she felt both frustrated and scared, she was determined not to let Fred know this. Shrugging her shoulders she said in as nonchalant a voice as she could, ‘Well, that's it, then, I suppose. If you won't let me out to go home, then I'll have to stay here whether I want to or not.'

‘That's about it,' he said smugly, ‘so the sooner you find out how I like things to be done the better.'

‘I'll try and do my best,' she agreed. ‘You tell me what you like to eat and which shops you want me to use and I'll make sure that everything I buy is of the very best and your meal will be cooked and on the table for you when you get home at night.'

‘You won't need to go to those lengths,' he smirked,' because you won't be going out to any shops.'

Trixie tried not to let him see how dismayed she was because she realised that he was blocking her one hope of escape. ‘So how are we going to have any food, then, if I can't go out to buy it?' She frowned.

‘Don't try and get smart with me,' he snapped. ‘I know you're trying to pull a fast one, but I'm not that daft. I'll be doing the shopping, the same as I've always done,' he told her. ‘Your job will be to have the stuff cooked and on the table.'

She knew from the tone of his voice that she was probably asking for trouble by goading him, but she couldn't help herself. It was the only weapon she had.

‘So what do I do when the milkman calls for his money at the end of the week, or the postman knocks on the door because he's got a parcel that's too big to go through the letter box? Do I just make faces at them from the front-room window?'

‘No one will call. I don't owe anybody a penny piece; I never get any letters or parcels, and I settle up with the milkman when I'm down at the boozer.'

‘Well, what happens if one of my friends finds out that this is where I am and comes to see me?'

‘If you're thinking of that Ivy O'Malley, she doesn't know where I live and I'll make damn sure she doesn't start looking for you.'

‘You mean you'll threaten her, do you?' Trixie's eyes blazed with anger.

‘I'll do better than that; I'll warn her not to look for you and remind her that if she ever does then I'll have her sacked.'

Trixie could tell that he meant it and she suspected that, much as Ivy would probably want to come and see her, she most probably dared not risk losing her job.

‘Surely you're not going to stop me from seeing my little sister Cilla,' Trixie pleaded in a tearful whisper, hoping that this might have more affect on him than standing up to him seemed to do. ‘She's backward, she's not like other children of her age, and my mum depends on me to help with her. She can't even go for a walk unless someone is holding her hand—'

‘I know all about your sister,' he interrupted. ‘Your old man's filled me in on that score and it makes no difference, so you can stop your snivelling. You'll be seeing no one till I say so and that won't be for at least three months.'

Chapter Fourteen

Trixie spent the first few days feeling scared and sorry for herself. She was so lonely. Even at the factory, although they weren't supposed to talk, there were plenty of other people there and they could exchange smiles.

The narrow little bedroom with its bare walls was like a cell, and even though she'd hung up the spare skirt and blouse she'd brought with her on the hooks on the wall, the place still seemed alien. She wished she had a picture of Cilla and her mum and she worried because she knew Cilla would be missing her.

She'd wanted to put her few items of underwear somewhere where Fred couldn't see them. There was no cupboard, and there were no drawers, so she left them in the suitcase she'd brought them in and pushed that underneath the iron bedstead.

The first night she cried herself to sleep, sobbing into the rock-hard pillow till it was so damp she had to turn it over. The bed was hard and lumpy and she tossed and turned so much that it was almost morning before she finally fell asleep.

She was wakened by Fred banging on her bedroom door and shouting for her to get up. She felt so frightened that she was too petrified to move. For a moment she couldn't think where she was or who was shouting at her to get his breakfast.

Then, as she slowly regained her senses, she burrowed down under the covers, pulling them up over her ears to shut out his angry voice. Perhaps if she defied him, then he'd get fed up of having her there and send her home.

Fred wasn't prepared to stand any nonsense. He hammered on her door again. This time he didn't mince his words about what would happen if she wasn't up, dressed and had his breakfast on the table right away.

Remembering the hidings she'd received from her father when she didn't obey him, her common sense prevailed. The sensible thing to do was to respond to his demands and make the excuse that she'd overslept. For the moment it was important not to antagonise him but as soon as he'd gone to work she'd try to find some means of escape, she promised herself.

She knew the door on to the stairway was locked and that Fred carried the keys with him, but she was hoping that perhaps there was a window she could open and either shout to some passer by or even crawl out through, and somehow or other manage to climb down to the ground.

The windows were not only securely locked but also, when she looked closer, she discovered to her dismay that all of them had metal bars outside. It meant that even if she could open them there wouldn't be enough room to crawl out, and the drop to the ground was far greater than she'd thought.

She could still shout out to someone, she reasoned, but she didn't think they'd take any notice. She'd already tried hammering on the glass whenever people walked by to try and attract their attention, but even if they could hear her they never bothered to look up.

There was only one window that mightn't be locked, she decided, but that was the one in Fred's bedroom. He'd told her not to go in there and that he'd clean the room himself for the present, so she didn't dare try it.

On the third day of her imprisonment, however, Trixie decided it was the only chance left, so she risked it.

The room smelled of cigarettes and old socks as she gingerly pushed open the door and tiptoed in. She stood just inside the door, laughing at herself for being so secretive. Fred was at work; there was no one else in the house, so why was she creeping about as though she was afraid she might be caught breaking his rules at any moment?

Squaring her shoulders, she walked boldly over to the window. The curtains were drawn as they were in the rest of the house, but she parted them enough to take a look at the window. Like all the others it was a heavy sash window and there were protective bars outside it which meant it was pointless trying to make an escape that way. Nevertheless, she made an attempt to open it, but, again like all the windows in the flat, it was securely locked.

Resigned and disappointed, Trixie closed the curtains again, making sure they were overlapped in exactly the same way as they'd been when she came in. Now she was in here she might as well see if there was anything of interest she decided as she gazed round the rest of the room.

She wondered what he kept in the chest of drawers and the massive wardrobe. She felt guilty about invading his privacy by opening the drawers but, she told herself, he was keeping her there against her will so she was entitled to do so.

There was nothing of any real interest in any of them. In the top one there were socks, ties, handkerchiefs and a couple of belts; in the second one there were some vests and underpants – all clean, and stored away neat and tidy. In the bottom one there were some big brown envelopes full of papers and tied up with string, but although she was full of curiosity, she felt she didn't dare open them to see what they were about.

She walked over to the wardrobe and opened the doors of that instead. There were several shirts hanging there, a dark grey suit and a black one, both on shiny brown wooden hangers. There were also half a dozen hangers all bunched together and whatever was on them was hidden by a sheet that had been wrapped round them.

This time she couldn't contain her curiosity. Very carefully she opened the sheet back and gasped when she saw that it was a collection of women's frocks and jackets.

A thousand and one questions buzzed in her head; who on earth had they belonged to? she wondered. Had Fred been married? If so, where was his wife now? Had she died? Or had she gone off and left him? Was that why he was such a grumpy old devil?

She took another look at the clothes and felt even more puzzled. They were an old woman's clothes; the sort of thing that was worn well before the war, probably at the turn of the century. The skirts were all ankle-length and the bodices had high necks and were heavily embroidered with lace and black jet beads. They were like the mourning clothes old Queen Victoria used to wear, she reflected.