Behind Closed Doors: A Novel

The pile of pills under my mattress gave me a new lease of life. For the first time in six months escaping from Jack became a real possibility and I felt humbly grateful to Millie for stepping in and forcing me to take charge again. After the trouble she had gone to, to get me the pills, I was determined not to let her down. But I needed to plan carefully. Not least of my problems was the fact that the pills were an unknown quantity. Even if I managed to get them into Jack, I had no idea how long it would be before they started to take effect, or what that effect would be. And how many pills would it take to knock him out? There were so many variables, so many ifs and buts.

I began by looking for a way to get them into one of Jack’s drinks. The only time we ever took a drink together was when we were at dinner, with other people around, and if my plan was to work I would have to get him to take the pills here, in this house, while we were on our own. I spent the night considering every possibility and, by the time he brought me my dinner the following evening, I already had an idea of how I could do it. But I needed to start laying the foundations at once.

I made sure he found me sitting despondently on the bed, my back to the door. When I didn’t turn around and take the tray, as I usually did, he placed it beside me on the bed and left without saying a word. Just knowing that the food was there was difficult, especially as I hadn’t eaten since lunch with Millie the previous day, but I was determined not to eat it. The next day he didn’t bother bringing me any food at all but, as the tray was still there and I was even hungrier, it was hard not to be tempted. But whenever I considered giving in and eating just a little to stave off the hunger pangs, I conjured up a picture of the room in the basement and placed Millie inside it. Then it was easy.

On the third day, mindful perhaps that he had neglected to feed me the day before, Jack brought me breakfast. When he saw that the tray he had brought me two days previously was untouched, he looked at me curiously.

‘Not hungry?’

I shook my head. ‘No.’

‘In that case, I’ll take your breakfast back down to the kitchen.’

He left, taking both meals with him, and without food around it was easier. To help me ignore the hunger pains, I meditated. But when I still hadn’t eaten anything by the weekend, nor touched any of the wine he had brought me, Jack got suspicious.

‘You’re not on some kind of hunger strike, are you?’ he hazarded as he picked up another tray of uneaten food and replaced it with a fresh one.

I shook my head lethargically. ‘I’m just not hungry, that’s all.’

‘Why not?’

I took a while in replying. ‘I suppose I never really thought it would come to this,’ I admitted, picking nervously at the bedcover. ‘I always thought that, in the end, I’d find a way of saving Millie from you.’

‘Let me guess—you thought that good would triumph over evil or that a knight in shining armour would come along and rescue you and Millie from your fate.’

‘Something like that.’ I let a sob catch my throat. ‘But it’s not going to happen, is it? Millie is going to move in with us and there’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘If it’s any consolation, there never was anything you could do about it. But I’m glad you’ve begun to accept the inevitable. It will make everything easier for you in the long run.’

I nodded at the glass of wine on the tray he’d just brought me, trying to ignore the chicken and potatoes that looked so delicious. ‘I don’t suppose I could have a whisky instead of the wine, could I?’

‘Whisky?’

‘Yes.’

‘I didn’t know you drank whisky.’

‘And I didn’t know you were a psychopath. Just bring me a whisky, Jack,’ I went on, rubbing my eyes tiredly. ‘I used to drink it with my father, if you must know.’

I felt him looking at me, but I kept my head bowed in what I hoped was a picture of misery. He left the room, locking the door behind him. I had no way of knowing whether he would bring me the whisky I’d asked for and the smell of the chicken was so tantalising that I began a slow count, promising myself that if he hadn’t come back by the time I got to a hundred I would eat the lot. I wasn’t even at fifty when I heard his footsteps on the stairs. At sixty, the key turned in the lock and I closed my eyes, knowing that if he hadn’t brought me a whisky I would probably burst into tears, because the effort of denying myself food for almost a week would have been for nothing.

‘Here.’

I opened my eyes and looked at the plastic cup he was holding out to me. ‘What is it?’ I asked suspiciously.

‘Whisky.’ I made to take it, but he pulled his hand back. ‘First, eat. You’ll be no good to me if you’re too weak to look after Millie.’

Although his words chilled me, they also told me that I was on the right track, because he had never given in to any of my demands before, not even when I had asked for a larger towel to dry myself with. But I supposed that with his end goal in sight he couldn’t afford to let anything happen to me, which meant he was more likely to give in to any requests I made as long as they were reasonable. It was a major triumph and, although I had planned to hold out a little longer before eating, I reasoned that if I wanted Jack to bring me more whisky I would have to meet him halfway. But I wanted him to bring it to me as soon as he got in from work, I wanted him to get into the habit of pouring my whisky at the same time as he poured his.

‘I asked for whisky because I hoped it would give me an appetite,’ I said, my arm still outstretched. ‘So can I have it, please?’

I expected him to refuse, but after a small hesitation he handed it to me. I raised the cup to my lips with pretend eagerness. The smell made my stomach turn, but at least I knew it was whisky I was about to drink and not something else. Conscious of his eyes on me, I took a sip. I had never drunk whisky before in my life and the bitter taste was a shock.

‘Not to your liking?’ he mocked, and I knew he didn’t really believe that I liked whisky and had only given it to me to find out what my real motive was in asking for it in the first place.

‘Have you ever drunk whisky out of a plastic cup?’ I demanded, taking another sip. ‘Believe me, it doesn’t taste quite the same. Maybe you can bring it in a glass next time.’ I raised the cup again and knocked the whole lot back.

‘Now, eat something,’ he said, pushing the tray towards me.

My head spinning from the whisky, I put the tray on my lap. The food looked so good I would have been capable of clearing the plate in fifteen seconds. It was hard not to wolf it down, but I made myself eat slowly, as if I had no pleasure in what I was tasting. I only allowed myself to eat half of it and, when I put my knife and fork down, I’m not sure who was more disappointed, me or Jack.

‘Can’t you eat a little more?’ he frowned.

‘No, sorry,’ I said unenthusiastically. ‘Maybe tomorrow.’

He left, taking the tray with him and, although I was still hungry, the taste of victory was sweeter than anything I could have eaten.

Jack wasn’t stupid. The next day, when I didn’t eat anything again, he decided to hit me where he knew it would hurt me most.

‘I’m cancelling our visit to Millie tomorrow,’ he said, as he picked up the untouched tray. ‘There’s no point taking her out to lunch if you’re not going to eat.’

I’d known there was a risk he wouldn’t take me to see Millie, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

‘All right,’ I shrugged. From the look of surprise he gave me, I knew he’d been expecting me to insist that I was well enough to go and I was glad I had wrong-footed him.

‘Millie is going to be so disappointed,’ he sighed.

‘Well, it won’t be the first time.’

He thought for a moment. ‘This wouldn’t be some little ploy to get me to cancel Millie’s birthday party, would it?’

It was a conclusion I hadn’t expected him to come to and one that was far from the truth, but I wondered if I could get it to work in my favour.

‘Why would I want you to do that?’ I asked, playing for time.

‘You tell me.’

‘Maybe you should try and put yourself in my position for once. If Millie comes here, she’s going to fall in love with this house. How do you think that’s going to make me feel, knowing what you have in store for her and knowing I can do nothing to prevent it from happening?’

‘Let me guess.’ He pretended to think for a moment. ‘Not good?’

I willed tears of self-pity into my eyes. ‘Yes, that’s right, Jack, not good. So bad, in fact, that I’d prefer to die.’

‘So this is some kind of hunger strike then.’

‘No, Jack, of course it isn’t. I know that Millie is going to need me, I know I have to keep my strength up. But I can’t help it if I’ve lost my appetite. I’m sure most people would, given the circumstances.’ I let my voice rise an octave. ‘Have you any idea what it’s like for me on a day-to-day basis, not being able to choose what I want to eat or when I want to eat? Have you any idea what it’s like to have to rely on you for absolutely everything, to sometimes have to wait two or three days for food because you decide I need punishing, or can’t be bothered to bring me anything? You’re not exactly the most generous of jailers, Jack!’

‘Perhaps you shouldn’t have made so many attempts to escape,’ he snapped. ‘If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have needed to confine you to this room and you could have led a perfectly decent life with me.’

‘Decent! With you controlling my every move? You don’t even know the meaning of the word! Go on, Jack, punish me. Deprive me of food, see if I care. If I don’t eat again for a week, at least I’ll be too weak to attend Millie’s birthday party next Sunday.’

‘You’d better start eating again,’ he threatened, realising the truth of what I’d said.

‘Or what, Jack?’ I taunted. ‘You can’t force me to eat, you know.’ I paused. ‘But, as it isn’t in Millie’s interest that I die, or in yours, why don’t you do us both a favour and pour me a whisky in the evenings when you pour your own and my appetite might come back a little.’

‘I call the shots around here, remember,’ he reminded me.

However, when it came to food, he no longer did. Realising that he needed to keep me healthy, he began to do as I’d asked. I made sure that I never ate much, because it was important he thought I really had lost my appetite, but it was equally important that I ate enough to merit the small amount of whisky he brought me when he got in from work. By the time Millie’s party came round, I was confident I’d be able to achieve my aim before Millie came to live with us, two months down the line—as long as nothing happened to interrupt the routine of Jack bringing me whisky every evening.