by G J Lee
Chapter 35
Incarceration
So we were trapped like birds in a cage.
The light from the wall lamp was meagre and sometimes it spluttered and coughed, nearly going out. When the light did this we three prisoners would hold our breath. There were spiders and things in there with us and we didn’t like the idea of being in total darkness with them. Sometimes we heard voices and movement far off. We tried calling out, pleading and knocking.
But no-one came.
The cupboard was tiny. We couldn’t stretch our legs out and we could only stand up with a stoop. So in the end we didn’t bother. I had started to get a sore bum and I’d only been in the cupboard for a matter of hours. Poor Rosie must have been in a lot of pain.
Going to the loo was a problem. All we had between us was the bucket. As yet no-one had used it although Rosie had had a wee before we arrived. It sounds horrible but I never knew how important a bit of privacy was when going to the loo. I know we were all holding it in until we would be bursting.
The stench was the worst thing though. The carpet was old and it seems that someone might have kept an animal of some sort in there at one point as the whole place stank of wee. Yet after a while we sort of got used to the smell. If we kept talking and ignored the stink we found we forgot it. But if we thought about it the smell came back.
So we tried not to think about it.
Rosie told us that she lived about ten minutes away. Number 23 Dorset Street. She told us her Dad worked for the local council and Mum looked after four kids, including Rosie. But then she remembered an older brother had been killed in 'action' in Holland two years ago. Rosie said Mum was still upset even now. The memory made Rosie cry again but both Lizzie and me were becoming cross with her for crying like this. We were all in this together now and these outbursts didn’t help. All Lizzie managed this time was a pat on the leg.
“Rosie!” I said sharply when Rosie started the waterworks again. She had started talking to us about another brother and I was trying to change the subject. “Rosie, when do we get fed?”
“Parden?” she said weakly, sneaking the word out around her sobs.
“I said, do they feed us?”
Rosie sniffed and Lizzie remembered the handkerchief she carried. Lizzie found it and passed it to Rosie who blew her nose loudly then offered the damp material back to Lizzie. Lizzie told her to keep it.
“They b…bring me something every now…now and then,” she said in a self-pitying way that made me roll my eyes at Lizzie.
It has to be said that the sick feeling had passed away and I was now dry and thirsty and getting hungry. For hours my stomach had been gurgling and grumbling like a blocked plug-hole. The cure for hunger was to think about home and family. I only had to think about Dad worrying at home and a feeling of homesickness was thrown over the hunger pangs like a dust sheet over a sofa. After a while though it slipped off and the embarrassing noises continued.
Sometimes Rosie caught me looking at her. I couldn’t help it. I had seen her somewhere before. But I couldn't have? Could I? When she caught me looking at her a third time Rosie pouted and moved closer to Lizzie. I had to really try hard not to look at her. I concentrated on the bucket instead.
As time slowly passed I started to think about Mum more and more and I would get angry, angry that I was being held in here, in a cupboard in 1946, whilst Mum was on the sofa at home. She was probably worried even sicker by now. Time with my Mum had become precious and I needed to get back to her. But then it was my own stupid fault. Why did we think we could rescue Rosie without the help of grown-ups and the police? Unfortunately, life just wasn’t like the movies. Life was more cruel and unexpected.
I tried not to think about what might happen to us.
A good while later we stirred to the sounds of approaching footsteps and a key turning heavily in the old lock. The door creaked open and weak hallway light silhouetted a shape stood in the doorway. Although the light wasn’t particularly bright the three of us shielded our eyes to try and see who stood over us.
“Hello, Jay,” said a familiar, educated voice in greeting. “It’s good to see you again.”
I squinted still further and then I recognised the tall thin man in the hat and long coat.
It was Dr Meen.
