P. A. RONDEL

                                                                                      Chapter 10

                                                                                         Freda

 

At three o’clock on a wet morning, the street presented a dark and unfriendly atmosphere, an eerie sense of hostility that only city streets can embrace. Streetlights reflected like an orange fog against the steady drizzle as a car drew into the kerb and its lights were switched off. It was several minutes before the driver’s door was opened and a man in uniform climbed out. He opened an umbrella and held it aloft as he opened the rear door.

`“You’ll be perfectly safe here my dear. Let me take the bag.”

Somewhat reluctantly, a woman emerged, to stand shivering below the umbrella. It wasn’t a cold night, in fact the humidity was relatively high and the summer shower would be gone by morning.

`The man reached into the car and retrieved the bag. It was the kind of carryall that people took to the gym, a bag that had been packed in a hurry. They passed below a street lamp and the illumination revealed the Salvation Army insignia on the man’s jacket. He gently guided the woman through the gateway and approached the front of the two-storied house, hidden behind the high trimmed hedge. A light went on as the front door opened.

`“Come on in. I’ve got the kettle on.” An elderly woman in an equally old dressing gown stood aside as they entered. Her hair was formed into a bun at the back of her head. Her bright blue eyes and gentle features were evidence of great beauty in her youth, something that the years had never completely stolen. She peered outside briefly before closing the door.

`“It always seems to be on a night like this. Strangely but tragically typical.”

She led them through to the kitchen. “Sit yourselves down. I’ll show you to your room shortly.” A motherly look of concern softened her aging features as she smiled at the newcomer. “I’m Mrs Baker,” she said. “You don’t need to tell me your name. Just let me know what you want me to call you. Some of the ladies use nicknames. It makes them anonymous.”  She stood closer to study the other woman’s face. “My goodness, I’ll get you something soothing for that.”

“I’m Freda.” The visitor placed her hands on the table and the scars were immediately obvious. Her face was swollen on one side and the bruises painted purple depictions of her unhappy association with her husband. Thin arms and a small stature gave her a doll-like appearance. “Thank you.” Her voice was soft and trembled with the uncertainty. “What will happen now?”

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” Mrs Baker replied. “We’ll take care of you until you’re ready to move on. There’s no hurry so take your time. Just remember, that everyone here is in the same situation. You’re not on your own.” She went off to fetch the first aid box.

Freda tried to smile but the pain of her injuries was highlighted as she grimaced and the tears started once again. Mrs Baker was used to this situation, she had seen it so many times that it had become a matter of routine. “I’m afraid that Dolly snores rather loudly. I put her into the end room, but some of the others still complain a bit.”

She laughed as she applied a soothing ointment to Freda’s injuries, in an attempt to lighten the mood a little. She was good at that.

“The resident cat tends to take a liking to newcomers. She’ll more than likely jump onto your lap when she sees you. If you don’t like cats, just push her off. She can be a nuisance.”

 

Continuing her light-hearted chatting, she poured the tea from a cozy-covered teapot and placed the two cups on the table. “Help yourselves to milk and sugar.” She offered a plate of biscuits but only the Salvation Army officer took one.

“How are you coping, Dawn?” he asked.

“Quite well thank you. I placed another one yesterday. She went over east to a job with the post office. She went through a tough time, the poor dear.” Mrs Baker pointed up at the ceiling and turned to Freda. “This used to be a guesthouse in the old days. There are plenty of rooms and we’re well hidden away here.”

Freda stared up at the decorative plasterwork. “What did the sign mean at the front of the house? What is a Chromasensologist?” She spoke the word slowly, struggling with the pronunciation. Its unfamiliarity now all the more difficult, as the effort of speaking caused her obvious pain. Had that blow been a little harder, the jaw would have been broken.

“I’ve absolutely no idea.” Both Mrs Baker and the Salvation Army officer started to laugh. Mrs Baker held her cup in both hands to avoid spilling her tea. “I thought it might discourage unwelcome visitors, and so far it has done. Sales people are unsure and other are suspicious and stay well away. It was something I invented. It doesn’t really mean anything at all.”

The fear slowly subsided and exhaustion took over. Freda stifled a yawn that threatened to inflict even more pain. Mrs Baker was quick to notice. “I’ll show you up to your room. You look like you could use a good night’s sleep.”

Freda smiled in return, too tired now to hold a conversation.

The Salvation Army man stood up. “Well, you have everything under control so I’ll head off home for some sleep myself.”

Freda reached out a hand and touched the man on the arm. “Thank you so much for everything.” Her pathetic appearance reminded the man of the reason he’d chose his career.

“That’s okay. It’s my job and I enjoy helping people. Mrs Baker is a good friend, she’ll take good care of you.”

Mrs Baker stood in the doorway as he went out through the gate then quietly closed the door. She picked up Freda’s bag and led the way up the stairs and along the corridor.

“Here we are.” She spoke in a whisper as she opened the door and switched on the light. “Try to get a good sleep. You’re perfectly safe here. You can have breakfast whenever you’re ready.” Sounds of snoring came from the far end of the corridor.

“Thanks for everything. I’m sure I’ll sleep through now.”  Freda unzipped her bag and began removing its contents, placing them into the drawers of the bedside table. Mrs Baker closed the door and went downstairs. It didn’t take long for Freda to fall asleep, accompanied by the sounds that old houses tend to make at night. For the first time in years, she slept peacefully, without the disturbing dreams that had had left her exhausted.

When Freda came downstairs the next morning, everyone else had finished breakfast and were relaxing in the large front room. The television, turned down low, was featuring the weather report delivered by a smiling blonde woman.

It seemed to Freda that the weather report really was the domain of fair-headed females and wondered how people would react to her own red hair. Heads turned to inspect the newcomer, but nobody spoke. Mrs Baker appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Ready for breakfast?”

 

“Yes, thank you.” Freda afforded each of the women in the front room a quick glance then followed Mrs Baker into the dining room. The room seemed much smaller than it did the previous night while the old wooden table was much bigger than she remembered it. She chose a chair that placed her back to the doorway. It seemed to offer a degree of isolation. She simply didn’t want to socialize at that time and still felt somewhat uncertain about her future. Her biggest fear was that her husband might find her.

Her only opportunity to end the abuse had come one evening while she dried the dishes. Drunk again, he had pushed her roughly aside as he attempted to fill a glass from the kitchen tap. She remembered so clearly, the way she had grasped that big carving knife and stared mesmerized, at the middle of his back. She so wanted to plunge it deep into that greasy shirt, that the shock of her intention prevented her from doing anything at all. Instead, he had turned and hit her full in the face, splitting her upper lip.

“I fell against the corner of the table,” she had told the doctor. He didn’t really believe her. It wasn’t the first time he’d treated the painful wounds of a beating. He found it impossible to understand the reasoning of a woman in that situation who refuses to leave or at least lay charges against the man. Those thoughts unsettled her again and she fought to control the tears. Mrs Baker placed a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her and noticed the trembling in her hands.  She placed a hand on Freda’s shoulder.

“Are you alright dear?”

Freda nodded slightly. “Yes, I’m alright.” Her quiet voice indicated otherwise, but Mrs Baker just said “Okay,” and went back to her work at the kitchen sink.

A woman in red overalls came into the kitchen and placed her coffee mug in the sink. As she entered the large living room, Mrs Baker stopped her and spoke quietly.

“Yvonne, I’d like you to help the new girl over the next few days. She’s in a bad state of mind and I think we should keep an eye on her.”

“Who is she?” Yvonne peered around the kitchen doorway at the red head seated at the table.

“Her name’s Freda. She came in last night. See if she needs to collect anything from home. If she does, ask Angela for the van and help her with it.”

“Sure, leave it to me. I’ll have a word with her.”

Yvonne poured another mug of coffee and carried it out to where Freda sat playing with a teaspoon. “Hi, I’m Yvonne and you I believe, are Freda.” She smiled, trying to pacify the other woman.

“Yes.”

Yvonne couldn’t hide the shock when Freda turned to look at her. The bruises had taken on a multi coloured appearance and the swelling had twisted her mouth out of shape.

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“Yes, the Salvation Army people took me to see a doctor last night. There’s nothing broken but the swelling will last for a few days.”

            “What about the police?”

Freda tried to smile but found it too painful. “I tried that once before. Waste of time really. It just made things worse. I just had to get out of there.”

“Do you have anything you need to collect from home?”

     “I’d like to keep my jewellery and the things my mother left me. If I don’t get them, he’ll destroy everything or sell it.”

“Does he go to work during the day?”

 

“Yes, he starts at midday. He’s a barman at the hotel.”

“I’ll organize the van after lunch today and we’ll go there and collect everything we can fit into it. We’ll come with you to lend a hand, so don’t worry about it.”

 Freda looked worried, hesitant. “If he finds out, he’ll be furious. There’s no telling what he might do. He’s capable of anything when he’s been drinking. He’s almost as bad when he’s sober.”

“Don’t worry; we’ll take care of you. This place is a well-kept secret. He’ll never find you here. Several of the other women are local and they’ve been perfectly safe here.”

Once more, Freda tried to smile. Yvonne saw the pain and placed a hand on Freda’s shoulder.

“I’ll fix you something easy to eat. Scrambled egg perhaps?”

“Thanks.” Freda’s shoulders sank as the tension began to ease. She felt a measure of comfort in the other woman’s confidence. She was aware of the quiet conversations in the other room, undoubtedly concerned with her situation. It didn’t seem to matter now.

Just before one o’clock Yvonne came back to the house. She found Freda in her room, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“All organized,” Yvonne told her. “Madge will come with us. She can be a bit scary at first, but she’s all heart. She’s done a lot for all of us here.”

Freda got up slowly and glanced around the room. It was a kind of haven, a place where she could hide away undisturbed. She was reluctant to leave it and even more afraid to return home. The hesitation was an indication of her fear and Yvonne placed a comforting arm around the woman’s shoulder. “It’s okay, we’ll look after you, I promise. There’s nothing to be afraid of now. It may take a day or two but you’ll come to realize it and feel a lot happier.”

Madge was sitting in the driver’s seat. The radio was blaring out Anastasia’s latest and the cab had filled with cigarette smoke. Yvonne opened the passenger side door and started to cough. “For Christ’s sake open the bloody window will you. How can you breathe in this?”

Madge obliged by winding the window right down and flicked the cigarette onto the road. The smoke poured out and the hot summer air replaced it.

“The air con won’t work with the window open,” she grumbled.  Freda was startled by the gruff masculine voice.

Yvonne laughed. “That’s what you get from chain smoking. She’ll never sing opera again.”

Madge turned the key and gunned the engine into life. “Get stuffed.” The tyres screeched as they lurched away from the kerb.

Freda was visibly terrified when they stopped outside her house. Her hands shook and she looked ill. “I’m not sure we should do this.”

“Like hell. C’mon let’s get it done.” Madge jumped out and slammed the door shut. As Freda cautiously slid out from the passenger seat, Madge was already at the front door. “Got the key?”

Once inside, there were signs of disturbance in every room. Things had been thrown about and clothes littered the hallway floor. In the master bedroom, the wardrobe door hung crookedly on one hinge. Madge threw an empty box onto the bed. “Okay, start grabbing everything that you want to take. If it’s something of his then so much the better. Let’s leave the bastard with nothing at all.

 

Freda rummaged through the dressing table drawers, searching for her things. Yvonne found jewellery scattered around the floor and began picking it up. Madge carefully wrapped it in a pillowcase and packed it into the box.

Nobody heard the front door open. It was Freda’s stifled scream that made the others turn to face the doorway. He was a big man. Standing with arms folded, he filled the opening. “So you thought you’d run out on me did you?”

He began to cross to where Freda had collapsed onto the bed sobbing. Before he was halfway there, Madge confronted him. “Fuck off,” she yelled. Her voice startled him for a moment and he paused.

That was when Madge’s right fist flew from her hip to the center of his face. He staggered backwards and fell onto his back in the doorway, blood flowing from his broken nose. His head made a crunching sound as it hit the door frame. Madge stared at him for a few seconds then went back to packing things into the box. “Don’t worry about him,” she told them. “He won’t wake up for a while.”

Freda sat open mouthed, unable to speak. It had all happened so quickly. She couldn’t help admiring Madge for the way she took care of herself. It was hard to imagine any man getting the better of her. She could remember girls at high school who ruled with their fists. Even so, she couldn’t help feeling a little afraid of this woman.

Yvonne and Madge left her alone as they rushed to pack as much as they could into the back of the van. Freda’s husband was beginning to stir as they ushered the still terrified woman out of the house. It wasn’t until they were on their way back to Mrs Baker’s that Freda spoke at all.

“Is he going to be alright?”

Madge slammed her fist against the steering wheel. “Why the hell should you care? The bastard deserves a lot worse than that. Just concentrate on getting yourself sorted and things will take care of themselves.”

She was visibly angry and Freda wondered what it was that had made her so tough and so hostile. They never spoke again on the trip back. She just stared straight ahead without really seeing anything at all.

Freda’s belongings were carried up to her room and piled onto the bed. Yvonne and Madge went downstairs to the kitchen, leaving Freda to sort it all out and use the time to calm down. Despite the assurances from everyone, she couldn’t help worrying about the nature of this place and the women who lived there. They were a mixed bunch. Yvonne seemed quiet and understanding. Mrs Baker was everyone’s mother but Madge was someone to be afraid of. It was getting dark by the time she went   down to the kitchen. She really needed a coffee, a strong, very sweet coffee.