Mosana - Part VIII
EPISODE 8
IT dawned on me in those few seconds that there had been signals I ignored because I enjoyed his company. Daren would sometimes smack my butt on my way past him, or bite my ear playfully. He would grab me and tickle me while I struggled to free myself, laughing. I didn’t agree with everything he did, but I didn’t think too much about it, writing it all off as fun.
But the day he pinned me down to the bed came to me as a shock. I went to his room, as usual, with the aim of carrying out my morning cleaning duties. He began with his usual greeting and I responded. Then he smacked my butt as I bent down to clean the floor. I playfully smacked his hand away and told him to stop. He smiled at me and grabbed me by the waist, dropping me on his lap. I started to get up immediately but he shifted and pulled me down to his bed. I was still laughing when he jammed his mouth to mine. That shut me up fast.
I began to struggle, for real. But he wasn’t having none of it. So I bit his lip. He jerked away from me with a cry of pain. I seized the opportunity of his distress to get myself up from his bed and went as far as I could from him, to the other side of the room. He looked at me like he couldn’t believe what I had just done. I couldn’t believe it either. I couldn’t believe what he had tried to do.
He came at me again, but this time, I was ready. Swift as lightning, I picked up my floor brush and whacked him on the head with the sharp end. With that, he fell back and looked at me with venom in his eyes.
‘I own you!’ he spat at me.
‘No, you don’t,’ I answered, my voice as calm as a breeze. Which surprised me by the way, because inside, my pulse was racing.
Then I fled from the room.
It shouldn’t surprise you that from that day on, my relationship with Daren was more than strained. I couldn’t look at him anymore, but he shot sharp looks at me all day. Working in the Pickle household became increasingly difficult, as my only support had turned against me. His mother and sisters noticed the change between us and leveraged on it to maltreat me the more. There was no one to challenge them now or comfort me. Mr. Pickle on the other hand, couldn’t care less what happened in his house. I don’t even think he had a clue.
In addition to that, the bad air between Daren and his father became worse. Daren became aggressive towards everyone because of his rejection from me, especially if he didn’t get his way. And since he and his father were always at odds, it made matters worse. They constantly fought. Sometimes their shouts would wake me up in the middle of a nap. Many times Daren would storm out of the house and be absent for days. Those days I found a bit of peace. But woe betide me if we ever crossed paths in the house.
I prayed earnestly that Ed and Sarah return. But it never happened.
My only comfort now was outside the house. I made friends with our lower-class neighbours, mostly store owners. They didn’t discriminate against me, even though I was black and mostly shunned when I walked through the streets. I was friends with Lily, the hair stylist. She always greeted me as ‘Mo’ each time I came to make appointments for Mrs. Pickle or her daughters. I was friends with Mrs. Musk, the grocer. She said she liked how patient I was on the queue when I wanted to pay for stuff. Sometimes she let me take an extra can of corned beef. I was also friends with Freddie, the horse tender. He would always ruffle my hair and smile widely at me, exposing his gap tooth each time I came in his shop. I secretly thought Freddie liked me, if you know what I mean.
Only Tools, the butcher, didn’t like me. And I didn’t like him either. I could tell he was a racist, maybe even a misogynist. He was a sour-faced, miserable, unmarried old man. He always tried to sell me bones, but I had good eyes for the meatier parts. It always irked him that I always went away with the best piece he had for sale.
So when I ran my errands, I always made a point of staying longer than usual outside the house. When Mrs. Pickle noticed, she screamed at me. But I couldn’t care less; I’d rather be shouted at than trade in my few hours of peace outside the house.
Sometimes I received a beating. Slaps, shoves, hits on the head. From Mrs. Pickle, her daughters, and most painfully, from Daren. I began to live in fear and extreme caution. I tried all I could to avoid all of them, especially Daren. When it was time to clean his room, I usually panicked. If he was in there while I cleaned, I usually held my breath till I finished. I never closed the door. I thanked the heavens when he was not. But he didn’t touch me again. He just looked at me as I went about my chores. I figured he was too disgusted with me to try again and I was grateful for it.
But things just kept getting worse.
Because Daren killed his father. And blamed me for it.
----------------------------------------
I was in the kitchen when I heard the shot. I dropped the dishes in my hand and ran to where I imagined the sound had come from. It sounded like it came from Mr. Pickle’s study. My hunch was right as I burst in on Daren holding a gun to his father who lay lifeless on his chair, blood still pooling on his shirt.
They had been arguing, not loudly as usual, but I was sure of it. I recognised the deep, surly voice of Mr. Pickle and Daren’s sharp tone. I had heard them because the kitchen was directly below the study. The fireplace in Mr. Pickle’s study was connected to the fireplace below in the kitchen, so they shared the same chimney.
When I ran into the study, Daren was breathing heavily and looked scared. I was too shocked to utter a word. I went closer to make sure that what I was seeing was not just a trick of light. It wasn’t. Mr. Pickle was dead, and Daren had shot him. The look on his face was enough to prove it.
Then we heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I knew they belonged to the Pickle sisters because Mrs. Pickle was out of the house as at then. She had gone to attend a function and had taken the buggy with her.
Immediately we heard Mary and Paula coming up the stairs, I looked at Daren and he looked at me. Then he did something I never would have thought possible. Daren’s countenance changed and with a determined look in his eye, he threw the gun that was still in his hand at my feet and withdrew to the door. Just before his sisters appeared, he shouted, ‘Murderer!’
While his sisters were exclaming and weeping, Daren began to rain accusations against me. Again and again, he repeated that I had murdered their father. Fear, shock and disbelief held my mouth shut. I couldn’t even defend myself.
It was Paula that reacted first. ‘You!’ she screamed, and started to angle towards me. I didn’t need to be told of her intentions. I knew that if she reached me, I was done for. I didn’t know the penalty for murder in England, but I could guess. To make matters extremely grave for me, I was a slave. I would not find it easy if I were to be apprehended.
Quick as a flash, I snatched up the gun at my feet and pointed it uncertainly at the Pickles standing before me. Paula immediately stopped in her tracks. I had never fired a shot in my life, but I was prepared to pull the trigger and save my skin. There was no way I was going to jail for something I had no idea about. The moment they were faced with the business end of the gun, the three of them backed up quickly. In a shaky voice, I ordered them to move away from the door. When they didn’t respond immediately, I repeated myself in a stronger voice. ‘Move!’
Then keeping them in my sights, I walked backwards out of the study. When I had created enough distance between them and myself, I fled.
With nothing but the gun in my hand, and the clothes on my back.
But the day he pinned me down to the bed came to me as a shock. I went to his room, as usual, with the aim of carrying out my morning cleaning duties. He began with his usual greeting and I responded. Then he smacked my butt as I bent down to clean the floor. I playfully smacked his hand away and told him to stop. He smiled at me and grabbed me by the waist, dropping me on his lap. I started to get up immediately but he shifted and pulled me down to his bed. I was still laughing when he jammed his mouth to mine. That shut me up fast.
I began to struggle, for real. But he wasn’t having none of it. So I bit his lip. He jerked away from me with a cry of pain. I seized the opportunity of his distress to get myself up from his bed and went as far as I could from him, to the other side of the room. He looked at me like he couldn’t believe what I had just done. I couldn’t believe it either. I couldn’t believe what he had tried to do.
He came at me again, but this time, I was ready. Swift as lightning, I picked up my floor brush and whacked him on the head with the sharp end. With that, he fell back and looked at me with venom in his eyes.
‘I own you!’ he spat at me.
‘No, you don’t,’ I answered, my voice as calm as a breeze. Which surprised me by the way, because inside, my pulse was racing.
Then I fled from the room.
It shouldn’t surprise you that from that day on, my relationship with Daren was more than strained. I couldn’t look at him anymore, but he shot sharp looks at me all day. Working in the Pickle household became increasingly difficult, as my only support had turned against me. His mother and sisters noticed the change between us and leveraged on it to maltreat me the more. There was no one to challenge them now or comfort me. Mr. Pickle on the other hand, couldn’t care less what happened in his house. I don’t even think he had a clue.
In addition to that, the bad air between Daren and his father became worse. Daren became aggressive towards everyone because of his rejection from me, especially if he didn’t get his way. And since he and his father were always at odds, it made matters worse. They constantly fought. Sometimes their shouts would wake me up in the middle of a nap. Many times Daren would storm out of the house and be absent for days. Those days I found a bit of peace. But woe betide me if we ever crossed paths in the house.
I prayed earnestly that Ed and Sarah return. But it never happened.
My only comfort now was outside the house. I made friends with our lower-class neighbours, mostly store owners. They didn’t discriminate against me, even though I was black and mostly shunned when I walked through the streets. I was friends with Lily, the hair stylist. She always greeted me as ‘Mo’ each time I came to make appointments for Mrs. Pickle or her daughters. I was friends with Mrs. Musk, the grocer. She said she liked how patient I was on the queue when I wanted to pay for stuff. Sometimes she let me take an extra can of corned beef. I was also friends with Freddie, the horse tender. He would always ruffle my hair and smile widely at me, exposing his gap tooth each time I came in his shop. I secretly thought Freddie liked me, if you know what I mean.
Only Tools, the butcher, didn’t like me. And I didn’t like him either. I could tell he was a racist, maybe even a misogynist. He was a sour-faced, miserable, unmarried old man. He always tried to sell me bones, but I had good eyes for the meatier parts. It always irked him that I always went away with the best piece he had for sale.
So when I ran my errands, I always made a point of staying longer than usual outside the house. When Mrs. Pickle noticed, she screamed at me. But I couldn’t care less; I’d rather be shouted at than trade in my few hours of peace outside the house.
Sometimes I received a beating. Slaps, shoves, hits on the head. From Mrs. Pickle, her daughters, and most painfully, from Daren. I began to live in fear and extreme caution. I tried all I could to avoid all of them, especially Daren. When it was time to clean his room, I usually panicked. If he was in there while I cleaned, I usually held my breath till I finished. I never closed the door. I thanked the heavens when he was not. But he didn’t touch me again. He just looked at me as I went about my chores. I figured he was too disgusted with me to try again and I was grateful for it.
But things just kept getting worse.
Because Daren killed his father. And blamed me for it.
----------------------------------------
I was in the kitchen when I heard the shot. I dropped the dishes in my hand and ran to where I imagined the sound had come from. It sounded like it came from Mr. Pickle’s study. My hunch was right as I burst in on Daren holding a gun to his father who lay lifeless on his chair, blood still pooling on his shirt.
They had been arguing, not loudly as usual, but I was sure of it. I recognised the deep, surly voice of Mr. Pickle and Daren’s sharp tone. I had heard them because the kitchen was directly below the study. The fireplace in Mr. Pickle’s study was connected to the fireplace below in the kitchen, so they shared the same chimney.
When I ran into the study, Daren was breathing heavily and looked scared. I was too shocked to utter a word. I went closer to make sure that what I was seeing was not just a trick of light. It wasn’t. Mr. Pickle was dead, and Daren had shot him. The look on his face was enough to prove it.
Then we heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I knew they belonged to the Pickle sisters because Mrs. Pickle was out of the house as at then. She had gone to attend a function and had taken the buggy with her.
Immediately we heard Mary and Paula coming up the stairs, I looked at Daren and he looked at me. Then he did something I never would have thought possible. Daren’s countenance changed and with a determined look in his eye, he threw the gun that was still in his hand at my feet and withdrew to the door. Just before his sisters appeared, he shouted, ‘Murderer!’
While his sisters were exclaming and weeping, Daren began to rain accusations against me. Again and again, he repeated that I had murdered their father. Fear, shock and disbelief held my mouth shut. I couldn’t even defend myself.
It was Paula that reacted first. ‘You!’ she screamed, and started to angle towards me. I didn’t need to be told of her intentions. I knew that if she reached me, I was done for. I didn’t know the penalty for murder in England, but I could guess. To make matters extremely grave for me, I was a slave. I would not find it easy if I were to be apprehended.
Quick as a flash, I snatched up the gun at my feet and pointed it uncertainly at the Pickles standing before me. Paula immediately stopped in her tracks. I had never fired a shot in my life, but I was prepared to pull the trigger and save my skin. There was no way I was going to jail for something I had no idea about. The moment they were faced with the business end of the gun, the three of them backed up quickly. In a shaky voice, I ordered them to move away from the door. When they didn’t respond immediately, I repeated myself in a stronger voice. ‘Move!’
Then keeping them in my sights, I walked backwards out of the study. When I had created enough distance between them and myself, I fled.
With nothing but the gun in my hand, and the clothes on my back.
______________________________________________________________
Yo!
I can only smile. I don't know about you, but I'm enjoying myself.
It's not over yet!
xoxo,
Ava.
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