“Then Alan disciplined her more firmly.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he hit her. With my blessing. And if she still refused to be contrite, Alan took her down to the cellar.”
“And then?”
“He’d make sure she learned her lesson.”
Helen shook her head, stunned by what she was hearing.
“You may shake your head,” Eileen suddenly erupted, “but I have three healthy, obedient children who know right from wrong,becauseof their upbringing. Because we brought them up to respect their father and through him—”
“Did Alan enjoy punishing his children?”
“He never shied away from his duty.”
“Answer the fucking question.”
Eileen paused, stunned by Helen’s sudden outburst.
“Did your husband enjoy punishing his children?”
“He never complained about having to do it.”
“And did he enjoy beating you?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t about ‘enjoyment’—”
“Did he ever go too far? With you?”
“I... don’t—”
“Was there a time when you asked him to stop and he wouldn’t?”
Eileen hung her head and said nothing.
“Show me the cellar.”
•••
Eileen resisted at first, but the fight was going out of her, and a couple of minutes later she and Helen were standing in the freezing-cold room. It was desolate and dark, four walls of rough brick, almost entirely empty except for a stacking chair in the middle and a locked plastic crate in the corner. Helen shivered, but it wasn’t the cold making her shake.
“What’s the chair for?”
Eileen hesitated and then said:
“Alan would secure Ella to the chair.”
“How?”
“With handcuffs, round her ankles and her wrists. Then he’d use a whip or a chain from the box.”
“Beat some sense into her?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
