He led the way into the kitchen, pointing at the sink as he turned to face me again. “You can start by washing up.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
I crossed to the sink and turned on the tap, looking across at the mountain of pots that needed washing. I ran my finger into the flow of water. “It’s cold.”
“Is it? Hold on. Turn it off a second.”
He pulled open the cupboard door under the sink, getting down onto his knees and then twisting onto his side. I heard various noises from underneath me and then he said, “How’s that?”
I turned the tap on again but nothing came out at all this time. “It’s not coming out.”
“Right, hang on.”
More noises.
“Try it again.”
I twisted the tap to the right and a spray of water jetted out so fast it hit the sink and bounced upwards, splashing over my chest. I screamed and jumped backwards, the air pushed out of my lungs by the intense cold of the water soaking into my tee-shirt. In the time it took me to take a gasping breath, he was out from under the sink, turning the tap down before turning to face me. His eyes went straight to my chest, staring intensely at it. I looked down and saw the reason why. The water had turned my tee-shirt almost completely see through. My bra was visible through the fabric and the cold had hardened my nipples so they stuck aggressively forward, pressing against the wet cloth, leaving nothing to the imagination.
“It should be hot now,” he said, tearing his eyes from my chest. “You better get started.”
“In this? I’m soaked.”
“You’re welcome to take it off,” he said, a wicked grin on his face.
“No, thank you.”
“Then stop complaining and get to work. You want to get paid, don’t you?”
He headed out of the kitchen, leaving me to run my hands down my chest, scrunching up the fabric in my hands, trying my best to wring out at least some of the water that was soaking me. I tried to ignore the unpleasant wetness, filling the sink with hot water, wondering if he’d done that deliberately before telling myself I was being paranoid. There was no way he was that malicious. But my nipples continued to tingle for some time as I thought about the way he’d looked at me, like he was hungry for my body, so hungry he might not be able to resist eating me for much longer.
I distracted myself with the work, getting through the pots one after another, my top slowly drying as I worked. By the time I was done, my hands were wrinkled from the water and I’d used the entire bottle of washing up liquid that had been left by the sink. I placed the last plate on the draining board and sighed. Already the kitchen looked better.
The feeling felt so good I wanted to keep it so I got to work on the rest of the kitchen, piling up the boxes in one corner, sorting the rubbish into bags and dumping them in a heap outside the back door, ready for him to deal with when he was ready. I got the table cleared and cleaned, before washing my hands and then flicking on the kettle. While I waited for it to boil, I explored the cupboards, finding a still sealed fruitcake incongruously perched between teacups. In a couple of minutes I had everything I needed.
I walked through the house, listening for him. Behind a closed door I could hear the clack clack of a keyboard so I knocked on the door and waited. “Yes?” he shouted. “Is that my little princess?”
“It is, Daddy,” I replied, pushing open the door. “I’m all done.”
“Rubbish. You’re lying to me.”
“I’m not.”
“Right, well we’ll soon see about that, won’t we?”
He stood up and marched past me, striding down the hallway into the kitchen, stopping dead in the doorway.
“Well?” I asked, catching up with him. “Are you going to sit down?”
He looked back at me and then at the table, the two places laid ready with tea and cake. “This is my kitchen?” He sounded bewildered.
I grinned. “That’s what cleaners are for. That and making tea.”
He sat down opposite me, the mug dwarfed in his enormous hand. “You’ve done a good job,” he said after a lengthy silence. “I’m impressed.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
He lapsed into silence for a few more minutes. “So,” he said at last. “Why did you move here?”
“What?”
“To Scarton, what brought you here?”
“I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind. Are you on the run from the law? Rob a couple of banks?”
“I…I had to get away from something. What do you want me to clean next?”
“That will do for today. You’ve worked very hard. You may go home. Be back at nine again tomorrow.”