No Place Like Home_a gripping psychological thriller

by Rebecca Muddiman

  ‘We can do what we like,’ Phil says.

  I rock back and forth but nothing happens, nothing moves, nothing comes loose. Jacob stares at me, and I start to beg him. He just stands there, watching me, doing nothing. What he does best.

  ‘Help me!’ I scream at the top of my lungs, still rocking, still trying.

  ‘Shut up,’ Phil says, but I keep going.

  Phil stomps over to the sink. I can’t see what he’s doing, but I assume it’s nothing good. When he comes back around, he has the dirty dishcloth in his hand. ‘I told you to shut up,’ he says and stuffs it into my mouth.

  The taste makes me gag and my eyes water. I can hardly breathe. I’m dying here, and they just stand there. Jacob watches me, but there’s no sign of the love he claimed he had for me. Phil looks at me briefly before turning to Jacob.

  ‘All right,’ he says. ‘What’s next?’

  18

  One week earlier

  I went to work on the Monday morning, immediately bombarded by people asking me a million questions about my mum, asking if they could do anything, being brought a dozen cups of tea. The rest of the day went past in a blur of phone calls and snippets of overheard conversations about Jill’s boyfriend and Claire’s birthday party.

  I’d hoped that work would distract me from everything else, but it was so dull that there was plenty of space for other thoughts to get in – thoughts about Jacob and Mum and the house and Cathy and Ethel and all the rest of it. I needed to get out, to find something else, something to occupy my mind. I’d known it for a long time but had stayed out of loyalty, and because each time I’d brought up leaving, I’d been offered more money, more responsibility, anything as long as I stayed. But there’s only so long that can go on. What else could they offer me?

  I let my mind wander. I felt bad about Mum, that I hadn’t visited for a while, that I hadn’t even called to check she was okay. But I’d had no more calls from Cathy, so I had to assume it was all fine. And it’d been days since Jacob had been around. I chose to think that he’d found someone else, some other woman to depend on, and that our last encounter really had been our last encounter.

  So, all that was left was the house, and that wasn’t a problem. Not without all the other stuff. Now it was a good thing, something to call my own. My safe place, my sanctuary.

  I thought about the old flat, my old flatmates. Wondered if I should invite them round yet, maybe for something to eat. No, it was too soon for that. The place was nowhere near ready; it was still a total tip. What would they think if I they saw the place now? No, I’d hold off on the dinner party, wait until I’d done some work on it, and things were more settled. Besides, I knew they were both busy with their own lives, and it felt as if we’d been drifting apart for a while. Maybe that was one of the reasons I left. But I’d always been the glue that held us together, and maybe without me there, things were falling apart. I wondered how long Kimberley and Sasha would keep living together without me, I worried that I’d left them in the lurch.

  I was older than the others, and at the beginning, I’d wondered if that would be a problem. It wasn’t. The girls looked to me as, not a mother figure, more of an older sister. They were always wanting to borrow my clothes or wanting me to go out with them. They often had people round at night and would beg me to join them. Sometimes I did, even though what I wanted to do was go to sleep or watch TV. But I hated letting them down.

  Maybe I’d pop round after work, get the last of my things, see how they were doing. I bet no one had washed the dishes since I’d left.

  As I got my things together and said goodbye to everyone, I noticed a bottle of wine on the table in the break room. It was what Janet – or possibly head office – thought was an appropriate bonus for the employee with the best Key Performance Indicators. I had no idea who had won this week, not me, at any rate, I never put in for it, leaving the honour for those who cared. But I figured whoever it was didn’t care too much about the wine if they’d abandoned it on the table.

  I slid it into my bag as an offering to the girls, planning to replace it the next day, and left, catching a bus to my old flat to catch up with my old flatmates.

  I knocked on the door, and some man was standing there. ‘Yeah?’ he said, and I wondered if he was my replacement or just a new boyfriend.

  ‘I’m Polly,’ I said, smiling, and he just looked at me like I was an idiot. I was sure they’d have told him about me. ‘I used to live here,’ I said.

  ‘Polly,’ Sasha said as she poked her head around the door. ‘What’re you doing here?’ She looked up at the man still blocking the door. ‘This is Polly.’

  ‘So she said,’ the man said, and grinned at Sasha, his hand brushing her waist, and then he walked away, leaving me alone with her.

  ‘What’s up?’ Sasha asked, stepping aside to let me in.

  ‘I just wanted to say hi. And to get the last of my things,’ I said.

  ‘I thought you’d taken everything,’ she said.

  ‘Not everything,’ I replied.

  ‘There’s nothing left in your room. Alex would’ve found it if there had been.’

  ‘Who’s Alex?’ I asked.

  ‘I am,’ the man said as he came through from the kitchen. ‘I’m the new you.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘So, you didn’t find any of my things? I’m missing some clothes.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Oh, wait.’ Alex pulled the waistband of his jeans and looked down at his underwear. ‘No, false alarm. These are mine.’

  I looked at Sasha, but she was looking at the floor, clearly embarrassed by him. I wondered who this man was, and why he was being so off with me. I wondered if he thought I was back for my old room.

  ‘So,’ I said, pulling the cheap wine out of my bag. ‘What’s been happening?’ I walked through to the kitchen and found Kimberley stirring tomato sauce. She turned and looked surprised to see me.

  The table was set for three, almost formally, or as best they could manage with their mismatched crockery and glasses. I couldn’t remember us ever sitting down together for a meal, not at the table anyway. I turned to Sasha.

  ‘It’s Alex’s official moving in party,’ she said and looked to Kimberley.

  ‘Not a party, really. Just some spaghetti to formally welcome him,’ Kimberley said.

  ‘Cool,’ I shrugged. ‘Well, I brought wine.’ We all looked at the three places set at the table. ‘Unless…’

  ‘No, that’s okay,’ Kimberley said. ‘Here. I’ll set you a place.’

  Kimberley dug out some more plates and a glass, and Alex went off to find another chair, the best he could come up with being a swivel seat from his room. I stared at it, at the stuffing coming out of the back.

  ‘I’ll sit on this one,’ he said, and Kimberley started dishing up the food.

  I left soon after we’d eaten, itching to get home. I hadn’t planned on staying that long, anyway, but didn’t want to be rude. And though Alex had seemed unfriendly at first, he warmed up as we talked and was a really good listener as I told him about Mum and everything that’d happened. He put his hand on mine as I confided in him, and it was around then that the atmosphere changed. I’d seen the way he’d touched Sasha when I arrived and wondered if there was something between them…and now, he was putting his hand on mine. I pulled it away and tried to lighten the mood, changing the subject. I felt bad for Sasha. It wasn’t the first time a guy she liked had hit on me, and sometimes I wondered if it was me she blamed, rather than them. Either way, I took the first opportunity I could to leave, promising I’d have them all over to mine as soon as I’d got things sorted.

  Kimberley walked me to the door, and I could hear Sasha and Alex’s voices coming from the other room, low and taut. I looked to Kimberley, but she just smiled and opened the door.

  ‘It was great seeing you,’ I said, and hugged her.

  ‘You too,’ she said, and I waved over my shoulder as I left.

  ‘Polly.’


  I stopped and turned back.

  ‘You didn’t happen to pack up my food mixer when you left, did you? You know, by mistake?’

  I shook my head. ‘Sorry.’

  She paused as if she wanted to say something else and then shook her head. ‘Just thought I’d ask. It’s probably at the back of a cupboard somewhere.’

  ‘Probably,’ I said, and waved again before heading home.

  19

  I walked along the main road and was about to cross the street to get the bus home when I saw a bus pull up heading in the opposite direction. I hopped on, deciding to pay Mum a visit.

  The bus was crowded, and I couldn’t get a seat. People coming home from work were snippy and kept throwing dirty looks around to anyone who dared brush past them or, God forbid, make eye contact. I kept my eyes on the pavements outside, watching the world pass by, wondering what I’d say to Mum, what she’d say to me. The closer I got to the care home, the more I wondered if it was a good idea or if we’d just wind each other up. I knew Jacob’s visit must’ve upset Mum, that he’d have told her things I didn’t want her to know, but it wasn’t my fault he’d shown up there. How could I have known?

  For a second, I hoped Mum was having one of her turns again, that she wouldn’t speak at all, that I could just go and see her without it making me feel bad about myself. Maybe I shouldn’t go. It’s probably best for everyone. For me, for Mum. What if me being there, getting her upset, makes her worse? Brings on another stroke or something. But when I looked up, past the huddle of angry commuters, I realised we were already there.

  It’d started raining somewhere between the old flat and the home, which I took to be a bad omen, the dark clouds literally gathering, but I hurried towards the ugly building and went inside out of the rain, shaking my hair, trying to look vaguely presentable.

  I found some toilets, and the lights flickered on as I went inside. I was standing at the sink and fluffing my hair, uselessly, when the door opened and a woman came in, herding two kids. We all struggled to fit in the small space.

  ‘I don’t even need a wee,’ the little boy whined, and the woman pushed him towards a cubicle nonetheless. She closed the door but stayed outside, her foot hooked under the door.

  ‘There’s no toilet roll, Mummy,’ the little girl’s voice said from behind the other cubicle door. The woman sighed and looked over at me. I was expecting a smile, a what are they like? expression, but instead, she glared and snarled, ‘What the fuck are you staring at?’

  I got my bag and left her to it. I was so distracted by her that I just walked towards Mum’s room on autopilot, before I’d even decided if I wanted to be there.

  As I walked past the nurses’ station, I scanned around for Cathy. There was no sign of her. The place was quiet, considering it was peak visiting hours, and as I passed the TV room, I could see images on the screen, but there was no sound. There were two residents in there, both asleep.

  I kept walking and passed a room where an old man lived, Barney, I thought his name was, and he was asleep, as usual, his family sitting around him, his daughter at the head of the bed stroking her father’s face. I couldn’t ever remember seeing Barney awake, and I wondered what was wrong with him and whether it was better to just let him go.

  ‘Hello, Miss Cooke.’

  I looked up, embarrassed for staring at strangers, and saw Dean, one of the carers, standing in front of me, carrying a full bed pan.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, and couldn’t help looking at the dark yellow urine swilling around in his hands.

  ‘Is it raining?’ he asked, and I wondered if he was a bit simple, but then he started to laugh, and I realised it was a joke because I looked like a drowned rat.

  ‘Oh, just a little,’ I said, unable to think of anything funny in response which annoyed me, but then, “Is it raining?” was hardly comedy gold.

  Dean smiled and lifted his bed pan. ‘Well, I’d better get rid of this,’ he said, and walked on.

  I glanced back at Barney’s family, and one of the kids, a teenage girl, caught my eye and stood up, closing the door on me. I felt my cheeks redden and pushed away the thought that if Mum was like that, I wouldn’t have a problem.

  I went to Mum’s room and found the TV on without the sound. I wondered if the staff went around muting all the TVs so the babbling noise didn’t bother them.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ I said and dropped my bag on the floor. I went and sat on the chair and looked at the TV screen for a moment, trying to work out what was on. Some old western, by the looks of it. I turned back to Mum. ‘So, what’s this, then?’ I asked, meaning the film. But she didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge me again, keeping her face turned away.

  Why was she so upset? What had Jacob said to her? I turned the TV off and decided to find out what it was she was going to say to me the last time, before Cathy had interrupted.

  ‘Mum?’ I said, and stood up, shaking her arm. ‘Will you look at me?’ Nothing. I walked around to the other side of the bed and saw her eyes were closed, apparently sleeping. I sighed and went to pick up my bag, but something stopped me. I needed to know. ‘Mum,’ I said, and shook her again, leaning closer.

  Her mouth gaped, and bits of dried saliva were crusted at the corners of her lips. ‘Mum?’ I said, quieter this time. Had something happened? Had she had another stroke, or was she just ignoring me?

  I looked up at the door before rolling her sleeve slightly. I leaned close to her and examined her face. Her skin sagged just like her mouth. She looked like a fish stranded on land. I reached down to her arm and nipped the skin. She didn’t respond, so I did it again, harder this time. She didn’t move so I let go of her, realising she wasn’t pretending. ‘Mum?’ I said again, tears forming at the back of my eyes.

  This was my fault. I’d done this. But why hadn’t Cathy called? Had she thought I didn’t care anymore after I ran out the other day? Or had Mum told her not to contact me anymore? Was that what they were whispering about that day?

  I shook her gently, and she wobbled but didn’t change expression, didn’t move herself. She was totally gone.

  What had I done?

  I grabbed my bag and ran out to the nurses’ station. They were all sitting around, drinking cups of tea, giggling. They didn’t even acknowledge me standing there.

  ‘Excuse me?’ I said, and one of them glanced at me but just went back to her conversation. ‘Excuse me,’ I said again, louder, and finally, Dean looked at me. He stood up and came to the desk.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.

  ‘No, it’s not all right,’ I said. ‘Have you seen my mum? Have any of you actually been in and seen to her?’

  Dean looked over his shoulder at the others and another carer, this one in a different uniform, a uniform that was being stretched to its limits, pushed herself from her chair and came over. ‘Is there a problem?’ she asked, and I looked at her name badge. Nora.

  ‘Yes, there is. My mum is practically comatose in there.’

  Nora just looked at me. There was none of the fake concern or the pointed condescension of Cathy, just pure ambivalence. I could tell she was someone who stopped thinking about her job as soon as she clocked off. Not really the kind of person you want caring for your mother.

  ‘Your mum has an infection,’ Nora said. ‘She’s been sleeping most of the day, probably the best thing for her. If you’d like to speak to one of the doctors–’

  ‘Why isn’t she in hospital if she’s ill?’

  ‘The doctor has seen her. She’s on antibiotics, there’s not much else we can do. But if you want to speak to the doc–’

  ‘I don’t want to speak to a fucking doctor!’

  ‘So, what’s the problem?’

  ‘What sort of infection has she got? Where’s she even got it from?’ I could feel myself dissolving into tears, the words no longer making sense to me or to Nora. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. ‘She wasn’t like that on…’ I couldn’t remember when I was last there
and anything less than saying she wasn’t like that yesterday seemed pathetic, like I was as negligent as they were. ‘She was fine the last time I saw her,’ I said, lowering my voice, trying to act like someone who wasn’t feeling guilty.

  ‘I’m sure she was,’ Nora said. ‘But things can change very quickly. We see it all the time. It’s sad, I know. But there’s not much we can do about it, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But why didn’t anyone tell me?’ I said, and realised I was crying now. Real, deep, grieving tears. Why hadn’t I been a better daughter?

  Nora tilted her head, her best stab at sympathy. ‘Do you want to go to the family room?’ she asked, wanting to get rid of me.

  I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said. She passed me a tissue, and I blew my nose, feeling stupid crying in front of all those people. I turned and went back to Mum’s room and closed the door, just like Barney’s girl did.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ I said. ‘For everything.’

  There was nothing. Maybe this time she’d gone for good. Maybe I was right. Maybe she’d just lie there like Barney, and I’d come and stroke her head like she was a pet, and then, one day she’d just stop being there, and I’d collect her things and go home and that would be it. It would just be me.

  As I left, Dean nodded at me, and I gave him half a smile, but I wasn’t sure he saw it, having gone back to his card game. Nora was on the phone at the desk and didn’t even acknowledge me, oblivious to the fact I’d been so upset less than two hours earlier. She was a heartless cow, and I suddenly wished Cathy was there instead.

  They buzzed me out, and I walked downstairs where I ran into, literally, the nasty family from the toilets. Or rather, the little boy ran into me, nearly knocking me over. I looked up at the mother, expecting an apology and then realising that was highly unlikely based on her behaviour earlier. If she recognised me, she didn’t show it and just dragged the little girl by the hand towards the door. The boy stayed where he was, glaring at me.