Keep Me Close : An utterly gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

by Jane Holland

  ‘I’ll come over and pick them up. I can’t tonight, unfortunately. I’m meeting someone for dinner who might be able to offer me some work.’ He pauses. ‘How about tomorrow?’

  ‘Evening? That sounds good.’

  Then I can cook us all some food, try to make amends.

  ‘I’d prefer morning.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  I stare out at the gloomy afternoon; today’s wintry attempt at daylight is already dying. Dusk will fall soon, and with it the temperature. It felt cold enough to snow when I was in town last night. Maybe the sky will finally do what it’s been threatening for days, and scatter a shower of icy white flakes across Guildford and the Home Counties.

  Mum will be delighted if the weather turns that cold, of course. She’s always taken a childlike delight in snow, loving our family ski trips to France and Switzerland, and clapping her hands at the smallest hint of white flakes on the wind here in the UK. All snow means to me is a need for an extra scarf and woollen gloves; I suppose I lack her imagination.

  ‘Kate?’

  I realise I’ve been drifting, staring out at nothing. Dark shadows sliding along the lawn’s far edge. Grey skies and the encroaching dusk.

  ‘Sorry, what were you saying? Come over anytime tomorrow, Logan. I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere all day.’

  ‘What about work?’

  I laugh humourlessly. ‘Mark fired me.’

  ‘Why, for God’s sake?’

  ‘You didn’t see my tweet?’

  ‘I’m not online much at the moment. Data costs.’

  ‘Of course.’ My mouth twists in a crooked smile. ‘Someone hacked my Twitter account and posted something libellous about Calum Morgan. I actually thought it was you.’

  ‘Me?’ His voice is blank.

  ‘I know it wasn’t, please don’t worry. I told you, my head is a mess.’ I turn away from the window, feeling at my lowest ebb. Why am I still on the phone to him? Logan is probably a lost cause after the way I treated him. ‘Look, just come round when you like. I’ll be in.’

  After he hangs up, I wander into the hallway and peer up the stairs.

  Everything is quiet. Suspiciously so.

  As far as I know, Ruby hasn’t come downstairs yet. The odd thing is, I can’t hear her moving about anymore. There ought to be some noise, surely? She was supposed to be packing. I should be hearing footsteps, creaking floorboards, drawers opening and closing…

  Instead, there’s just this eerie silence.

  I find a tube of antiseptic cream and the first aid kit, and take them through to Mum’s bedroom, belatedly remembering her hurt hand.

  Every time I think of those shocking bruises on her arm and leg, I want to scream. I want to call the police and have them arrest Ruby for assault. If I don’t, she could do all this again to some other unsuspecting patient. In fact, I even stop beside the landline on my way along the hall, and pick up the handset, meaning to dial 999. Then I put it down again, groaning with frustration.

  I keep imagining Mum’s confusion when the police question her about what happened, plus the very real possibility that she’ll be forced to live elsewhere while the authorities investigate, just in case they decide I may be a threat to her well-being.

  Ruby strikes me as the sort of person who would lie quite boldly and in a bare-faced way to the police, pretending I’m the one who’s hurt Mum. And the only other witness – my mother – would be unable to defend me or point to the real perpetrator.

  It would be too horrible.

  But perhaps once she’s gone, and I’ve had a chance to gather together as much evidence as I have, I can call the police at that stage. With a solicitor in tow.

  That seems like the wisest course of action.

  When I open the door, Mum is standing on an old wooden stool in her nightie, struggling to take Ciaran’s canvas down off the wall, and she’s wobbling dangerously…

  ‘Oh my God!’

  I rush to support her before she can topple off the stool. ‘Mum, what on earth do you think you’re doing?’

  She looks down at me, her expression stubborn and impatient. ‘I’m taking down the painting. It needs to be fixed.’

  ‘Let me help you down; it’s not safe.’

  ‘But the painting—’

  ‘I’ll take it off the wall. It’s too heavy for you.’ I help her down, taking my time, and embrace her thankfully once she’s safely on the ground again. ‘Mum, you scare me so much sometimes.’ She seems to find this amusing, giving a little chuckle. While she watches, I climb onto the stool and take down the ruined canvas for her. It’s heavy even for me, thanks to its thick white wood frame. ‘Where do you want it?’

  She looks about the room vaguely and then points to a space under the window. ‘Over there.’

  Leaning the canvas against the wall, I crouch to examine its long rips and shreds. David’s perfect face looms out at me from amidst the devastation. He was such an attractive man. I brush his cheek with the back of my fingers, part of me still aching to know why he killed himself.

  ‘Careful,’ my mother says. ‘Your brother painted that.’

  ‘I know.’ I straighten and look round at her curiously. She seems more lucid than she has been lately. ‘Mum, do you know how the painting got like this?’

  ‘Scissors,’ she says helpfully.

  ‘Did you do it?’

  My mother’s outrage is palpable. ‘Me?’

  ‘Sorry, I had to ask.’ I sit her down on the edge of the bed and smooth cream over the back of her hand. Her skin looks less raw now, thankfully. ‘Was it Ruby?’

  At that name, her face becomes dark and shuttered. ‘Don’t know,’ she mutters, turning her face away. ‘Don’t ask, don’t know.’

  ‘Okay.’ I dress her hand with a clean bandage, winding it round and round while she sits in silence, chewing on her lower lip. ‘Mum, there’s something I need to tell you.’

  She raises her gaze to mine dubiously.

  ‘I’ve told Ruby to go,’ I say softly. ‘I’ve fired her. She’s gone up to pack her bags. So you don’t need to worry about her anymore.’

  To my surprise, she looks horrified. ‘Ruby?’

  ‘I’ve asked her to leave.’

  ‘You can’t.’ Her eyes widen, and she looks over her shoulder at the door, as though expecting Ruby to burst in at any moment and menace us. ‘She’ll be angry.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  Mum snatches her hand back before I’ve properly finished securing her bandage, and rocks back and forth, moaning under her breath.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear. She’s going to be so angry.’

  ‘Mum, it’s fine.’ I shake my head incredulously. ‘There’s nothing Ruby can do. I’ll get another carer. In due time. For now, I’ll probably look after you myself.’

  She looks aghast. ‘You?’

  ‘I’m not completely incompetent. Besides, it looks like I’m back to being unemployed. So we won’t be able to afford a full-time carer for a while. I might be able to arrange for a professional to come in once or twice a month so I get a few hours’ respite. But the rest of your care will be up to me.’ Taking back her hand, I secure the white crepe bandage, making sure it isn’t going to come unravelled. My smile is grim. ‘How hard can it be?’

  The echoing chime of the doorbell makes us both stop and stare at each other in astonishment.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Mum demands at once, as though I’m psychic.

  ‘I’ll go and find out. You get back into bed.’ She’s looking flushed, and I lay a hand against her forehead, which feels over-warm. ‘I don’t think you’re well.’

  ‘Call the doctor,’ she suggests helpfully.

  ‘Maybe I will.’

  I head out into the hall to find Ruby standing in the gloom at the bottom of the stairs. To my surprise, she’s still wearing her slippers and housecoat, and I see no sign of any luggage.

  ‘Do you need a hand bringing your bags down?’ I ask her, trying to
be polite and professional about the situation.

  She doesn’t speak.

  There’s something oddly menacing about her silence. My hands clench into fists as I come level with the woman, my fingernails digging into my palms. She seemed to accept her sacking earlier without too much heat. I hope to God she hasn’t changed her mind and is now planning on being difficult.

  The doorbell chimes again.

  Ruby says, ‘I think you’d better get that.’

  I open the front door, and recoil in horror, my heart thumping.

  It’s Calum Morgan.

  He looks dishevelled, his shirt not quite tucked into his jeans, his hair untidy, and there’s a hard colour in his cheeks, as though he’s been running.

  ‘Well, well,’ he says breathlessly, leaning on the door frame. ‘If it isn’t my editor, Kate Kinley. Or should I say, my former editor?’

  ‘Calum?’ I swallow. ‘What are you doing here? How did you find out where I live?’ A rush of hot temper flares in me. ‘Did Mark tell you?’

  ‘I’d love to say yes. But your boss refused to give me that information. God knows why. Perhaps he thought I’d want to strangle you and piss on your corpse if I ever saw you again.’

  I take an instinctive step back, and then realise my mistake when he tries to barge through the door, putting his shoulder to it.

  Panicked, I lean on the door too, putting my own weight against it. Given our relative statures, though, it’s not much of a contest and I’m not sure how long I can hold him off.

  ‘Get off my property before I call the police,’ I snap, trying and failing to close the door on him. Belatedly, I realise that Calum’s mud-speckled ankle boot has become trapped in the door. ‘Would you move your foot, please?’

  He ignores me, glaring through the narrow gap created by his boot. ‘It wasn’t hard to find out where you lived, Kate. A few quid on a specialist search brought up your address within minutes. So I thought I’d come round and ask what the hell you thought you were doing, posting that bloody tweet about me?’ He bangs on the door and it shudders, but I stubbornly keep my shoulder to it. ‘How dare you call me a narcissist? I’ve worked hard for my success. Don’t you know who I am? Do you even understand how many people read my books every year? How many people admire me and find their lives improved by what I’ve written? I’m a famous, bestselling author. I sold over a million copies of Get Happy in the US, did you know that? And they love me in Asia too. They’ve given me awards. Whereas you…’ He looks me up and down in a scathing manner. ‘You’re nothing, Kate. You’re less than nothing. You’re just another tiny cog in an increasingly obsolescent machine.’

  Suddenly, Ruby elbows me aside and opens the door. ‘Listen, love’ she tells Calum roughly. ‘I don’t know who you are and I don’t much care. What I do know is that you’re trespassing. So unless you want a ride in a police van, I suggest you move your foot and put all this down in a letter instead. How’s that?’

  Calum glares at me over her shoulder. ‘Who the hell is this?’

  ‘I’m her mum’s carer,’ Ruby tells him in icy tones. ‘Now move your foot before I break it.’

  He looks taken aback, but grudgingly moves the foot that was stopping the door from closing. ‘This isn’t over.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Ruby shuts the door and turns to me. ‘Was that the bloke you tweeted about?’

  ‘Yes,’ I agree shakily, not sure which is worse, facing down Calum’s wrath or being alone again with Ruby.

  She makes a contemptuous noise and heads back to the kitchen. ‘You don’t look too good. Why don’t you go and lie down? I’ll wait near the door, make sure he doesn’t come back. And I imagine your mum could do with a cuppa about now.’

  I follow, baffled to see her calmly filling the kettle and putting it back on like nothing’s happened.

  ‘Ruby, I don’t want to be rude. But I fired you less than an hour ago. Remember?’

  ‘Not very grateful, are you?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Ruby jerks a thumb over her shoulder down the hall. ‘I could have left you to deal with that idiot on your own. But I didn’t.’

  I feel like I’m going mad.

  ‘Thank you for getting rid of Calum. I can’t believe he had the nerve to come to my house, especially threatening to strangle me. The man’s deranged. But this…’ I take a deep breath and nod to the kettle. ‘It’s not appropriate. I really think it would be better if you just go.’

  ‘Oh, Kate.’ She turns and shakes her head, smiling faintly as though I’ve said something funny. ‘I’m not leaving.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I live here. I’m your mum’s carer. This is where I belong. You heard me say so to that lunatic on the doorstep just now, and you didn’t contradict me.’ Ruby searches my face. ‘Did you?’

  ‘Well, no,’ I admit slowly.

  ‘So there you go.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to contradict you in front of him, obviously. You were doing too good a job of getting rid of him. But you must see how mad this is.’

  Her eyelids flicker. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘All this, you making tea and telling me to lie down. It’s mad. You no longer work here, Ruby.’ I decide to be firm with her, just as she was firm with Calum. ‘I’d like you to leave.’

  ‘I am not mad,’ she says with careful emphasis.

  I see that I’ve offended her. ‘It was just a figure of speech. I meant… You can’t stay here.’

  ‘I can hardly leave you to look after your mother alone.’

  ‘We’ll be fine.’

  She raises her eyebrows. ‘I don’t agree.’

  ‘This isn’t a debate. You work for me. Or rather, you did.’ I am beginning to wonder if I was right first time and she really is mad. That would certainly explain a few things. ‘I’ve terminated your employment. This is no longer your home, and whether you agree or not is neither here nor there. So you need to take your bags, and leave.’

  ‘And did you do what I asked and consult your mother?’ she persists, her voice rising. ‘Because I feel Celeste ought to be given a say in this.’

  ‘I told her, yes.’

  ‘That’s not the same thing. How can I be sure this is what she wants? For all I know you may have lied to her about me.’

  ‘Lied?’ I stare at her. ‘You’ve beaten her. You’ve burnt her with a cigarette. God knows what else you’ve done to torture her, but she’s bloody terrified of you.’

  ‘If that’s true, then why aren’t the police here? If I’m such a monster, why haven’t you reported me yet?’

  I glare at her, unable to answer that without admitting my weakness.

  I don’t have any actual proof that she did any of it. It’s all circumstantial. And I’m afraid the police may suspect me instead. Especially if Ruby has anything to do with it.

  She was very quick to point me towards Mum’s solicitor as a possible culprit for those bruises on her arm. I believed her completely.

  What might she say to the police in order to avoid arrest for assault?

  Perhaps once I’ve seen Mr Adeyemi tomorrow, and apologised for having suspected him, he’ll advise me on how to proceed.

  Ruby has folded her arms and is looking stubborn. ‘I’m not going anywhere until I’ve heard your mother say I need to go.’

  ‘Fine. You want to know if my mother’s happy that I fired you?’ I leave the kitchen and stride impatiently along the hall. ‘Let’s ask her, shall we?’

  I’m just turning the handle to Mum’s bedroom when I feel a sudden weight on the back of my head. It feels like a heavy black curtain tumbling down over me.

  My legs crumple and I fall forwards, my last thought one of bewilderment.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  I wake to a cold trickle of water down my face, and groan.

  God, my head hurts.

  My eyes open on a dimly lit room. It’s my mother’s bedroom, and I’m slumped on the floor near the window, my back
against the metal radiator, which is thankfully cold or I’d have been scalded. My hands are drawn up to one side, supported by something. There’s a vague pain in my wrists, which I can’t immediately pinpoint.

  Mum’s face swims into focus a few feet away. She’s looking frightened, still in her nightie, wringing her hands unhappily.

  ‘Mum?’ I stir, and then freeze instantly into immobility, closing my eyes again as a terrific pain splits my head. It feels like I’ve fallen downstairs and banged my head on every step on the way down. ‘What… what happened?’

  There’s something huge and oblong lying on the carpet a few feet away. I squint at its white frame first, then the ragged edges of canvas.

  Ciaran’s family portrait.

  ‘Kate,’ someone says softly. ‘Wakey-wakey!’

  Another trickle of water lands again, this time near my ear. It’s coming from above me.

  Baffled, I peer upwards.

  Ruby is standing above me, dripping cloudy water onto my hair and face from a small glass vase. The flowers lie discarded on the carpet a few feet away.

  ‘Ruby?’ My voice is hoarse.

  She smiles, and pours a little more over me, several water drops landing in my eye and rolling down my cheek like tears.

  ‘Good,’ she says, and puts the vase down, ‘you’re conscious at last. I was beginning to think I’d have to stab you in the eye or something to get you to wake up. But this is much easier. And less messy.’ The smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘I hate mess, don’t you?’

  ‘What? Are you crazy?’ As I jerk upright, I realise my wrists have been bound together and fastened to the radiator. I tug but can’t get them free. The white wire wrapped about my wrists simply bites deeper into my flesh. It looks like a charging cable, like the one I use for my mobile phone. ‘Did you do this? What the hell is wrong with you?’ I tug harder, but it’s futile. ‘Ruby, let me go at once. How dare you?’

  ‘How dare I?’ she repeats, her smile vanishing. ‘How dare I? How dare you ask such a question of me?’ She thumps herself on the chest with a clenched fist. ‘Of me!’

  ‘Please don’t, darling,’ Mum whimpers, shaking her head at me in warning. ‘Don’t make her angry.’