Care For Me: A tense and engrossing psychological thriller for fans of Clare Mackintosh

by Farah Cook

  ‘I need to prepare Mum for what’s coming. I hope she will remember everything I tell her. Most of all, I hope she agrees to go or else she might cause trouble.’

  ‘She will agree, Mira.’ Haroon types on his keyboard. ‘Your mum is a reasonable woman, strong-minded. For someone with dementia, she is still quite independent.’ He stares at his computer screen, contemplating something for a minute, then skates the tip of his finger on the mouse.

  ‘How long do I have?’

  ‘Six, perhaps seven days.’ He glimpses with uncertainty towards me.

  ‘But that’s so soon,’ I say. ‘They’re not making this easy, are they?’

  ‘Try to cooperate as much as possible when bringing your mum to the care home. Don’t let them believe you don’t want her to be there. Show that you are willing to do whatever is best for her.’

  ‘I’ll take your advice and try my best.’

  What will I tell Meena when she asks about Mum? We chatted online every day when I was sick. She was so worried about me.

  Haroon clicks on the mouse, gets up and takes a slip of green paper from the printer and offers it to me as if it’s a precious present.

  ‘What’s this for?’ I stare at him.

  ‘It’s a prescription that will help calm you down, and cope with the changes ahead.’

  ‘I don’t want it.’ He shoves it into my hand anyway. Then he hands me a card with Dr Abdullah’s number.

  I gather my things and prepare to leave. I tie my shawl tightly around my neck. I feel suffocated – not from the soft fabric touching my skin but from all that was said. He puts his hand on my shoulder, taps it twice. I feel like that patient again who has been given bad news. News that’s spreading like a bleeding tumour, killing me quicker than I can imagine.

  ‘It’s all going to work out fine, Mira.’ He locks eyes with me, giving me a warm assuring look. I wish he’d put his arm around me again while he says the same words over and over.

  ‘Will it?’

  I hear the clacking of heels approaching the door and I know it is her, Nadia. The woman who stole my husband. A swish of air blows at me. The sweet smell of apples escapes from the corridor.

  ‘There you are,’ she says, a smile spreading on her radiant, glowing face, a marker of her pregnancy. She beckons me with her hand. ‘Not to worry, Afrah is fine now, it was only a tiny cut on her finger that was shedding more blood than necessary. Don’t get mad at her for nothing. You did the right thing leaving her with us. She shouldn’t be alone, not in her state.’

  I stare at her.

  ‘Did you not get the message?’ she says.

  ‘No.’ I pull out my phone and notice three missed calls from Shafi and a voice message.

  ‘I am the one to blame. I allowed her to eat apples. I shouldn’t have. I had no idea she likes to use a knife to peel them.’

  ‘How would you know?’ I don’t bother taking off my boots. I go straight into the main hall, crossing the tiled floor, sure I am leaving a trail of dirt behind. I don’t look twice at the ‘wall of fame’. Pictures of holidays, happy, smiley faces. Soon there will be more. Haroon and Nadia are expecting their first child. The knot in my tummy tightens. I untie my shawl, letting air fall on the coat of sweat around my neck.

  She takes hold of my arm. ‘I’m truly sorry about the decision that’s been taken regarding Afrah’s care. I really am. You must be shocked. Poor, sweet woman. She depends so much on you.’

  I turn to look at her. ‘Thank you,’ I smile. ‘That’s very kind.’ I depend on her, too. I need her in my life.

  ‘Shafi is also devastated, poor boy,’ she creases her forehead, smooth as a baby’s. ‘He’s been through a lot, hasn’t he? It sure doesn’t show. Don’t go thinking he ain’t sad. He is, if you ask me. Very sad. Now, I’ve been giving this some thought and if you like, he could come stay with you before,’ she pauses . . . searching for my approval. ‘You know . . .’

  ‘That would be lovely. But given the situation with Mum it may not be such a good idea. She will be anxious dealing with the stress of what’s coming and I’m not sure Shaf would want to be around her.’ I hear the landline ring. Nadia’s eyes shift and she excuses herself to answer the phone.

  ‘Hello darling. Sorry, my mobile must be on mute . . . Yes, she is here to pick Afrah up right this minute.’

  ‘Afrah is fine.’ Nadia looks in my direction. ‘Just fine now.’

  I see Mum outside on the balcony standing next to Shafi. I slide open the balcony door. She points at the ducks swimming in the river. Shafi doesn’t say anything. He seems happy to see me.

  I go out and pull him close. He wraps his arms around me. ‘You alright, Shaf?’

  He pulls away and shrugs. ‘Think so.’

  I look over his shoulder. ‘Ami, it’s time to go.’

  ‘My name is Afrah Bibi,’ she says. The look in her eyes is distant.

  ‘That’s right,’ I double-fold her chador around her cold body.

  ‘If there’s anything we can do,’ says Nadia, standing in front of the balcony door, ‘anything, please don’t hesitate to ask. Afrah is welcome to come anytime she wants to visit Shafi.’

  ‘Next time, Nano, we’ll go down for a walk by the river. OK?’ Shafi hugs her.

  Mum whispers into my ear, asks why the boy keeps calling her Nano. That’s not who she is. That’s not her name. ‘Tell him, tell him. I am Afrah, Afrah Bibi.’

  Shafi pushes his hands into his pockets. Chin on chest, he lowers his gaze. They used to be close. No more. Not since she was diagnosed.

  We step into the elevator. ‘Thank you so much, Nadia, for everything.’

  ‘Oh, you are sooo welcome.’ She turns towards Mum, smiling carefully. ‘Afrah? Aren’t we forgetting something?’

  I notice Nadia’s stare fixed on Mum’s wrist, bathing in a large gold bangle.

  ‘That’s not yours. It’s Nadia’s bangle, Ami. Give it back.’

  Mum tucks it under her armpit and mumbles in Urdu, ‘but she let me have it. I wasn’t going to steal it. I want to keep it a little longer. Please!’

  ‘No, Ami.’ Softly, I pull it off and give it back to Nadia. Heat creeps into my cheeks; I can hardly look at her. She says Mum went into their bedroom. She opened all the drawers and took the bangle from her jewellery box and asked if she could wear it.

  ‘I didn’t want to upset your mum,’ says Nadia. ‘I let her wear it on the condition she would give it back when she’d leave.’

  ‘Nadia, I am so sorry about that.’

  ‘Don’t be. It’s forgotten.’

  ‘I don’t want to take more of your time,’ I take courage and glance at her tummy, which she keeps stroking. ‘After December, you’ll be busy with . . . other things.’

  She nods, delivers a soft smile. Shafi stands like a shadow behind his stepmum and adjusts his hair in a typical teenage manner. I can see why he likes her. See why he’d rather be living with them than us. Nadia is kind, compassionate. She treats Shafi like her own son, and soon he will become a loved brother.

  The door shuts. I see Nadia’s beautiful face one final time contorted in a true state of worry. I know she meant what she said. She really cares. I hate her for it.

  Outside the building, I wipe my tears. Busy with other things? Way to go Amira.

  Mum keeps asking, ‘Who was that nice-looking lady? Will we visit her again?’

  Shafi comes down, holding the newspaper. He hands it to me and smiles showing his beautiful cute dimples. I smile back and the tears become visible. He kisses me on the cheek and tells me everything will be fine.

  ‘Oh, and Nano kept saying,’ he whispers, ‘“Mona is missing. Mona might be dead.” Who is Mona?’

  I glance at Mum staring into the blue.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘It’s no one.’

  ‘Sure?’

  I nod. I don’t tell Shafi about Mum’s obsession with the missing girl. He has enough on his mind as it is. ‘Just some girl from Mum’s imagin
ation.’

  ‘Right.’ He leaves, doesn’t turn back around.

  ‘You can read your newspaper now.’ I pull down her glasses sitting on her head.

  ‘Will we or won’t we, Mimi?’ She takes the paper and I open the car door. She sits next to me at the front, hooded eyes fixed on mine.

  I stare at her puzzled. ‘What?’

  ‘Visit your friends again?’

  ‘No Ami, I don’t think we ever will.’ I start the engine and give gas to the pedal reversing the car. I turn the steering and clutch the gear. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘She said I could have it, she put the bracelet on my wrist. I told her I don’t want it. I should have said something when she accused me of being a liar and a thief.’

  ‘Who, Nadia? I don’t think she has. You are mistaken. You borrowed the bangle from her, remember? Besides, you have yours are at home in your bedside drawer. All four.’

  My cheeks are hot. I don’t want to hear another word about those stupid bangles. I feel so ashamed of what she did. What will Nadia think? She pities Mum. Poor Afrah. I don’t need her pity. I should never have left Mum with her.

  ‘I wasn’t going to take it.’ Mum seems all muddled. ‘Really, believe me.’

  I put a hand to my chest and nod. ‘Ami, listen, I have something very important I need to speak with you about, and I need you to remember it. Don’t forget, OK?’

  ‘What is it, Mimi?’ She searches my face for an answer. And already, I detect the worry in her eyes. How on earth am I going to break the news to her? How will she react? She’ll go mad.

  Chapter 12

  AFRAH

  Seven days earlier

  Wednesday, 13 November 2019

  I feel a tight sensation in my chest. I wonder where Amira has gone and why she has left me with the nice-looking lady and young boy who keeps calling me Nano. I wonder when she’ll be back. I wrap my fingers around the warm cup of English breakfast tea the nice-looking lady made. She smiles at me from the open plan kitchen, asks if I am alright, if I need anything. ‘Maybe you’d like a muffin, or how about a fresh doughnut?’

  ‘I don’t suppose there is any mithai?’ I slurp burning my tongue. ‘Hot.’ I blow softly on the surface of the steaming cup of tea. ‘I could really do with a small bite of barfi.’

  ‘I’m sorry Afrah, we only eat mithai on special occasions.’

  ‘Call me Afrah Bibi.’

  I crane my neck to scan the clean space in which I find myself. There are no plants or books. A sculpture of a naked dancing woman in the corner of the room and bizarre looking figures and empty vases decorate a nearby shelf.

  She brings a plate of biscuits over. I take a round piece, crushing the sweet sugary powder between my teeth.

  ‘What is this place?’ I ask.

  ‘Would you like a tour of our home?’

  She flattens the pleats of her embroidered, colourful dress. It’s patterned with, not flowers, lily pads, I think. Underneath is a bulging belly. She twirls her necklace with her fingers, moves it around and around her long neck.

  The nice-looking lady starts to show me around. ‘Here’s the guest toilet if you need to use it.’ She opens the door to a white marbled restroom, which smells like lavender. The boy shepherds us around, keeps calling me Nano. I’m not his grandmother. Perhaps he says it out of respect. We go down the long corridor, where bright lights stream like glistening water over the stripped wooden floorboards and across the white walls. The door to a room is left ajar. I ask her what’s in there.

  ‘That’s my room,’ says the boy as he heads inside.

  There’s a bed, desk and wardrobe. Shelves with books and frames. An armchair in the corner with a laptop on it, which he opens and starts typing into.

  ‘We’ll leave you in peace, Shaf.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Absolutely, come along now, Afrah Bibi.’

  At the end of the corridor there’s a large mirror. I stare at myself as I stride down. I’m wearing a blue shalwar kameez loosely around my body. My neck, ears and wrist are missing jewellery. I feel naked.

  The door to my left is open.

  ‘What’s this room?’ I don’t remember if she already showed me the loo.

  ‘This is the master bedroom.’

  She is about to close the door when my hand lands on the surface. ‘It’s alright, take a look inside.’ It’s a large room with a king-size bed and velvet pillows. In the corner, there’s a dressing table and a chest of drawers. I open a drawer and look inside. Silk clothes and silk underwear. She gently closes it, watching me carefully. I sit at the dressing table and she allows me to open her jewellery box. I notice a beautiful gold bracelet sparkling with pearls and diamonds.

  ‘My momma gave me this when I married Haroon.’

  I hesitate before asking. ‘Can I try it?’ There’s this look in her eyes like she pities me.

  ‘Go on then. But please remember to return it by the time your daughter comes back to pick you up,’ she smiles. ‘This piece is very precious to me.’

  ‘I won’t forget,’ I say, and slip my wrist into it. ‘I only want to try it on.’

  Chapter 13

  AMIRA

  Wednesday, 20 November 2019

  ‘Give me that. It’s mine, mine!’ Mum snatches the bag and clutches it close to her chest. ‘And don’t touch my chador, leave it, will you? Just leave it, I said. What am I here for?’ She makes a break for the door. ‘You can’t keep me captive. I want to go home. Take me back to my house. Now!’

  ‘Afrah, calm yourself down,’ Myrtle blocks her way, holds Mum back. ‘No one is going to take your belongings away without your consent. You are not a captive here at Ravenswood, isn’t that correct?’ Rolling the ‘r’ in Ravenswood exaggeratedly, Myrtle throws a cautious glare over her shoulder. I nod.

  ‘My name is Afrah Bibi!’ Mum shouts out loud.

  She starts walking back and forth, throwing things on the floor; pens, papers, books and magazines from the table. Anger draws across her face. I tell her to stop but she doesn’t listen, and I’m afraid what it means if she doesn’t. Meena mentioned her friend’s mum was detained for being aggressive. I wouldn’t want the same thing happening to Mum. ‘Ami, listen,’ I reach out to hold her hand. ‘Please try to understand that this is now your new home.’

  ‘Liar,’ she raises her voice. The echo rings back in my ears. ‘This isn’t my home.’ She pulls her hand from mine.

  I try not to show her that I am distressed. ‘You have to stay.’

  Mum reaches for the door, but Myrtle slams it shut. Her sweaty fingerprints quickly dissolve from the door’s surface. Mum pushes her away and Myrtle trips. ‘Get out of my way, silly woman!’

  Myrtle finds her footing and stands up tall, facing Mum. ‘Behave yourself.’

  Mum opens her mouth as if to bite Myrtle who quickly steps back. ‘Did she just—’ Myrtle cocks her head to the side and glares at me.

  ‘Stop it,’ I say. ‘There’s no better place for you. Do you hear me?’

  ‘Don’t leave me! Mimi, I will never forgive you if you leave me.’

  I shut my eyes and whisper, ‘You’ve got be cruel to be kind.’ I say it over and over. I know she can hear me.

  Myrtle throws me a hard, unnerving glare. ‘If she continues to behave in such manners, we may have no other choice but to consider give her medication.’

  ‘What?’ I say. ‘No, please Mrs Brown. That doesn’t sound right, she’s only—’

  ‘There are certain things which we do not tolerate here at Ravenswood Lodge.’ She flutters her lashes. One falls loose and gets caught in the corner of her eye, which she catches with the tip of her finger. ‘Shouting and aggressive behaviour is out of the question.’

  ‘I assure you Mum will settle.’ I take a deep breath and focus on the positives just like Haroon said. I take a few more deep breaths and try to relax the muscles in my face. I put a smile on. ‘She’s just a little upset.’

  ‘A little
upset? What happens when she is very upset? We are a highly respected care home. We have rules patients must follow.’ The thick line in her forehead pulses a beat. ‘Our waiting list is rather long, given we are a private facility. A stroke of luck placed someone like your mother in our care. Surely you understand that?’

  ‘I do apologise on behalf of my mother, Mrs Brown. This is a new environment for her and she will need time to get used to being at the care home.’

  ‘I understand Afrah needs time to settle—’

  ‘I’m not sure, do you, Mrs Brown.’ I raise my brows. ‘Because you’re implying—’

  ‘Of course, I do. Naturally, she is upset. But there’s no need for her to be aggressive.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell her what she has to do,’ I say firmly. ‘She might listen.’

  ‘Stop talking of me as if I am not in the room, Mum says. ‘As though I am invisible.’

  ‘We at Ravenswood Lodge fully understand most patients require time settling in,’ says Myrtle. ‘That’s why we encourage—’

  ‘Patients? I am no patient. And I am not ill.’ Mum glances around.

  I look at Myrtle. ‘My mother has a friend living in Ravenswood Lodge. Isn’t that right, Ami?’ I smile reassuringly. ‘Her name is Nisha, Nisha Patel.’

  Myrtle clears her throat. ‘I know Nisha quite well. She’s been with us since early June. We’ve had no issues with her stay. Lovely old woman. Happy as a clam.’

  ‘Perhaps my mother—’

  ‘Call me Afrah Bibi.’

  ‘Perhaps Afrah Bibi could see Nisha later sometime soon?’ I feel my eyes swivel.

  ‘I’m afraid Nisha tends to have a rather busy schedule. She attends physical therapy daily. Since her stroke, we’ve been working every day to mobilise her left arm and leg.’

  ‘I want to see Nisha.’ Ami clutches my arm hard. ‘Take me to her.’

  ‘Please, perhaps Mum can quickly say hello to Nisha?’