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

by Farah Cook

  Myrtle nods. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Brown.’

  Mum’s face lights up. ‘Bring me to her now. I want to see Nisha.’

  Chapter 14

  AFRAH

  Wednesday, 20 November 2019

  Amira’s eyes lock with the woman she keeps calling Mrs Brown. There’s nothing brown about her. Brown is a soft, romantic colour. It reminds me of chocolate, cinnamon and other warm spices. I look at Mrs Brown. Her skin is so white, it lights up like a torch.

  ‘Afrah Bibi,’ Mrs Brown takes a step closer to face me. ‘If you promise to settle in without causing trouble then you can see Nisha as often as you like, given that she isn’t tired from her therapy.’

  Sparks of joy rise inside me. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Doesn’t that sound wonderful, Ami?’

  ‘Amira, you mentioned outside that your mother is quite the foodie.’

  ‘What will I be having for supper?’

  The woman looks at me and smiles. ‘I believe you are having chicken with—’

  ‘My favourite dish is korma with peshwari naan.’ I say.

  ‘Oh, Ami.’ My daughter giggles like a schoolgirl. Places kisses on both my cheeks and whispers, ‘I will come back to see you soon. Be brave.’

  ‘Do bear in mind we have strict visiting hours,’ says Mrs Brown. ‘We don’t want family members meddling too much with the life patients have built here for themselves.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry,’ says Amira. ‘I’ll stick to the visiting hours.’

  ‘Afrah Bibi, soon I shall give you a full tour of Ravenswood Lodge and introduce you to our key staff. But first, make yourself at home. Settle into your room.’

  Amira reaches for the door. I tell her not to leave, over and over. But she’s not listening, and slips out of the door with Mrs Brown. A tight sensation pulses through me.

  I am alone. My daughter left me.

  I go to the window. Amira leaves the building and doesn’t turn around. The door to her car slams and she heads off, driving down the twisty road and becoming a tiny dot till I see her no more. When will she be back? She never said.

  I feel a sense of dread, which leaves me feeling numb.

  I sit by the windowsill and stare at the line of trees in the garden swaying in the wind. Their flickering shadows darken the cobbled stones leading up to the house. Circled by a pool of fallen leaves, a tall and lanky man with a shovel in his hand is digging. He stops and wipes his forehead, shifts his ginger matted hair out of the way. Behind him the shrubs show a range of dahlia. Long stems hold heads of purple, red and pink. The man squats, takes out a gardening fork and ploughs it into the earth beneath him. He grabs a bundle of marigolds from the wheelbarrow, and sink them into the black soil. He stands, leans against the trunk of the tree and looks up. He watches me watching him. He gathers his tools and throws them into the wheelbarrow without looking up again.

  Black clouds drift above me, hovering like death. Darkness is descending now. I cannot see the ocean, but I can feel the salty air slipping thorough the cracks of the window, the draught gently rattling the frame. I feel a gush of cold air prickling my spine. The hairs on my neck stand up, It’s a strange feeling, ghostly. I hear the padding of footsteps and realise I am not alone.

  ‘That’s Liam, our gardener. Soon you’ll know everyone at Ravenswood Lodge.’

  The woman speaking to me is not Mrs Brown. ‘Soon you will feel like you are at home.’ She has a warm and comforting voice, honey-like.

  I blink and level my eyes with her. She smiles at me. She has soft brown eyes like chocolate and cinnamon. Words dry on my tongue when she curls an arm around my shoulder, squeezing it softly. A light feeling sweeps over me. I am less afraid. ‘Hello . . .’ I have trouble finding the right words. ‘Are you—’

  ‘A beautiful good morning to you Afrah.’ Her face lights up like an angel.

  ‘Do I know you?’

  The woman isn’t wearing a uniform. Her clothes are colourful. Pink sweater and green trousers. Yellow scarf with flowers tied around her neck.

  She shakes her head. ‘I thought it was about time we get acquainted.’ Standing beside me, she is tall, with a glorious air about her. Hair, tied into a tight black braid. Gold earrings glimmer in her earlobes. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Who are you?’ I feel tempted to touch her face. She has a small nose with a piercing. I hesitate. She is skinny, birdlike. Her complexion is fair with long curved eyelashes. She swishes her narrow hips to the side and sits by the windowsill staring out. Her head turns towards me.

  ‘My name is Zahra Akram. I will be your primary nurse at Ravenswood Lodge.’ She moves across the room and begins to unpack my bag. Exhaustion takes hold of me and I lay on the bed my eyelids heavy with sleep. ‘From now on, I will take good care of you. You are safe now.’

  I am in the dining room having supper. Chicken and vegetables. I look around and see unfamiliar faces. The light is dim, the walls panelled. This is a strange hotel, and the staff aren’t very friendly towards me. No one asked me what I want. The cook comes in, a woman with a gold chain around her neck. She was here before and plated what’s in front of me. But I never asked for it. She keeps looking over her shoulder, never smiles. Her hair is ginger like a cat and she has small green eyes. I don’t know her name. Doesn’t matter. I don’t like her anyway, I don’t remember why. I push my plate away. I’ve not eaten from it. I don’t think I am hungry. She takes it and leaves.

  ‘Are you ready for your bath?’ says a gentle voice. I look at the woman with chocolate brown eyes. She notices my confusion and tells me her name is Zahra.

  ‘I don’t want a bath. I am having dinner,’ I say. ‘And I don’t do baths. I have a shower every morning. I had one today and I do it myself.’

  ‘I thought it could be nice if you had a bath before bedtime,’ she smiles. ‘It might help you sleep well in your new bed. What do you say Afrah?’

  ‘Call me Afrah Bibi.’

  The cook looks at me from across the room. Her face furrowed. No wonder I don’t like her. Who does she think she is? I never wanted chicken with vegetables. I stick out my tongue to show her.

  ‘Come on, Afrah Bibi,’ Zahra pulls me gently and we go to the elevator. ‘Up we go.’

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘To your room. You will like it.’ She speaks loudly as if I can’t hear her. But I hear her perfectly well.

  ‘I don’t want to go up. I want to go home.’

  She pays no attention. Something must be wrong with her. Perhaps she’s deaf. She takes me down the hall and into my room. I think it’s the same one where Amira left me. ‘Where is Amira? I want my daughter.’

  ‘It’s just me now.’

  She pushes the door to the bathroom open. It’s damp and there’s water inside the tub. I shiver. ‘From now on, I will care for you.’

  ‘I’m not going in there,’ I turn around ready to leave. But she stops me.

  ‘Let’s get you undressed.’ She strokes my hand.

  ‘I am not taking my clothes off.’ What kind of hotel is this?

  ‘Please, Afrah Bibi. You need a bath before bedtime.’

  ‘No I don’t,’ I cross my arms over my chest. ‘Who are you to tell me what to do?’

  She begins to undress me, and I slap her wrist. She thinks I can’t care for myself.

  ‘Be nice. I am only trying to help.’

  ‘I don’t want help. I want you to go away.’ I try to move past her but she pulls me back.

  ‘Stop saying that.’ She puts an arm around my shoulder. ‘You don’t mean it.’

  I want to go home.

  ‘Help, somebody, get me out of here!’

  A woman with a pale face comes into the bathroom. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asks in a strict voice. I know her. I forgot her name. Brownie, cookie. Something sweet. But she isn’t. She is bitter and she doesn’t look very friendly. She squeezes my hand.

  ‘Ouc
h! Quit hurting me, silly woman.’

  ‘Nonsense. I am helping you.’ She tightens her grip and tugs at my clothes. I twist my head and pull back. She reaches out, but I threaten to bite her hand. ‘Stop this behaviour.’

  ‘Badtameez aurat. I don’t want a bath, now let me go.’ I scream.

  ‘Myrtle, let me try. I am after all Afrah’s primary nurse.’

  Myrtle Brown. I remember her now.

  ‘Very well.’ She glares at me. ‘I’ll let Miss Akram handle you.’

  ‘It’s all going to be fine,’ Zahra puts her hand on my shoulder. ‘You’ll feel so much better after your bath.’ Her voice is calm. She pulls me close to a tight warm hug.

  I instantly feel better. I feel safe. ‘I will?’

  She nods. ‘How about you lay in the water for five minutes. I’ll wait outside.’

  They both leave and I shut the door. There’s no lock. I sit on the edge of the tub and stare into the water. Steam rises and I touch the surface. There’s a knock on the door.

  ‘Do you need help?’ A woman with chocolate brown eyes dips her head in.

  ‘Who are you again?’ I ask. She has a small nose with a silver ring glinting in it. Amira always wanted one just like that.

  ‘I’m Zahra, your primary nurse.’ She smiles hesitantly.

  ‘From now on you’re going to take good care of me, aren’t you?’

  She smiles again. ‘That’s right Afrah Bibi.’

  I take my clothes off and let her help me to a bath.

  Chapter 15

  Sunday, 20th April 1986

  Dear Diary,

  Mum would kill me if I ever had my nose pierced.

  ‘Our kind don’t do it,’ she said, raising her finger at me. Like I was some dumb little schoolgirl in a classroom, Madrasa or whatever. Mum often tells me she used to teach orphan girls in Lahore. I am not one of her orphan girls I told her and ignored everything she said. It’s so stupid. I wish she would get over herself.

  Sometimes when Mum isn’t around I look in the mirror holding a pen pretending it’s a cigarette, mimicking Naima’s style when she smokes. And I imagine how my nose would look if it was pierced.

  I didn’t want to listen to her. She puts me off with her dumb comments. Naima is like a sister to me. It’s not my fault Mum doesn’t speak to them anymore. Naima’s mum said Mum is a common girl who likes to wear wool. I don’t know what she means, but I just laughed with her.

  I wish Naima was my real sister. I wish I could stay in their house. Her mum gets her all sort of crazy new and shiny things. Her room is littered with stuff. Glittery dresses. Shoes in every colour and every shape. She’s even allowed to wear nail polish, and keeps a secret make-up kit inside her bag.

  I can’t wait for when I get to wear nail polish and make-up someday. I’ve seen the older girls at school wear lip gloss and lipstick. Soon, I’ll be in year ten. Well, not soon, after the summer. Naima is six months older than me. Her birthday is not until July. But she is already planning a big party and wants me to have a sleep over. It’s going to be just AH-MAZING. All the cool kids, and some of the much older ones are also going to be there. Her dad said he would even book a band. I don’t care what Mum says, I have to go even when it will get me into trouble.

  Tomorrow Naima suggested we skip class and head to the shopping centre. I’ll make up an excuse she’s taught me and say I have a ‘tummy’ ache. Fake period pain always works. With Naima, I feel I have a sense of belonging. I want to be just like her. I may even buy a nail polish for myself from Boots. Ruby red, like the one Naima wears. I’ll make sure Mum doesn’t notice. I’ll keep it a secret.

  Chapter 16

  AMIRA

  Thursday, 21 November 2019

  I woke up at three o’clock in the morning and went into Mum’s bedroom to check on her. It was an empty shell. As I lay in her bed, curled up with Mano, I felt her presence and saw visions of her sleeping, resting, reading. And then I heard her voice call out for me. I couldn’t get out of her room fast enough.

  I want to avoid going back in there. Avoid having to deal with the things she left behind. Piles of newspapers and old boxes.

  The guilt of leaving Mum at the care home sits heavy like a stone on my heart. I tried several times to see if Meena was online today, but there was no luck there. And I still haven’t told her what’s been going on. I could really do with a friend right now.

  I put the kettle on and take out my phone from my pocket, type in Shafi’s number.

  ‘How’s it going? . . . I’m OK,’ I lie. ‘I was wondering if you want to come over this weekend? It’s just me and Mano now . . . Sure, I understand . . . Really Shaf, it’s not a problem . . . OK, let’s try next weekend . . . Really? Would you want to come with me to visit Nano sometime? Well, speak to him and let me know . . . Love you, too.’

  My laptop is open. I’m waiting for Meena to show up online. Someone else sends me a message. ‘Hi, I’m new to this forum.’ Mike66 writes. I don’t reply. I snap the laptop shut.

  I miss speaking to Meena. Where is she? Why hasn’t she been online?

  Mano jumps into my lap and I stroke his soft fur. I feel a tight sensation in my throat. Tears build in my eyes. I feel so alone and the house is empty without Mum. ‘How about I go visit her on Saturday,’ I say aloud to Mano. I’ll bring her a fruit basket and the new pair of leather shoes that arrived for her this morning.’ Mano purrs. ‘Me too, I think she’d like that.’

  Chapter 17

  AFRAH

  Friday, 22 November 2019

  ‘Don’t touch me, let go. I said let go of my arm.’ I try to untangle myself but she keeps holding on, yanking me along.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ she says adjusting her hair. ‘Now, please come along and do behave yourself, Afrah Bibi.’

  ‘It hurts. You are pinching me.’ I glare at her pale face, shrivelled like a raisin.

  ‘I was not.’ She lets loose her grip around my elbow. ‘Don’t you want to see Nisha after we’re done with the tour of the house?’

  ‘What about my breakfast?’ I smell rich flavours wafting in the air, buttery, savoury and sweet. ‘I am hungry. I haven’t eaten anything. Not even had a cup of tea.’

  ‘You missed the gong. Did Miss Akram not explain what it means?’ She sighs, removes a patch of hair from her forehead. ‘You must come down to the dining area at once when you hear the gong chime.’

  ‘Who is Miss Akram?’

  ‘Zahra Akram,’ she says. ‘The tall dark haired woman. She is, well, also Pakistani.’

  ‘I remember Zahra.’ The woman with black hair. She has the face of an angel. Kind voice and polite, she hugged me. ‘What about her?’

  ‘She’s your primary carer.’

  I stare at her for a long moment.

  I don’t tell her I was up last night unable to sleep. I went to bed in the morning and heard the bell chime, which reminded me of being in a beautiful Hindu temple. The only one I ever visited when I lived in Lahore.

  ‘You see, we’re not like any other care home and that’s what makes us very, very special,’ words are crisp on her tongue. ‘We truly care about our patients. Make sure they are cherished and well looked after. Our community is based on trust, which is why we do not have any security cameras installed. All we ask of you is to cooperate and follow procedure like all the other patients living here.’

  ‘I am hungry. I want breakfast, I want it now.’

  ‘Zahra will meet you in the dining hall after we’re done with the tour.’

  ‘Why can’t I meet her there now?’

  ‘Because she is preparing your lunch. A special Pakistani dish, chicken korma I believe. Doesn’t that sound marvellous?’

  The light in the hallway outside my bedroom is soft. Every single door is closed, except for mine. I turn and slam it shut, twisting the knob to make sure it stays that way.

  ‘Listen carefully to what I am about to say,’ she pinches my arm. ‘If you decide to misbehave, I guara
ntee your food will land straight in the bin and you shall starve, my dear.’ I swallow my pride. It’s been replaced with a sense of dark fear. I follow her hesitantly.

  ‘Why are you taking me down this way?’ I bring my feet to a halt. It is darker down this hallway, it has heavily panelled walls and tall windows similar to what they have in churches. The carpet is a blood red, the lamps old and dusty. My imagination may be playing tricks on my senses. But I smell something burning.

  ‘Nisha’s room is to the left of this corridor, also known as the Morton Wing. You reside on the other end of this hall.’ She looks back. ‘In Mill Annex. Twelve rooms in Morton and twelve rooms in Mill.’

  Beads of sweat trickle down my face. I snatch a deep breath, control my body from trembling. I don’t want to walk down Mill Annex. The air feels thick and smoky and I do not like it.

  ‘Good,’ she smiles with glinting teeth. I notice a red smudge on her front tooth. Possibly stained from the dark colour smeared over her lips.

  The wooden railing stretches down both ends of the hall. In the middle, it divides into two pairs of stairs. We go down, each step creaks underneath the carpet. To the right, the main door leads out to the front of the building. I don’t have any memory of coming into the house or going up the stairs and it worries me. What else don’t I remember?

  ‘The house has two floors for the patients to enjoy freely. Private rooms, common areas and the garden. You have plenty of room to move around, except the basement and attic.’

  ‘What’s in the basement and attic?’ I ask. She motions for me to move further down the staircase.

  ‘Kitchen staff work in the basement and it is where we keep all our food supplies. The attic was converted last year to house sleeping facilities for the nurses and carers of Ravenswood Lodge. We’re in quite a remote location and it becomes necessary to have our full-time staff around, if you know what I mean.’

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ And I don’t know how I feel about the staff staying under the same roof. Did she say they don’t have any security cameras installed? Does that mean the house is safe, or is it merely a way of covering their tracks should anything happen? I know how Amira hates it when I read tragic stories. I highlighted the article in the newspaper. Something about carers who abuse their patients. I am sure it said several deaths had been reported. I can’t be too sure though. I may be wrong. My daughter would never leave me in a place that wasn’t safe.