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

by Farah Cook

  ‘Yes, and the mosaic tiles are new, done early this year.’ I haven’t been in here since Mum left except for this morning when I quickly rammed everything into the wardrobe to make sure her room looked tidy. I’ve been avoiding going in there, avoiding dealing with her things. The guilt of leaving Mum sits heavy like a stone on my heart. I still feel her presence. Visions of her sleeping, resting, reading. And then I hear her voice call out for me. I couldn’t get out of her room fast enough this morning.

  ‘Excellent space,’ he says going through his checklist. His head dips into my room. ‘Perfect for a child.’ He looks at me expectantly.

  ‘Oh, my son is a teenager now. He lives in town with his father.’ Thinking of Shafi makes my heart feel warm. I can’t wait to see him on Sunday. We’ve been planning a trip to Ravenswood Lodge. He’s finally ready to visit Mum.

  ‘This house will make a lovely little home.’ He climbs down the stairs and eyes the place with curiosity. ‘We just need to find the right family for it.’

  His shoes clack against the kitchen tiles. His nostrils flare, he doesn’t say anything. I spent all morning cleaning the surfaces, leaving the windows open to air the smell of burning still rubbing off the walls. The gas hob is brand new, I tell him. He peers out the window on the side of the kitchen Mum used to sit in. I see her in a state of ease and of comfort. ‘It’s a very quiet neighbourhood as you can see.’ I blink, and in a flicker, her shadow disappears.

  ‘Wasn’t there an incident in the local papers?’ the estate agent asks. Mano curls his tails between the man’s legs. With his foot, he pushes the cat gently to the side. ‘About a fire in one of the houses on this very street some time ago?’

  I shake my head innocently. ‘Not that I know of.’ I lift Mano, nursing him in the nook of my arms. ‘You see, not much happens around here. ‘I live in a—’

  ‘Very quiet neighbourhood. You mentioned.’ His finger touches the tip of his lips, pondering. ‘I’m sure it was this street.’

  I caress Mano in quick strokes. The estate agent isn’t stupid. He is on to me and must have read the local paper depicting a clear picture of our house and of Mum in her state of stupor. ‘We had a tiny accident some time ago but really, it was nothing—’

  ‘I thought your house was familiar,’ he looks at me. ‘But you’re not the old Asian woman who tried to burn down your own home, are you?’ He has been waiting for this.

  I feel the muscles in my face tense. ‘My mum lives in a care home now.’

  When I went to see her yesterday, she kept saying she has no house. It’s burned down.

  ‘Makes sense you want to downsize. The house is too big for just one person.’

  He goes into the living room and whispers what sounds like an affirmation. ‘This is the right size for a lovely home. I will find the right family for it.’ He scrapes dust off the wooden frame hanging on the wall and looks at me, darting the inevitable question. ‘Is this Daniel—?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s not Daniel Day-Lewis. It’s my father.’ I want to say I never knew him. He died when I was still young. But I don’t think he would care to know. He cares only about whether or not he is able to sell my childhood home.

  ‘Are you sure, because that looks a lot like—’

  ‘I think I know my own father.’ I bite my lip. I didn’t know him.

  ‘Handsome bloke with a striking resemblance to the actor, wouldn’t you say?’ the edges of his lips curl. ‘Wouldn’t have thought he was Asian—’

  ‘Pakistani,’ I say.

  ‘Pakistani, Indian, Bangladeshi, Asian . . .’ He stops, looks away.

  I want to shout into his face. What the fuck do you mean?

  Mano jumps and places himself in Mum’s armchair, tail wagging. There I see her stroking his fur gently. She looks at me and says, ‘I am proud of you, of who you are. You are not a failure. Not a disappointment. I love you no matter what’. I press the tears back.

  I open the front door and lean against the frame, watching the estate agent sneeze into his elbow. ‘Cat allergy,’ he says, inhaling the cool air. I nod and smile. Can he please go now?

  On the way out, I hand him Mum’s set of keys to the house, now clutched tight in his fist. I tell him there’s a playground on the other side of the road, and two miles walk will get you to the barren beach. I used to head into the woods alone to skim stones at the lake. Sometimes they would bounce off the surface, other times they would sink into the water, never to be seen again.

  ‘It really is the perfect place to raise a family,’ I say.

  Another pondering gaze. He looks around as if to take my word for it.

  Behind the net curtain on the other side, I see Mrs Nesbit watching me. Her pale blue eyes move rapidly from side to side. I want to knock on her door and ask why she called the social services on Mum. Why didn’t she inform me first? I still see the image in my mind of that day. How the entire neighbourhood stood watching us with poised expressions.

  The for sale sign flaps in the wind. He adjusts it, pressing the stick deeper into the ground.

  ‘Where will you be moving to, Miss Malik?’

  ‘Huh? Oh, I’m looking for a one bedroom apartment or closer to town.’

  ‘Let us know if you need any assistance. My colleague has had some great new properties come to the market that are not yet listed,’ he hands me a card.

  ‘Thank you, I will.’

  He shakes my hand and tells me he will be in touch. I thank him again for coming out and say that I hope the fire incident doesn’t put buyers off. It may, he says, in which case I need to consider a lower asking price. He gets into his car and drives off. On my way in, I don’t turn around. I can feel Mrs Nesbit’s eyes burning the back of my neck.

  Chapter 26

  AFRAH

  Friday, 20 December 2019

  ‘Where are they?’ I open and shut the drawers. Shuffle papers on the desk. ‘My bracelets?’

  Zahra looks at me blankly.

  ‘Has she been here?’ I shout. ‘Did she come here to steal my bracelets again?’

  ‘Give that back!’

  I snatch the newspaper from Zahra.

  Throw it up in the air. The pages scatter all over like bits of debris.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ She stands back against the wall.

  I throw the cover and pillow off the bed. The pulses in my temples feel like they’re going to explode. The heavy woman yanks open the door, asks what’s happening. I turn to the wardrobe, pull out hangers with clothes that do not belong to me. ‘Not mine,’ I shout. ‘And also, not mine.’

  Zahra skirts around the desk. She grabs my wrist, but I throw her off, push her back so she staggers backwards and stumbles.

  ‘Should I call the security guard?’

  ‘Carol, no! I’ll talk to Afrah, get her to calm down. Please, leave, now!’ The door slams and heavy footsteps thunder down the stairs.

  Zahra gets to her feet. I pace across the floor, and she reaches for my arm. I scream. She holds me close and I can’t move. I sob, the tears catch in her blouse.

  ‘Do you remember? I told you before. I searched all the rooms with permission from the patients. No one has seen your bracelets.’

  What is she talking about? I push her away, hard. ‘She stole them from me. Nadeem believed me when I showed him the photograph. He went straight to her house and brought back all six bracelets. She refused at first. But she was the thief, not me. She denied everything. Insisted they be hers. She never stopped to accuse me of lying and stealing. I did no such thing.’

  ‘Afrah, when was this?’

  ‘Before she was born. I was pregnant. I stopped wearing my jewellery because of the swelling. Not because of shame or guilt like she said. Time didn’t heal any wounds. We never spoke again, not even after she was born. It is custom that daughters get their mother’s jewellery. She didn’t want them, didn’t care. So I gave Amira two of my bracelets.’ I swallow the hard knots in my throat. I feel lost in time. ‘
Where am I? And who are you?’

  ‘It’s where you live Afrah, in a care home. I am Zahra, your nurse.’

  I shake my head. ‘Leave me alone. Just go!’ she turns and slips out of the door.

  My room is a mess. Pillow and duvet off the bed, feathers flying in the air. Clothes out of the wardrobe and unfolded. The newspaper is scattered across the floor, I gather the pieces and scrunch them into the bin.

  Somebody is outside my door. ‘You’ve gone mad, haven’t you? Gosh! Look at the mess you made again. Just look at it.’ The large woman shakes her head. I hear her footsteps fade away. I pick everything up, putting it straight. I shake, bending down, hands on knees. My throat is dry as if I have been shouting.

  ‘Stay here,’ says Zahra. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  ‘Why don’t we go out and get some fresh air? A walk will do you good.’ Zahra gets me dressed and we go out in the garden. ‘Wait here while I grab my jacket.’

  Some of the other patients are talking to me, but I only hear the toothless man say he enquired and didn’t get any Urdu book from the local library. I shrug, don’t know what he is talking about. The tall man with the pale wrinkly face makes a snarky remark and walks past me, punching my shoulder hard. I lose my balance and stumble.

  Zahra grabs me and asks if I am feeling OK.

  ‘Did you not see that? He pushed me,’ I point a finger, but the man is nowhere to be seen. ‘He wants to hurt me, fool of a man.’

  She shakes her head. ‘See what?’ she says with a smile. ‘Who wants to hurt you?’

  ‘I saw Liam push you,’ says Carol. ‘If you ask me, he hates you. No doubt.’

  ‘Liam doesn’t hate Afrah,’ says Nisha, rolling over in her chair. ‘He despises her.’

  ‘He’s a nasty bastard,’ says Carol. ‘Stole your gold bangles and sold them.’

  ‘He did what?’ I touch my empty wrist. ‘When?’

  ‘Maybe the old idiot John took them and buried them in the garden,’ says Nisha. ‘He’s taken my pills. Flushed them into the toilet. Idiot. Idiot.’

  Carol laughs. ‘Planting gold thinking he’ll grow it. There he goes peeing all over Liam’s beautiful flower bed.’ We all watch John run down the path and hide behind a tree.

  ‘Stop this circus at once.’ Mrs Brown hisses. ‘Everyone, get inside.’

  Zahra pulls me close and we stroll down the slope and past the yard. We walk a while, and I can see the ocean towards the end of the house. Rocks jut out of the water. No trees out here. Only a grey landscape and windblown bushes and shrubs. Dead plants, with dry stems dangling downwards. In the distance, there’s a clutter of cottages and the odd fishing boat bobbing in the water, as if made of paper.

  I keep thinking someone has been in my room, gone through my things. I’ve noticed a strange smell, earthy, burned. Zahra doesn’t seem to be paying attention. Why isn’t she taking me seriously? She thinks I am forgetful, that I can’t remember things.

  ‘Why so quiet?’ I say. ‘Has something terrible happened?’

  Zahra looks at me so suddenly. ‘You were upset about the jewellery earlier so I went looking everywhere again and found these.’ She takes out four gold bracelets. ‘I wanted to hand them back to you when we had a quiet moment.’

  ‘Where did you find them?’

  ‘In Carol’s room. There’s your thief.’

  ‘I don’t understand, why would Carol do such a thing? She reminds me of—’ I stop. I don’t want to say her name.

  ‘Who does Carol remind you of?’ she says sweetly. ‘A friend? Someone you knew in the past?’

  ‘No one,’ I say, and bite my nails. Thinking of her brings back bad memories. ‘I want to go back. Please take me back, now.’

  ‘Sure.’ Zahra smiles.

  We make a turn, my feet crunching on half-buried shells. ‘I don’t like it out here. My daughter used to drag me to the beach to collect broken seashells. She kept a silver box for them, which was in the garage. That’s where we stored things. Photographs, documents and files. My unused saris in the suitcase. My husband’s tools. I also kept her diary there. We lost everything in the fire except for what was stored in that garage.’

  ‘What do you mean? What fire?’ Zahra asks. ‘How did you lose everything?’

  I sense Zahra has an appetite to know more. She wants to hear the story I am holding back and keeps looking at me curiously.

  We are back at the lodge and I have tea with Zahra in the little reading room. The fireplace is all smoke and ashes. I don’t like the smell of anything burned. Ashes, smoke – even dust – can stir my emotions. I ask if we can sit in the library. She leads me by the arm and I sit on the sofa facing a shelf with leather-bound books. She brings the tea over and pours me a cup.

  ‘You mentioned losing everything in a fire,’ says Zahra.

  ‘Did I?’ I laugh. ‘I don’t remember.’ Zahra looks at me unbelievingly. ‘Tell me more about yourself. Do you have any family?’ I ask in Urdu.

  ‘I do,’ she hands me a mug.

  ‘Where are they now?’ I sip too quickly and the tea scalds my tongue.

  ‘In Scotland,’ she says. ‘I try to visit whenever I can.’

  ‘You mean your parents and siblings?’ I ask.

  ‘No, just my auntie. She raised me all by herself. I have no siblings. It’s always been the two of us after my parents died in a car accident when I was little.’ She looks away, and I trace sorrow in her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ I say. ‘Sorry you had to grow up without a real family. Losing someone you love is a hard grief to carry.’

  ‘I was devastated for a long time,’ she says. ‘The pain of losing someone you love never really goes away. I think of my parents every day. Do you think of your husband often?’

  ‘I do,’ my hands interlace. ‘He was a good man. He didn’t deserve to die young.’

  ‘I know how it feels to be alone. Without a proper family. We Asians build our entire lives around our families and our communities. If I may ask, how did your husband die?’

  Tears fill my eyes. ‘It was a tragic accident. I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘That’s fine. We don’t have to talk about things that makes you feel uncomfortable. Losing a spouse and raising a child alone is not an easy thing to do.’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ I say. ‘His death wasn’t my fault. There was nothing I could do.’

  ‘Why would it have been your fault?’ She looks right at me.

  ‘That’s what they all thought. And then she began screaming: “You killed him. You finally killed him.”’

  The echo plays in my ears. I drop my cup. It breaks between my feet. Zahra sweeps the glass away and throws the shards into the bin.

  ‘They never liked me,’ I mutter.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘My husband’s friends. They were like family to us. At least I thought they were until—’ The memories fill my mind. Her stern look. Her cold arrogance. She wanted revenge. ‘We stopped talking. There was nothing left to say.’

  ‘Do you mean the same Pashtun family you had a fall out with?’

  ‘What difference does it make now? I have no one. Amira has left me. She hasn’t returned my calls or visited. She doesn’t care,’ I stare into Zahra’s glowing eyes. ‘Does she?’

  ‘Give it some time, I’m sure she will come visit you soon.’

  ‘She hates me. My daughter hates me.’

  ‘Who hates you?’ says Carol snooping into our conversation from nowhere. ‘Liam. Yes, Liam hates you. He told me he doesn’t like foreigners. He says they smell of garlic. I didn’t say it, he did. You know what he also said? That you should go back where you came from.’

  ‘Carol that’s enough now.’ Zahra stands up. ‘Please, leave!’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ says Carol mockingly. ‘I’ll leave.’

  But she doesn’t. She hangs around and watches us, carefully listening to every word we say. I throw a book at her.

  ‘You are one crazy
old lady,’ she says.

  ‘Come on, Afrah, I’ll take you back to your room.’ Zahra leads me to the lift instead of the stairs where Carol stands watching us.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ I say, glaring at Carol. ‘Go, chalo, jao!’

  ‘What are you so mad for?’ asks Carol with annoyance. She turns away and I go to the windowsill in my room and look out. A vast emptiness surrounds me. The quiet valleys and hills embracing the rain. This place is abandoned with nothing except the manor resting here like an empty tomb.

  ‘Nadeem would have liked it out here. He was a nature lover. And so was she. The beach was her favourite place as a child, and I’d take her out there most weekends. Things changed and we stopped going. I wish she had never befriended that girl.’

  ‘Your husband’s friends,’ Zahra draws the curtains and places a jug of water next to my bed. ‘Have you ever tried to make contact to them?’

  I shake my head. ‘No, I didn’t want them to find me when I moved away. I guess I was protecting Amira. For so long I carried the secret in my heart. It’s a burden getting heavier with time. It’s a secret that follows me wherever I go.’

  ‘What secret, Afrah?’

  I pull out the newspaper from the bin. ‘Nothing gets written about her anymore. From front-page news to nothing, nothing! Fourteen, so young. Vanished. Disappeared. No trace of her anywhere after the fire.’

  ‘The girl you keep talking about. Did you know her? Who was she?’

  I nod and turn back to the windowsill. I touch the glass, scratch at the hairline crack. It rains as though it’s never going to stop. That drumming sound. I wish it had rained that day. Nadeem might still have been alive.

  ‘Next to my husband’s tombstone, there’s another grave. I have been collecting the stories in the newspaper ever since she disappeared. The police, the investigators. Everyone was talking about it. How did it happen? Was it an accident or did somebody do it? It was my fault. I left the rice to burn in the kitchen. The fire from the candle had spread within seconds. I didn’t react when I should have.’