by Farah Cook
Mum has no idea that her nightmare is about to turn into a reality – and in reality, you can’t wake up. And I was only just beginning to trick her mind. I needed to scare Mum a little more, so I created a rumour about the woman in white and made an appearance. It freaked Mum out and made Nisha talk about it, so Mum believed it to be real. Nisha was the toughest person, though, to turn against Mum. In the end, I had to tell her I had heard Mum say how silly she thinks her daughter Diya is. Not just that. Mum also thinks her son Ranveer doesn’t look like a Bollywood actor and isn’t that handsome. That triggered Nisha, and I had to cover my mouth not to laugh out loud when she had a go at Mum this afternoon. She might have ruined their friendship for good.
The rest was just repeating the existing ghost stories. I told Michael to colourfully explain some of them to Mum as I went to refill the tea kettle. And Myrtle, she did an excellent job too. ‘Tell Afrah about the history of the house when she gets here,’ I said. ‘It belongs to the pride of Ravenswood Lodge.’
Myrtle wasn’t sure. I persuaded her that, as a dementia patient, she’d probably forget most of it anyway. I was eavesdropping as Myrtle went on introducing her to every nook of the house. I must say, I was surprised at the level of detail she poured into her narrative. I could see the chills run down Mum’s spine. That’s right, Ami, welcome to Ravenswood Lodge Care Home. You will be cared for very, very well.
The other odd things, messing around in Mum’s room (throwing out her pills, emptying the tin with mithai) and picking the wrong clothes, were easy. Naima’s mum always said Mum was a common girl who liked to wear wool, so I put a fresh pair of shalwar kameez into her wardrobe among other pieces, like the green coloured saris she would wear. A little glint from the past, Ami. That made her quite upset.
Then there were all those fake calls to Amira. I never called the little brat. I did email her, stressing to her about the visiting hours. And when she called to check on Mum after I crashed my jeep into her, I hung up. I didn’t want her out here vising Mum. Sooner or later, she would have started to suspect that something wasn’t right. I couldn’t take that risk. The less she came, the better my master plan would work. Amira has to stay as far away as possible from the care home. I am this close, and cannot have her meddle with my plan. Suppose she noticed the bruises I caused Mum, or if Mum suddenly remembered things and told her Amira how scared she was? Even if Amira turns up, it’ll be easy to get rid of her. The cliffs, the forest, the ocean. The places you can hide a body out here are endless.
After all, it’s the reason I chose this place for Mum. And it’s all worked out brilliantly. The care home is empty like a shell. Deserted. Dead. I have said my goodbyes to Myrtle Brown and the rest of the staff, assuring them that I would stay and look after the place. Ravenswood Lodge is safe. It is in good hands. And so is Afrah Bibi. As her primary nurse, I will care for her till her daughter gets here. Myrtle was a little hesitant, but I think she trusts me. What a fool. Over stating.
After I redecorated Mum’s room into a mess, and made Myrtle and the rest of the lot here believe Mum’s crazy, it’s time to draw my final move. Mum was scared to death when she saw the beautiful writing on the wall, I know what you did. She knows what I mean. She remembers what she did. I tried my best striking up a close friendship with her, being kind and patient loving and understanding.
I was getting a little sick of it. I wanted to shake her by the shoulders and scream in her face: ‘Just tell me, tell me why did you did it?’ But patience is what Naima’s mum has taught me.
I just couldn’t help myself tonight as I went into her bedroom to scare her. That look on her face when I told her who I was. Afterwards, it only took some chloroform on a handkerchief to knock her out. When she wakes, she will have no idea what I will do to her. She must suffer, just as I did. The sad part is, she may not recall anything just before she dies.
Chapter 42
AMIRA
Tuesday, 24 December 2019
Her voice is emotionless and her mouth curves into a nasty smile. She laughs, a sharp brittle note. She comes towards me and I step to the side, sliding my hand along the rail leading down the stairs. I see her now, the same shadow coming into my room when I was little. She stood watching me as I pretended to be asleep. I would see her from the corner of my eye, creeping around in my room, touching my things. Taking back what belonged to her because she didn’t want to share.
Blood pulses in my ears. ‘I know it’s you, Mona, or should I call you Zahra Akram?’
She laughs and a spiteful grin plasters across her face. ‘It took you a while to figure out who I really am. But yes, it is me, sis. I am back from the dead.’ She twirls. ‘Just look at us. We are practically twins, just years apart. You only notice when you pay attention. And not many people do.’
I shake my head, refusing to believe it. ‘Who are you?’ I examine her features up close, through the flickering light. She is the sister I never knew. Faint memories of her scratch the surface of my mind. Memories that have been supressed for years.
‘Call me Zahra, and if you feel nostalgic, call me sis.’
‘How about Mona Malik? That’s your real name.’ I notice a white cloth is tucked into her hand, which she is twisting hard between her fingers.
‘Mona Malik is gone,’ she says. ‘Dead for more than 30 years thanks to our mother.’
‘What happened was an accident. I found the articles. I read what happened during the fire. It was a horrible accident and no one is to blame.’
‘That’s what you think.’
‘Why did you disappear like that?’ I bite the insides of my cheek, clamp to the warm flesh. ‘Why didn’t you come back home?’
‘Because, little brat,’ she raises her chin and her voice is cold like steel, ‘unlike you, I wasn’t wanted by our mother. She wished me dead and condemned me.’
‘What makes you believe that? Mum would never—’ I chew my lip.
‘But she did,’ She takes a deep breath. ‘And I wanted to punish her. So I remained dead to her and dead to the world. But I’ve always been here. If only she had bothered to look for me. But she never cared for me.’
‘Mona, I think all these years you’ve been under a heavy cloud of a terrible misunderstanding. Mum would have come for you if she knew you were alive. Why did you never bother contacting us?’
‘Save your judgement of me please,’ her voice is shrill. ‘I chose not to have anything to do with Afrah Malik or her daughter – you! It’s the only reason I remained dead in the eyes of the world.’
I realise what my sister is. Vicious. No daughter in her right mind would disappear and pretend to be dead and cause grief to her mother on purpose.
‘Why come back after all these years as her carer, and not as her daughter?’
‘Because I heard about you and your failed marriage through some gossipy girls. I couldn’t pity you. I didn’t even know you. Then I learned who you were, Amira. Some failed nurse-turned-carer for her mother, Afrah Malik. It brought me back to the past and with it came all the old feelings, which sparked back to life. I had to do something.’
‘So you tricked Mum? Made her believe you care for her?’
‘I had to. There was no other way. And it was all down to you, sis. You helped me.’
‘What do you mean?’ An uneasy feeling travels through me. ‘Why would I help you?’
‘I had to be someone you’d befriend and trust. So I pretended to be Meena Bashir. Aka Thelonelymouse. Yes, it was me, the Meena Bashir in the online chat forum for carers you’ve been speaking to. Not the dead body the police found. That’s the real Meena Bashir. I stole her identify just so I could fool you, and her. What’s that saying? Ah yes, kill two birds with one stone. And guess what? You are up next.’
I feel the blood drain from my face. It wasn’t a coincidence that the Meena who contacted me online happened to be my sister. She has a twisted mind. I knew that the moment I read her dairy. And she hasn’t changed.
&nb
sp; ‘How did you know it was me in the online forum for carers?’
‘I made sure your ex-husband told you about it. And I waited for months before you finally joined. I knew the instant you came online who you were, Nursemira.’
‘Haroon? How did you get in touch with him?’ I feel the rise of anger, hot and crawling up from my stomach into my throat. ‘Most importantly, why?’
‘It was easy to get in touch with him after I spotted him at a wedding.’ She looks at me, her gaze unflinching. ‘Afterwards, I tracked him down online. After all, how many doctors in Inverness are called Haroon Khan? I told him I was a friend of his family in Glasgow, which he believed. Men are so lazy sometimes. Your ex-husband in particular, and so easily fooled, too. Mind you, cheating men tend to be fools. Your ex never bothered checking who I really was. If he had, my plan would have failed. He’d have known Zahra Akram had nothing to do with his relatives living in Glasgow. He believed I was a caring and wonderful nurse, a friend of his family now working at the best care home in Inverness.’ She tilts her head forward and her face is stony. ‘He believed all that I told him. Lucky for me, my plan worked out.’
‘What plan?’ My breath is shallow, now harder to draw.
‘The plan to get Mum into the care home. And you helped me, sis. You did all the legwork for me to get Mum into Ravenswood Lodge. I played my part of course. I did a lot of research. The care home had to be perfect. A place where I could reconnect with Mum, get close to her and gain her trust without having to worry about looking after other patients.’
‘You made those calls to social services. You knew all about Mum. You were jealous, weren’t you? I read your diary, I know who you are.’
She laughs. ‘So Mum still kept my old diary, did she? What else didn’t catch fire?’
‘Mum has old photographs of you, Mona. She didn’t forget you. If only I had known . . .’ I sigh. ‘I found your birth certificate. The news about the fire.’
‘That’s how you found out about me? Birth certificate, photographs and newspaper pieces.’ She smiles callously. ‘Some part of Mum wanted to remember me. Wanted me to be alive. Too late, sis. She’ll get what she deserves. Once I am through with her, people will think she was just another loopy old Asian woman who died of dementia. She will deserve everything she is going to get.’ Her eyes are blank and her expression dead in the flimsy light of the dark hallway. I realise she is not truly my sister. We are complete strangers.
Mona deceived me. Made me believe she was a carer, a friend. She deceived Mum, too, and never meant to care for her. I feel deep pain clutch in my heart. Mona is capable of anything. My sister wants to hurt me and hurt Mum. The air feels dense and my vision turns blurry. I focus on the darkness in her irises. A strong hatred reflects back at me.
‘But why put Mum away? Why into a care home?’
‘It was the easiest way, really. Once you joined the online chat forum and befriended me, aka Meena Bashir, you handed me all the information I needed to execute my plan. Besides, it’s the perfect punishment for someone with dementia, isn’t it, little brat? To take the comfort of their home away. In Mum’s case, she took away my home, burned it to the ground and killed me.’
‘You are a liar.’ I want to grab her, push her down the stairs. ‘Mum would never do such a thing.’
‘You think you know our mother so well. Why did she lie to you all these years? Why did she never tell you the truth?’
I look away. Heat flashes to my cheeks. I think of Dr Abdullah’s words. He said that Mum carries ‘a pain, a guilt that plagued her’.
What truth is Mona talking about? I can’t trust Mona and I can’t trust Mum.
‘You are no different. You are a liar. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’
She nods. ‘It took a little muscle flexing, and I had to pull some strings to get rid of Alice so that I could make room for Mum. That’s right. Old Alice slept through as I pressed a pillow over her face. Then it was easy. I didn’t even have to do anything but sit back and watch the show go on.’ She draws a long breath.
‘Why would you do that? Go to all that trouble to hurt Mum?’
‘You still don’t know do you? I’ve not had this much fun in years. Lying is what I do best. Look at the web of lies I have created. Isn’t that some genius master plan, or what? I even had the police fooled. No one saw me coming. Would you have guessed that I was Meena Bashir if I hadn’t told you? Did you also know it was me that day in the Carers Support Group – in the corridor coming at you, making sure you walked right back into my trap?’
I hold my breath. So I did see someone in the corridor that day. The shadow. It was my own sister. ‘You interfered with my mind, distracted me and made me believe what I saw wasn’t real.’
I remember confiding in her through several online chats. I told everything about Mum to the Meena Bashir I thought was my friend. But all this time, it was my dead sister using the information I gave her to frame Mum. She wanted her to be put away, somewhere remote where she could get close to her to play her twisted game of revenge. But why?
‘And the woman who died. The real Meena Bashir. Why kill her?’
‘I had no choice. She was no use to me anymore.’
‘You were scared, weren’t you? Keeping her alive meant the police would trace you.’
I snatch a deep breath. The police mentioned a family she worked for in Glasgow. I can see the pieces come together. ‘Meena Bashir worked as carer for you in Glasgow, didn’t she? You are part of that wealthy Pakistani family and she cared for your disabled “auntie”. You accused her of theft and went after her because she left to care for another family.’
‘You are right. I did what I had to, to get rid of her. How else would I cover up my traces? I couldn’t take any risks and have the police come back with more questions. I paid a therapist and GP in advance to hand the police the profile of an unreliable patient suffering with depression. The police saw the history of a woman with mental health issues. Her GP would testify he had subscribed her with antidepressants. The police saw exactly what I fabricated through my clever lies. An immigrant who had a hard time coping with the stress and pressure of long working hours as carer.’
‘You killed an innocent woman!’ I scream. I feel sick to my stomach thinking about it. She widens her eyes, deep and dark like a tunnel. ‘And you used Meena, just like you used me.’
‘It was so easy. I contacted Meena, offering up her last paycheck in cash, which she never took before she left Glasgow. She agreed to see me and gave me the address she was living at in Inverness. With the money, I also gave her the laptop I had already used to set up a fake profile in the online forum and the email in her name to contact social services, which showed her interest in applying for a job in Ravenswood Lodge. I knew the police would link her to you and believe her death was a suicide and nothing more. You’d come across believable to the police, telling them exactly what they needed to hear. Meena’s betrayal, her secrets, her lies. Sis, you were the perfect victim. I used you to cover my tracks.’
I say nothing and stand back watching her.
‘The night before you agreed to meet me at Caledonian Canal, I followed Meena and offered her a lift home. But she never made it back to her family. I threw her body into the canal hours before you showed up. And yes, it was me that morning on the Bridge of Oich, the shadow in the mist. I had to make sure you’d come and you did, little brat. You have been walking into every trap I set out for you.’
‘You kept me waiting,’ I say. ‘Texted that you were on your way when you weren’t. You never said where to meet you, did you? And it was your jeep that drove into mine?’
‘Who else’s would it be? I’ve parked it down by the beach so no one would notice the front bumper needs fixing. You see, little brat, I’ve learned from the best how to cover my tracks. Naima’s dad, Hashim was a brilliant con artist. He was never caught by the police and specialised in forging identities for decades. And Naima’s mum, Sultana
taught me patience when seeking revenge. I watched. I learned. When the time came, I used my skills quite cleverly, don’t you agree?’
‘So that’s what this is? A crazy act of vengeance against Mum? Against me?’
‘Little brat,’ she says in a mocking tone. ‘There was no other way to get information out of you and close the case without raising unnecessary suspicion with the police. In the eyes of the world, I am Zahra Akram, the adopted daughter of Hashim and Sultana. I’m a loving and kind carer. Anyone here will testify for that, even Myrtle Brown.’
‘You tried to kill me.’ I catch my breath. ‘Crashing into me with your car.’
‘I had to stop you from going to Ravenswood to see Mum. The more I tried to keep you away, the more Afrah Bibi wanted you. She has always chosen you over me. Pathetic. Because from what you told me, you were sick and tired of caring for her. You wanted out and I merely fulfilled your wish. You ought to thank me for putting Mum into a care home. I did you a favour.’
I see the girl from the diary. Mean and unkind. I remember her clearly now from my early childhood. I remember her grabbing my arm, and hard. Blue and yellow bruises appeared on my body. She wanted to hurt me just as she does now, and I realise what she did to me. She is no different to who she was then. She threatened to put spiders in my bed if I would tell on her. She was the reason behind all those nightmares I have.
‘I take a step back. ‘What do you want from us?
She steps closer. Her breath comes out like rings of smoke. Her gaze is pinned to me. ‘She never told you did she? Never mentioned.’ Her gaze pinned to me. ‘She never told you, did she? Never mentioned my name. I was her Meena, meri Meena, she’d call me. A good girl with a bad side. She couldn’t even call me by my real name after you were born. How I resented you for it. Mum’s been lying her entire life. But this lie, she cannot escape. It has followed her. She destroyed my life, took everything away from me.’
