Keep Me Close : An utterly gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist Page 6

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ Ruby insists.

  ‘So, what’s this game you’re playing?’ I ask my mother. ‘You certainly seem to have been enjoying yourselves.’

  Mum winds another strand of wool around Ruby’s raised hands. ‘Cat’s Cradle, of course,’ she informs me proudly. ‘Didn’t I ever show you how to do it?’

  ‘Maybe when I was young.’

  ‘I used to love playing Cat’s Cradle when I was a child. My grandmother showed me how to do it. Round and round until you run out of wool…’ Mum frowns at the messy tangle, and then gives another merry laugh, seemingly unconcerned. ‘Though this isn’t quite right.’

  ‘No, it does seem to have gone wrong.’

  ‘I’m her prisoner. See?’

  My mother giggles again. ‘Kate, help her, would you?’

  I just want to pour myself a large gin after today’s trials and maybe put the news on, something to drown out the fears circulating in my head. But Ruby holds up her hands, looking at me expectantly, so I smile and help her remove the mass of wool strands binding her hands hopelessly together.

  Ruby explains apologetically, ‘After the first few times, I suggested we mix colours. But it got a bit confusing. So we gave up trying to keep the wool untangled, and just kept going. This is more fun though.’ She winks at my mother. ‘Isn’t it, Celeste?’

  ‘Definitely.’ Mum grins, sitting back in her armchair with a contented sigh. ‘I’m so tired now, I could go to sleep.’

  I’m surprised. ‘Did you not take a nap this afternoon?’

  ‘Was there supposed to be nap time?’ Ruby looks contrite. ‘My fault. I must have missed that in your notes.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. She doesn’t always take a nap. And maybe I forgot to mention it, anyway. Everything was so rushed today.’

  ‘Don’t fuss, Kate,’ Mum says, without opening her eyes.

  ‘I’m not fussing. Besides, if you were enjoying yourself, then why stop for a nap?’ I finish unwinding the last strands of wool from Ruby’s hands and collect up the knitting from Mum’s lap. ‘Have you eaten supper yet?’

  Mum says nothing. Her eyes are still closed.

  She looks exhausted.

  ‘Not yet. We were having too much fun, I suppose.’ Ruby catches my frustrated look and gets up from the floor. ‘Sorry, I’ll heat up some chicken soup before I leave.’

  ‘No, it’s fine.’ I put away the knitting and spare wool in Mum’s embroidery bag. ‘I’ll do it. You should get off home. I’ve kept you late enough as it is.’

  Out in the hallway, out of my mum’s earshot, I pay her what I owe for today’s session and ask how it went.

  ‘Your mother’s a dream to care for,’ she tells me warmly. ‘I had no problems at all.’

  I’m surprised but say nothing. My mother can be pretty hard work at times. But maybe she’s only that way with me. It’s true that Giorgios always seemed to keep her in a good mood. But he’s a good-looking young man, and Ruby can’t be ticking any of Mum’s boxes in the same way he does. Though I suppose she’s very smiley.

  ‘Do you think you could come back on Thursday?’ I ask tentatively. ‘I have a working lunch in London.’

  ‘Thursday?’ Ruby pulls on a thick black coat and matching bobble hat. ‘You’re in luck,’ she says indistinctively, wrapping a thick cherry-red scarf about her neck. ‘The old lady I’ve been caring for passed away last weekend, very sadly. Poor dear was ninety-three, and poorly, but I do miss her. So I will be free on Thursday.’

  ‘That’s brilliant, thank you.’

  ‘The only thing is,’ she adds, frowning slightly, ‘I prefer to have some continuity in care. That is, I’m not keen on dropping in and out of old folks’ lives on an occasional basis. It’s much kinder if they have the same person caring for them full-time.’

  ‘I agree,’ I begin, but am interrupted.

  ‘I just think it would be best if we could make this a more permanent arrangement.’

  ‘Oh.’ I hesitate, uncertain. ‘But Giorgios is only on holiday. I expect he’ll be back in a week or two.’

  I’m worried she wants to press me into a contract of some kind, and I’m not ready to go that far. She’s only cared for Mum twice so far, and while she’s clearly a very nice woman, we barely know her.

  ‘I see.’ Ruby nods, smiling again. ‘Well, I’ll have to check my schedule. I should be able to make Thursday. But if something else comes up—’

  ‘No, please, wait.’ I touch her shoulder briefly as she turns to the door. ‘Of course you’re right. It’s not fair on you to keep it on an ad hoc basis; I can see that. So why don’t we make it permanent for now, and maybe you could share care with Giorgios when he comes back?’

  ‘That’s a good idea.’

  We shake hands, and then she pulls on her woollen gloves, the same cherry-red as her scarf.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she says, and then calls back to Mum, ‘Goodnight, Celeste. Have a good evening!’

  It’s chilly outside.

  I watch Ruby walk across to her small white Fiat, wait until she’s safely inside and has started her engine, and then close the door with a final wave and a sigh of relief.

  It’s vitally important that I make that lunch date with Mark on Thursday. Much as I dislike the man, he’s still my boss and I need to get him onside if I want my career to go more smoothly.

  ‘Now, Mum,’ I say cheerily, kicking off my shoes and heading back into the living room barefoot, ‘how about some warm chicken soup?’

  *

  It’s about three o’clock in the morning when I wake with a start, sure that I heard the sound of breaking glass.

  Snapping on the light, I stumble out of bed and grab my dressing gown. All is silent and dark on the landing.

  Did I imagine that noise?

  A lamp is always left on downstairs in the hallway, for Mum’s sake, as she often needs the toilet in the night or just gets up and wanders about in a daze, unsure of her surroundings. Without a light constantly on, she might trip and fall.

  Tonight, the soft glow of the night light feels very comforting. I hurry down to check on Mum first. The door of her downstairs bedroom is closed, but when I take a quick peek inside, she seems to be fast asleep. So I shut the door again quietly and tiptoe into the dark living room instead.

  Everything seems to be fine in there, and in the kitchen too. I check the other rooms, and then hesitate at the front door.

  I’m sure now that breaking glass was what roused me from sleep.

  Was someone trying to steal my car, perhaps?

  But if they’d broken the window, wouldn’t the car alarm have gone off? Or had they somehow managed to disable it?

  My heart is thumping so loud, I feel almost sick.

  But it’s ridiculous not to check.

  I can see the car from the front door, but not the windows. Uneasily, armed with a torch, I unlock the front door and peek outside.

  The car looks fine.

  Everything is still in the dark garden beyond it, the lawn empty under the moonlight, the trees thick with shadows.

  But then, at the very edge of my hearing, I catch a tiny sound.

  A kind of grating that lasts maybe a fraction of a second, and is followed by deep silence again.

  Gasping with fright, I shut and lock the door, and then fumble to put the chain on too, something I haven’t done in years.

  I stand before the shut door, my mind flicking through the various possibilities at lightning speed. Perhaps it was an animal that had slipped hurriedly back into darkness when the door opened. Or my imagination, in fact. Like the sound of breaking glass when nothing seemed to be broken.

  But I can’t escape the idea that somebody is out there, watching the house. Watching me. Because that noise had sounded uncannily like a foot readjusting its weight on the gravel drive, or turning slightly in my direction.

  *

  In the morning, going out first thing to investigate before breakfast, I stand in my d
ressing gown and listen to birdsong from the trees.

  Everything looks so normal and innocuous in the daylight, I’m embarrassed to remember how scared I was during the night. But then, things always feel so much more threatening in the dark.

  But then, I wander a little way along the house wall, having spotted glass glinting on the gravel, and discover that someone has smashed the front security light. The one that illuminates the drive when people approach the house from the road. Not by accident – by a neighbouring child’s stray ball, for instance – but deliberately and comprehensively. The outer glass has been smashed to pieces, and the bulb too. It will all need to be replaced.

  The positioning of the light is quite high up. Higher than I can reach, even on tiptoe. But I’m only just over five foot.

  I doubt it’s much beyond the stretch of the average man, especially one armed with a long-handled implement. Like a hammer, for instance.

  I stare down at the glass shards among the gravel, and then glance around at the quiet garden, more than a little panicked. Somebody stood here last night, presumably at around three in the morning, and smashed our security light, the unexpected sound waking me up.

  I can’t remember when I’ve felt this frightened before. Which is stupid, I tell myself, given the likeliest explanation that this is sheer vandalism. The work of some bored, destructive local kids who wandered in off the road during the night and had a bit of fun at our expense.

  Because what else could it be?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Irina is our twice-weekly cleaner. She’s often strangely deaf to my requests when I ask her to perform tasks she considers beneath her dignity or not in the job description, which I find infuriating. But she’s punctual, reliable, and not too bad at what she grudgingly does about the place.

  She’s been with us for the past three years, another recommendation from one of my friends, whose large, lovely house she also cleans.

  I’ve sometimes made the mistake of asking Irina if she’ll keep an eye on Mum while I pop out to the shops. While she doesn’t usually refuse, it’s made clear by her eye-rolling and noisy tutting that such requests are resented and seen as a vast imposition, which makes me reluctant to repeat them. But no doubt that’s the point.

  On Thursday morning, Irina lets herself in at eight thirty on the dot, nods cheerlessly in my direction and drags the vacuum cleaner out of its cupboard under the stairs.

  I tell her about Giorgios as she bustles about the hall, dragging off her faux-fur lined jacket and plugging in the Dyson.

  ‘Giorgios’s lucky,’ she comments, with just a hint of underlying bitterness. ‘I could do with a holiday.’

  ‘But don’t you think it’s strange? I keep trying his mobile, but there’s no reply. He could at least have given us some warning.’

  She shrugs, tying a lurid headscarf over her dyed blonde hair, her nails coated with sparkly pink nail varnish that glitters as her nimble fingers move back and forth. ‘So you get another carer. So what?’ Her bracelets jingle noisily as she pushes both sleeves up to her elbows. ‘Easy come, easy go.’

  ‘Actually, it’s not been that easy to get a replacement. Not at such short notice.’

  I’m fishing, and we both know it. But it would be so convenient if someone Mum already knows well, like Irina, could look after her occasionally.

  ‘I clean, Miss Kinley.’ Irina flashes me a narrow-eyed look, her meaning unmistakeable. ‘I don’t care.’

  I force a smile and try not to comment on that statement. Though it’s obvious she doesn’t care.

  ‘Well, we did find someone. Her name’s Ruby. She’ll be here at eleven, in fact. So you should get to meet her.’

  Irina makes a non-committal noise, checking her makeup in the hall mirror.

  She loves to wear bright, colourful clothing, regardless of any clashes, and today she has surpassed herself, clad in skin-tight purple leggings teamed with a neon pink baggy shirt, unbuttoned to the navel over what looks like a garish yellow leotard. Some days, I half-expect her to put the radio on and launch into an exercise routine instead of cleaning the house.

  Today, she’s in a fierce mood, wheeling the Dyson into the living room and clicking it on. I scoop up Mum’s knitting bag just in time and clear it safely out of the way as the vacuum cleaner roars past the armchair. Then I hurry down the hall to Mum’s bedroom to check she’s ready to get up.

  Mum’s still in bed, her gaze unfocussed.

  ‘You haven’t forgotten that I’m going out today, have you?’ I ask cheerily. ‘Which means an early start for both of us.’

  Of course, Mum will have completely forgotten. But I try to keep up the pretence that her memory is still in working order, knowing how much she hates me to suggest otherwise.

  ‘You’re going out?’ She sounds bewildered.

  I tweak her curtains open, letting a little natural light into the room, though not too much as it hurts her eyes first thing.

  ‘That’s right,’ I say firmly. ‘I’m taking the train into London in a couple of hours, and Ruby’s coming to sit with you again.’ I turn to face her with a determined smile. ‘I thought you two might like to play chess this time. I can set the board up before I leave.’

  Mum used to love chess. But although Giorgios was very good at coaxing her to play, she has become increasingly reluctant even to try. The frustration of not remembering the rules or even understanding the game is too much for her these days. Still, Dr Forster has advised me to persevere with chess and crossword puzzles, anything that will keep her brain active and challenged, so I’m determined to keep trying.

  ‘Come on.’ I help her out of bed and to the downstairs toilet before encouraging her to dress.

  I used to feel embarrassed at first, helping Mum disrobe and into fresh underwear and clothes. Now it’s just routine.

  She can occasionally dress herself unaided. But that’s becoming rarer these days, and always takes ages. Plus, when Mum dresses herself, there are often odd choices that mean we have to return and start again.

  Washing and dressing, followed by the usual lengthy discussion of what to have for breakfast, takes almost an hour. She wants bacon and egg; I’ve been advised to give her porridge oats with blueberries and a sprinkling of seeds. The daily tussle is draining and repetitive, but something we just have to get through to keep her healthy.

  As I’m finally clearing away Mum’s breakfast bowl, my phone goes.

  It’s Ruby.

  ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m running a little late,’ she says breathlessly. ‘Maybe another half an hour. Are you okay to hang on until I arrive?’

  I check the time, and am shocked. My train leaves in a little over twenty minutes. It takes at least ten minutes to reach the station car park.

  ‘Oh my God, that’s a complete disaster.’ My heart thuds almost painfully. I stand in silent consternation for a moment, trying to work out whether or not I can ring and delay my meeting with Mark. For the second time this week. But everything inside me is screaming a refusal. I need to look reliable right now, not flaky. ‘I’m sure you’re doing everything you can to get here, but I have to say, that’s desperately inconvenient. I really can’t miss my train.’

  ‘Can’t you take a later train?’

  ‘It’s a lunch appointment. I’d be late. As it is, I’m cutting it fine.’

  ‘Perhaps you could call the person you’re meeting and let them know you’re running late?’ Her voice is encouraging. ‘Half an hour, and I’ll be there. I promise.’

  My teeth are gritted. But I need to stay polite. ‘Are you sure you can’t shave that down to fifteen minutes?’

  ‘I’d love to, but it’s just impossible.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Irina strolling out of the downstairs toilet in a desultory fashion, stripping off a pair of yellow Marigolds and dropping them into her cleaning tray.

  ‘Okay, look,’ I say hurriedly, ‘just get here when you can. I may have to leave Mum alone for a
few minutes, that’s all.’

  After ringing off, I hurry out to grab my coat and speak to Irina, explaining briefly that Ruby will be late and asking if she could stay a little longer than usual.

  Irina stares at me with hard eyes. ‘I’m due to leave at eleven o’clock, Miss Kinley. I always leave at eleven.’

  ‘Just this once?’

  ‘I have something else to do.’

  I bite back a complaint about her inflexibility; I still need someone to look after Mum on Friday evening for my next date with Logan, and I’m by no means sure Ruby will want to come round two Friday nights in a row. The poor woman probably wants some kind of social life, after all.

  ‘Please?’

  Irina rolls her eyes, but seems to soften at my pleading look. ‘Okay, fine. I can stay maybe fifteen minutes. But after that…’

  ‘Thank you so much!’ I snatch up my shoulder bag and head back into the kitchen to kiss Mum goodbye. She’s still sitting at the breakfast table with a cold cup of tea, just staring into space. ‘I’ll be back later this afternoon. Irina will wait with you until Ruby’s here.’

  When she nods, seeming to understand, I whisk out of the house, trying not to panic about the situation.

  ‘See you later!’

  I force myself to be optimistic about this. I can’t believe Irina would leave Mum alone, and maybe Ruby will reach the house earlier than stated. There’s no reason to prophesy doom and gloom, even though my inner critic is doing just that as I weave the car hurriedly through busy traffic towards the railway station.

  Besides, I need to focus on my career right now, or risk losing serious ground to my peers. This is no time to be cowardly.

  CHAPTER NINE

  At lunch, Mark is in a surprisingly cheerful mood. We walk from the office to a nearby, family-run Italian restaurant, which we sometimes use to wine and dine our authors. We’re given a secluded corner table and order a simple pasta course each with side salads. To a background of lively Italian music, Mark crunches on breadsticks while I select a few green olives from the bowl the waiter set between us.