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‘You don’t recognise me, do you?’
And then it hits me. ‘Sammi,’ I say with part-relief, part-caution. We worked together a lifetime ago, but just what does she remember about me?
‘Yes!’ she says with more enthusiasm than me. ‘Oh my God, how long has it been?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘2008, I think,’ she says. ‘We were working together at that home in Stratford.’
‘The place with more cockroaches than patients. Wow. That was a dump, wasn’t it?’
‘Better than here though, right?’
I smile along with her.
‘So,’ she asks, ‘how’ve you been? Married, kids?’
‘No, neither,’ I reply. ‘You?’
‘Yeah, twin boys, eleven going on twenty-one. Half the time I’m glad to be out of the house and working here, just so I can get some peace. So what really brings you here?’
The way she says ‘really’ means she doubts Sue is my aunt. If I continue to lie, she will see straight through me and I doubt I’ll get any further than reception, no matter our shared history.
She speaks before I can think of an excuse. ‘You’re not up to your old tricks ...’
‘Oh God no, no, absolutely not,’ I assure her. ‘That was a different me.’ Back in Stratford, most of us were on the take. Today, I decide to be uncharacteristically honest with her, to a point. ‘It’s a long story. Do you have time?’
She leads me into a private family room, orders me a tea from a vending machine and I begin to put my own spin on the events of the last few months. I explain that Gwen was a friend with no family, and that she promised to leave me her house in return for my care. I explain how Paul swooped in and came between us, and how I believe he was responsible for her death along with those of three other women.
‘Holy fuck,’ Sammi says when I’ve finished. ‘That story is too crazy not to be true.’
I tell her why I haven’t gone to the police – that I need more evidence against him. I need Paul to take me seriously, to see me as a threat. So I plan to take a selfie with Paul’s mum to send to him, and make him aware of just how much I know about him. She looks a little unsure of my motives at first, but my face remains impassive.
‘Promise me you won’t stay in Sue’s room any longer than five minutes, okay? Just take your picture and leave, because if you get found out, I’ll get the bullet.’
‘I will,’ I say.
‘She’s in room 306 on the third floor.’
‘Does Paul visit her very often?’ I ask as I’m about to leave.
‘Once every few weeks he’ll make an appearance, but from what I’ve been told, he rarely pays her any attention when he’s here.He must like the view or something, because he was very insistent she had that exact room. He even pays extra for it.’
‘What does the window look out on?’
‘You’ll see when you get there. It’s both fitting and totally inappropriate at the same time.’
CHAPTER 43
CONNIE
I don’t mean to sound heartless, but Paul’s mum reminds me of an extra from that zombie TV showThe Walking Dead. I stare at her from the doorway, lying there, her chest barely rising and falling. Her skin has a yellow, waxy tone and her face is gaunt and hollow-cheeked. Her eyes are closed, her mouth is open and she is toothless and missing dentures. Thin hair drapes her scalp and her frame is skeletal under that nightdress. She might be seventy or a hundred. I watch her for a few minutes, a stark reminder that any of us could become her. I’m relieved Gwen didn’t suffer like this. She didn’t deserve to die in the manner she did, but nobody should be forced to end their days like Sue. I’ll book myself a plane ticket to a Swiss clinic before that happens to me.
I knock on the open door to alert her of my presence out of politeness rather than expectation. I pause, gaining the measure of the room. The off-white walls are bare and don’t contain a single framed photograph or even a faded generic watercolour. Even if she never wakes up again, a few familiar objects might have been nice.It seems as if Paul is as cold with his own flesh and blood as he is with the women he marries.
Time isn’t on my side, so I circumnavigate the room, searching Sue’s meagre possessions. Her drawers contain only nighties, spare bedsheets, towels, incontinence underwear and an unthumbed Bible. Behind me, on a shelf, I spot a cream-coloured teddy bear clutching a red love heart to its chest. I recognise it and smile to myself as an idea occurs. My plan just to take a selfie is about to take a dark detour.
But first, my attention is drawn towards an armchair in front of a window. It’s positioned so that it faces out on to the view Sammi spoke of. Jesus. Now I understand what she meant. This care home overlooks a cemetery. And it takes me a moment to realise it’s where I was weeks earlier – the place where Paul had Gwen buried. I squint as I stare and I can make out the plot of her unmarked grave. This can’t be a coincidence.
