The Imposter, Anna Wharton [romantic story to read TXT] 📗

like it’s time to move on. She thinks of the calls from Claire Sanders, the threat of selling Nan’s house to pay for her care. Perhaps this has all happened for a reason? Perhaps it is time to move on?

A dull buzzing comes from the carpet. Her phone. She leans over the side of the bed, sighing. She expects to see Hollie’s name, but instead it’s Park House. She grabs the phone.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Chloe, it’s Miriam Cropper here from Park House.’

‘Hi, Miriam, is everything OK?’ she stands up from the bed.

‘Well, I’m afraid your grandmother had a bit of a fall this morning.’

‘Oh my God.’ Chloe starts pacing the room.

‘She’s OK – nothing broken – but it’s given her a bit of a shock, as you’d imagine. We thought we’d better let you know.’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll come straight away.’

Chloe puts the phone down. In an instant all thoughts of Maureen and Patrick and the house at Low Drove evaporate. Even the bag on the bed looks ridiculous. How could she have thought about leaving Nan? It had taken one phone call to remind her just how vulnerable she is, just how much Chloe is needed here. She abandons her packing and leaves for Park House.

Nan is in bed when she gets there. She has an angry purple bruise that extends the length of her right forearm, a tiny cut on her cheekbone and various scratches on the backs of her hands.

‘Nan?’

She opens her eyes slowly and looks up at Chloe. But even that is an effort and she closes them again and sighs. She looks tiny, tucked up in pale green sheets. As fragile as a little bird. Chloe moves silently across the room, pulling the leather chair closer to her. She’s never anticipated a time when Nan would seem so frail. She knows in that moment she’s exactly where she should be. Nan lifts her hand to her and Chloe takes it, giving it a gentle squeeze, carefully avoiding the fine cuts.

‘Is that you, Chloe, dear?’

‘Yes, it’s me, Nan, I’m here with you.’

‘Oh good.’

They sit in silence for a while. Chloe watches the gentle rise and fall of her chest, her bones suddenly so thin, so delicate, reminding her of how easily a fall could break one. As a child, wouldn’t Nan have been the one to pick her up after a fall? She’s reminded in an instant how quickly roles are reversed.

Someone has put a few white flowers from the garden in a short blue vase beside her bed.

‘These are pretty,’ she says.

Nan turns her head slowly. ‘Yes, snowdrops, my favourite.’

They sit there, the two of them, holding hands. Nan closes her eyes, but she’s not sleeping. After a while, she opens them again.

‘What time is it?’ she whispers.

‘Just after four.’

‘In the morning?’

‘No, Nan. Afternoon.’

‘You didn’t have to leave work to come here, did you?’

‘Nan, it’s OK. Don’t go worrying about something like that. My boss wanted me to make sure you’re OK.’

‘Did he? That’s nice. It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have gone down to the garden, but it was raining and I thought I’d left my washing out and—’

‘Shh, Nan,’ she whispers. ‘Just rest, it doesn’t matter.’

‘But I’ve made ever such a lot of trouble for everyone.’

‘Don’t be silly, you haven’t made any trouble at all. We just want you to get better.’ Chloe gives her hand a tiny squeeze. The bones inside feel as if they might break within her grasp. The bruise up close is a rainbow of colours. How could something like this have happened here? Didn’t they tell Chloe that she would be safe? They’d promised her Park House would take better care of her than she had. But there hadn’t been any broken bones – no falls – on her watch. She curses Claire Sanders, she curses the nurses here. She feels bad now – sitting here, holding Nan’s hand – when she thinks of standing in Maureen and Patrick’s house. She feels deceitful, wrong. As if she’s betrayed Nan. She doesn’t deserve this. Nan needs her here, that much is obvious.

‘I’m here, Nan,’ Chloe whispers. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

Nan turns her head the other way and dozes on her pillow. Chloe creeps out when she knows Nan is finally asleep, closing the door behind her. Outside in the corridor, she heads towards the matron’s office. She’s in there sorting through paperwork. Chloe makes an attempt to knock on the door.

‘Do you have a minute, Miriam?’

The woman behind the desk looks up, her face instantly set with a professional expression.

‘Of course, Chloe, come in.’

She gestures for her to take a seat.

‘How’s your grandmother doing this afternoon? I haven’t had chance to catch up with Marina yet.’

She wonders how other relatives would deal with this, if they were making a complaint. How would they handle it? She wishes she had a script to follow. People in films make things look easy but they have someone directing them, Chloe just has to make things up as she goes along.

‘She’s very weak,’ Chloe says. ‘She’s mostly sleeping. Whatever happened? She seems confused, she’s saying something about going out into the garden?’

Miriam sighs. ‘Well, like many of our residents here, Grace likes to wander . . .’ She pauses before she continues, her eyes flickering over Chloe in a way that makes her feel she should be the one feeling uncomfortable. ‘There’s an area at the back of the garden, mostly hidden by shrubbery and, for whatever reason, she was down there and she somehow found a hole in the fence leading onto the building site.’ She pauses, linking her fingers. ‘We don’t believe in keeping our residents prisoners.’

‘But she’s meant to be safe here. She’s meant to be well cared for. This never happened when I—’

Miriam puts her hands up. ‘Chloe, I know this has been a shock for you too, but I can assure you that your grandmother is well cared for here. If there’s one thing thirty-two years in this job has taught me, it’s