Chapters (55)
- Cover
- ANNA WHARTON
- Dedication page
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- Praise
- THE IMPOSTER
Chloe looks from the matron to Nan, seeing for the first time the scene as she does. Nan is trembling against the wall, her arms covering her face. Chloe’s hand flies up to her mouth, as Miriam crosses the room and Nan clings to her like a frightened child.
‘I . . . I’m sorry,’ Chloe says, backing towards the door, watching as the matron sits down beside Nan and puts an arm around her. She sees her notice Nan’s wrist, now pinky purple, the colour already setting in her skin.
Nan is crying now, telling the matron over and over, ‘I don’t know anyone called Chloe.’
The matron speaks gently to her. ‘OK, Grace,’ she says. ‘It’s OK. This is your granddaughter, she’s come to see you.’
Nan is crying. Chloe knows it is her who has made her cry. Another care assistant, Gemma, rushes into the room.
‘I heard the alarm,’ Gemma says, breathless, assessing the scene.
Chloe looks between the three women. What has she done?
‘I didn’t . . . I just . . . I just wanted to see her,’ Chloe says.
The matron gives a nod to the care assistant who replaces her next to Nan, then Miriam leads Chloe out of the room gently.
‘Come with me, Chloe,’ Miriam says. ‘Why don’t you have a cup of tea in my office while Gemma takes care of your grandmother?’
Chloe nods. She looks back at Nan but she’s crying, her knuckles white where she’s gripping the nurse’s hand. Chloe knows then she’s lost her. Today to Gemma, tomorrow to whoever else she happens to trust more than her. It’s over.
She follows the matron out of the room, a cavity in her chest where her heart should be. The disease has won. It’s over.
EIGHTEEN
‘Oh God, Chloe, are you OK?’
Chloe peers around the door frame, daylight streaming through the three-inch gap. She squints.
‘Yeah, I’m fine. How did you—’
‘I’ve been calling and calling.’
‘My phone’s been off. I lost my charger.’
‘What’s wrong?’
Chloe reaches for her stomach.
‘Oh, you know, twenty-four-hour bug, something like that. I’d invite you in but . . . germs.’ She shrugs. ‘Should have a red cross painted on my door!’
Hollie laughs a little, more to be polite, but Chloe can see she’s worried. ‘You sure you’re all right? You don’t seem yourself.’
‘I’m fine, honest. Just haven’t had any fresh air in twenty-four hours, it’s making me feel a bit . . . woozy.’
‘It might make you feel better?’
Hollie tries to peer around the door. Chloe lifts her arm towards the top of the frame, the sleeve of her dressing gown hiding much of the hallway, but she still sees it, Hollie’s eyes roaming the gaps: the busy, patterned carpet, the hall table, Nan’s shoes by the front door.