The Imposter – Chapter Twenty-One

In 2021, my novel, The Imposter, was published by Pan Macmillan in the UK. I’ve decided to give it a new cover for Substack with the help of this 1909 painting by Edward Hopper entitled Summer Interior. It hangs in the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York and I went to see it last year.

Apparently, weird girl fiction is in fashion and my novel is about a weird girl.

If you would like to order the book and read it yourself, you can do so here (this is an affiliate link so if you do I may earn a little commission). But each week I read it to my paid subscribers here, chapter by chapter, that way you can listen on the go, or sit down and read it yourself with a cup of tea.

As it’s the new year, I’ve made this chapter free in case you fancy a listen, and you want to catch up from the beginning. We’re up to chapter twenty-one now, but you can still catch up with them here.

And so, Chapter Twenty-One…

‘Packing to go where?’

Chloe cradles the phone in the crook of her neck, trying to zip up an overstuffed weekend bag with one hand, then two. The phone slips. She scoops it up from the peach eiderdown.

‘Hollie? You still there?’ she says, slumping down on the bed.

‘Yes, I was just asking you where you’re going? I mean, what you’re packing for.’

‘Well, I didn’t mean packing . . . more just having a sort-out . . . I was thinking of going away for a few days, well, weeks . . . well, I haven’t really decided. I . . .’

She scratches the back of her neck, cursing the unzipped bag, the clothes spilling out of it, wondering why she’d even mentioned it to Hollie. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t be having to answer any of these questions. The bag stares at her from the end of the bed.

‘Really?’ Silence. ‘Go away where?’

‘I don’t know . . . maybe the coast, just . . . I don’t know . . . a change of scenery.’

She shakes her head to the air. It’s the best she can come up with. There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

‘You don’t have to keep doing this, Chloe. You could come and stay with me and Phil...’

Chloe rolls her eyes.

‘Chloe? Are you still there?’

‘Yes, I’m still here.’

‘I mean, well, if you’re feeling a bit lonely. I’ve told you before, we’ve got our box room and—’

‘I’m fine,’ she says, perhaps too cheerily. She curses her own mistake. She tries again. ‘I’m fine.’

‘We’ve just done up the box room, I got this lovely duvet cover and matching lampshade from . . .’

Chloe thinks then of the blue and green duvet in the Kyles’ spare room. She can imagine Maureen picking it out, making the bed, ironing out the creases with her hand and standing back to admire her work.

‘. . . and you don’t want that happening again, do you?’ Hollie is still talking.

‘Sorry, what?’ Chloe says.

‘I was just saying, about the last time and all that trouble wi—’

‘Hollie, I’ve just got another call waiting, can I call you back?’

‘Yes, yes, of course, I’ll sp—’

Chloe hangs up and flops back on the bed. Her phone slips out of her hand onto the floor. She started packing this morning as an experiment – just playing with the idea of moving to Low Drove. She wasn’t really going to go, of course she wasn’t. She just wanted to see what it felt like, being Maureen and Patrick’s lodger.

The whole thing is ridiculous. She stands up and starts taking the clothes out the bag, just like she has done several times that morning. She can’t move to Low Drove. She pauses. Can she? Chloe returns the clothes to the bag. But moving there, that’s not the same as simply investigating. No, it’s much more intrusive, deceitful even. She takes the clothes out again. But how can it be? It’s not like she’s there to do harm to the Kyles. Quite the opposite. She wants to help them.

Anyway, however hard she tries she can’t escape how it felt to be there, in the Kyles’ home, how natural it had seemed. By the second cup of tea she had with Maureen, after they’d put all the washing out on the line, she’d felt so at home. Even Patrick didn’t appear to notice her there, as he walked in and out of the kitchen between races. And the thing is, she could actually see herself there, living with them, waking up in that bedroom every morning, sitting on those little white wooden chairs each night for dinner. It felt right. And suddenly this room – with its giant built-in white wardrobes – feels small somehow, like she’s outgrown it, 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 that you might think some of our residents come in here with these brain diseases, but they very much still have a mind of their own.’

‘I know,’ Chloe says.

‘If your grandmother wants to go for a wander down the garden, there’s not much we can do to stop her.’

Miriam laughs a little, and Chloe joins her because it feels right, letting the air back into the office, reminding themselves that Nan is a person before a patient. Chloe is back then inside Maureen and Patrick’s house; that light, excited feeling she’d felt when she was there returns to her.

‘I know, it’s just . . .’

Miriam looks across the desk at her.

‘Well, it’s just I have this opportunity – with work. It might take me away for a while and, I won’t be able to relax if—’

‘Chloe, this was a one-off, it won’t happen again. I can assure you of that. Of course you must take this opportunity, and you’re only on the end of the phone, aren’t you?’

‘I guess,’ she says, letting Miriam convince her.

The matron leans across the desk.

‘You must take this opportunity, you can’t put your life on hold. We’ll take care of your grandmother. That’s our job.’

Chloe nods, torn between the image of Nan in her bed and the house in Low Drove.

‘I’d better get back to her,’ she says.

Miriam nods. ‘Of course.’

But something has changed when she gets up and leaves her office. Despite the shock of Nan’s fall, it feels like something invisible has shifted. As if there was a reason this all happened – to grant her permission to go to Low Drove.

When Chloe gets back to Nan’s room she’s still sleeping. Chloe settles down in the chair beside her, sipping her tea as she watches her. She enjoys listening to the steady whistle of her breathing. She thinks of the evenings they’d sat in her living room, watching Corrie together, when it always felt enough just to be beside her. It’s difficult to pinpoint now when she had begun to need something more. It always is.

Nan sleeps on and off for a couple of hours. When she sighs or her eyes flicker open for a second, Chloe reaches for her hand and she goes back to sleep. By six o’clock the scent of dinner creeps under the door. There’s a knock and a care assistant – Sam – appears, offering them both a plate of mince and potato with some watery cabbage.

Chloe takes two plates and puts them on the side. Nan stirs and Chloe helps her sit up so she can eat. She straightens her nightie, tying the ribbons across her bony collarbones so she doesn’t feel a draught.

‘Here you are, Nan,’ she says, offering her a small forkful of mince and mash.

She takes tiny mouthfuls.

‘Good, well done.’

Nan smiles every now and then, each portion Chloe persuades her to eat adding more colour to her cheeks.

‘I remember you doing this for me,’ Chloe says.

‘Do you?’ Nan takes another mouthful, swallows it. ‘When was that then?’

‘When I was a little girl.’

Nan watches Chloe over the next fork she puts into her mouth. She eats silently for a few moments.

‘Did you know Stella?’ she says, her blue eyes watery.

Chloe lifts another fork to Nan’s mouth, but she takes her time to swallow, as if the memory of Stella sticks in her throat.

‘Yes,’ Chloe says finally, ‘I knew Stella.’

Nan’s eyes sparkle, but no longer with tears. She’s away somewhere else then, taking forkfuls of mashed potato, but not here, not in this room.

‘Here, try a little cabbage,’ Chloe says.

Nan eats it, smiling to herself.

‘She was a lovely little girl, wasn’t she?’ Nan says after a while.

Chloe nods.

‘A shock of blonde curls, do you remember?’

Chloe thinks of the photograph that she keeps in her pocket, her favourite picture of the two of them.

‘I do,’ she says.

Silently, Nan reaches gently for a tendril of Chloe’s black hair and winds it around her fingers into a question mark, then stares at her granddaughter.

‘Here, Nan, finish this last bit.’

After a moment, Nan opens her mouth obediently. She’ll do anything for a few minutes back with Stella. How many people wouldn’t give anything for that time again? Chloe could do something, she could add colour to Nan’s memory.

‘Stella adored you, followed you everywhere,’ Chloe tells her. She waits for her eyes to light up.

Nan laughs. Chloe feels calm return to her. She wipes a little gravy from Nan’s chin with a tissue.

‘She did, didn’t she? I used to call her my little shadow, do you remember that?’

‘I do,’ Chloe says, smiling.

She goes to give Nan more, but she shakes her head.

‘You’ve done really well, almost all of that.’ She shows her the near-empty plate. ‘You must be getting better.’

Chloe goes to stand up and Nan grabs her arm, softly, but urgently.

‘You’ve been ever so good to me, Chloe, not just today, but… before I came here, I mean.’

‘Don’t be silly, Nan.’

‘I mean it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘Well, it’s just us now, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Nan says. ‘I suppose it is…’

Chloe doesn’t know why this feels like goodbye. She thinks of that weekend bag on her bed. She remembers the words of the matron, reminding her that she’s got to take this opportunity, that she can’t put her life on hold. But Nan is her life. She turns away from her. She knows what she needs to do.

‘Chloe?’

‘Yes, Nan.’

‘Did you ever find that little girl?’

She stops for a second, those incisive moments that cut through the fog still catching her by surprise.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘I’ve been thinking of those poor parents and, well, I know what it’s like to lose a child. You will help them, won’t you?’ She reaches for Chloe’s hand, and she stares at her, for a second, straight in the eye.

‘I’ll do everything I can, Nan.’

‘Good,’ she says, as Chloe removes one of the pillows propped behind her and helps her settle back down under the covers. ‘Good.’

She’s asleep again a few moments later, exhausted from the exertion of eating, but stronger somehow. Chloe lets her sleep, dropping a kiss on her forehead as she leaves.

‘Bye, Nan,’ she whispers. ‘I promise I’ll come and tell you when I’ve brought Angie home.’

As she leaves Park House, she’s already dialling Maureen’s number.