The Imposter by Anna Wharton (i have read the book txt) 📕

‘Twenty-three Rothschild Road,’ Nan says, ‘but who were those people? Where are Mother and Father?’

‘Don’t worry about that now, Nan,’ Chloe says. ‘The most important thing is that you’re home. Or nearly anyway, we need to get the train back—’ She looks up and around inside the station, as if to get her bearings.

‘Oh, it’s OK, I think that’s all sorted,’ PC Bains interrupts, and as she does a figure appears walking down the corridor behind her, clutching paperwork. ‘I believe you and Claire have met before?’

Claire Sanders, Nan’s social worker. Her blunt bob swings around her cheeks. The jubilation Chloe felt at seeing Nan is instantly replaced with a dread that surely shows on her face. The mask slips. She feels it.

‘Oh, Claire’s been ever so nice, Chloe,’ Nan says. ‘She says she’ll give us a lift home to . . .’ She turns to PC Bains. ‘Where are we going again?’

‘Peterborough,’ Chloe and Claire answer in unison. The social worker has her car keys in her hand, her handbag tucked under her arm.

‘Shall we?’ Claire asks. Nan and Chloe follow her out of the station.

EIGHT

From the outside, the new place for Nan looks more like a hotel than a care home. There is a shiny sign reading Park House Care Home, sprinkled at the corners with illustrations of spring flowers.

Chloe takes Nan’s arm to lead her inside.

‘Do we know someone who lives here?’ Nan asks.

‘Come on, Nan,’ Chloe replies, ‘let’s go inside and have a look around.’

Claire Sanders walks behind them, so close she’s practically inside their footsteps. Chloe tries to pretend she’s not there at all, but it’s not easy when she’s interrupting constantly, pointing out different facilities before they’ve even stepped inside. Chloe concentrates instead on ignoring the ugliness that collects inside her veins.

The women are introduced to the matron, Miriam, and they follow her along a burgundy carpet peppered with yellow diamonds, around a giant glass window that looks out onto a small courtyard filled with tropical plants.

‘Park House opened around twenty-five years ago, and we’re currently home to thirty-one guests . . .’ Miriam explains as they walk.

‘It’s pretty here, isn’t it?’ Nan says.

Chloe doesn’t need to turn around to know Claire is smiling behind her.

‘We’re just starting a major renovation, extending the site to incorporate some of the land either side of us. We will be adding six new bedrooms, and an adapted kitchen to support residents to be independent for as long as they can – for some, just being able to keep making their own cup of tea can make a real difference.’

Claire smiles and nods. ‘The facilities here are what makes Park House one of the top ten specialist dementia care homes in the region,’ she interjects.

Chloe ignores her.

They’re back where they started. Chloe glances at the matron, confused.

‘We understand that people with dementia like walking,’ she says, ‘so this circular corridor with the garden in the middle means they can walk for hours safely and enjoy the view while they do.’

Clever, Chloe thinks. Not that she says it. She’s been determined not to like this care home since Claire had told her she’d found the ‘perfect place’ for Nan when they got her back home.

‘She doesn’t need a perfect place,’ Chloe had snapped at her. ‘She’s got one, right here with me.’

Not that it had made any difference.

‘Grace needs twenty-four-hour care, Chloe,’ Claire had said, ‘and you have a job, it’s impossible for you to be there for her all the time, as much as I know you’d like to be.’

She wanted to say that’s what Nan had always done for her, that it had always been the two of them. But what was the point? It would only sound saccharine and sentimental to a social worker. Instead, she’d swallowed it down and so here they were.

The matron shows them a couple of bedrooms. They remind Chloe of ones in motels – not that she’s ever stayed in one, but she’s seen them on television or in movies. These rooms have nice touches: bedside tables and vases, black and white pictures of the city in years gone by. Claire points out to Nan that the resident in this particular room has covered one of her walls in photographs of her grandchildren. Chloe tries to move her on by taking her elbow and leading her out the room.

‘Hasn’t she got it nice, Chloe?’ Nan says.

Chloe nods, quickly, and Claire smiles at her as Miriam leads the way. Claire lingers in the room and catches Chloe’s hand as Nan follows Miriam.

‘I think she likes it, do you?’ she asks.

‘Let’s not be too hasty,’ Chloe replies.

By the time they catch up with Nan she’s in the communal room chatting to two residents who ask her to join them in a game of cards.

‘Will you come back for me a bit later, dear?’ she asks. ‘I just want to have a chat to these nice old folk.’

Claire looks from Chloe to the matron. ‘I think that’s settled it,’ she says.

Chloe wants Claire to hurt, as much as she is hurting now. Her hands twist inside the deep pockets of her coat, her fingernails cutting crescents into her palms.

Nan sits happily with her new friends as Chloe walks over to a huge window that overlooks the grounds. There’s a small wooded copse beside the care home. An area of it has already started to be felled – presumably this is where Park House will be extending, Chloe thinks. Beyond that, she can just make out a lake. It’s a bright day, despite the cold, and the sun twinkles in golden silvers on top of the water. As she turns around, a nurse is bringing a cup of tea to an old man in an armchair beside her.

‘Excuse me, where’s that?’ she asks her.

‘Ferry Meadows,’ the nurse answers. ‘Lovely view, isn’t it? On a clear day you can even see the steam train running along the back of the park.’

While Nan plays