‘Fuller Road?’ It was a stab in the dark. There were a number of roads within a five-to-ten-minute walk away.
She hesitated, looking at me oddly. ‘I didn’t know you knew the area. No, not Fuller, a little further along Gloucester Road.’ And then, obviously deciding it was silly to be so mysterious, she added, ‘Swainswick Gardens.’
‘I worked with the agency in the Larkhall Nursing Home, years ago,’ I explained. ‘That’s not far from you, is it?’
She shook her head slowly. ‘No, it isn’t.’ She lifted her coffee and sipped slowly, looking at me as if I’d just revealed some great secret. ‘I didn’t realise you’d done agency work before.’
How would she have done? She knew as much about me as I knew about her. ‘While I was a student nurse, I worked every day I was free. My university fees were paid for, but I needed to earn money for everything else.’
‘That can’t have been easy.’
It had been an endlessly exhausting trudge. There had been times when I wasn’t sure I’d be able to continue, when I wanted time for myself, a day off from everything. Days when I wondered if moving Mother would be such a bad thing after all. Then I’d visit her and know I couldn’t do it. ‘It paid the bills, I can’t complain.’ I nodded in the direction of her home. ‘Have you lived in this area long?’
‘A few years.’ She gave a shrug before smiling. ‘I live with my parents. We used to live a few miles further out. When they wanted to move closer, I moved with them.’
And could afford expensive clothes as a result. Probably went on fancy holidays too. I hadn’t seen her car; it was probably a BMW. I wondered how different my life would have been if my father hadn’t died.
Would he have carried on living his dual life or would he have decided to give up one of his wives… and if so, which one? My mother had been destroyed by his death. But she was locked in a world where she was married to the love of her life – had he lived and chosen Olivia, how would my mother have coped? Would she have fallen apart as badly, and lived the remainder of her life locked in a hell where he endlessly abandoned her?
I felt a tap on my hand and looked up from my contemplation of what was left of my tea.
‘Are you okay?’
I blinked. ‘Of course, why wouldn’t I be?’
Carol sat back, her eyes narrowed, a horizontal line crossing her forehead. ‘Maybe because you’ve been staring into that empty cup for ages despite me asking you three times about where you grew up.’
Had she? I wiped a hand across my forehead.
‘Maybe you’ve been working too hard,’ Carol said quietly.
‘I was working last night. Perhaps I should have stayed in bed this morning.’
‘Last night?’ She looked horrified. ‘Why did you suggest meeting today?’
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’ I didn’t want to say that her invitation to meet up had taken me by surprise. Didn’t want to admit that she unsettled me, and I wanted to know more about her to see if I could understand why. Only then could I decide what to do about it, whether to see her as a threat and deal with her in some way. I hid a smile when I thought of the very sharp set of knives that had been supplied with my new apartment.
She’d asked me a question. Perhaps she was genuinely curious about me too. But I had secrets to hide so it seemed better to lie. ‘I grew up in Bristol, but I’ve recently moved to Bathford.’
‘Oh yes, you said you were thinking of moving from Weston. Bathford’s handy enough for most of the hospitals and nursing homes we cover.’ Carol spoke as if she were an expert on the agency’s client base. She seemed to have conveniently forgotten that I’d worked with them before.
I regretted my decision to meet her. I could hardly ask her why she made my skin crawl. All I’d discovered was that she was local and had grown up a few miles away. Only then did I realise she’d not mentioned exactly where… Bathford was a few miles away, perhaps she’d lived there. I’d put her at my age, but I didn’t remember her from school. Or at least, she hadn’t been in my year. Would I have remembered her if she’d been in the year ahead or behind? I wasn’t sure I would.
But perhaps she remembered me. There had been a lot of talk after Jemma’s death. Whispers, sideways glances, pointing fingers.
Perhaps Carol had known Jemma, and what I’d done. Might she tell the agency? Have them look at me with suspicion? I couldn’t afford to lose my job.
Carol was chattering away about something. I tuned in to what she was saying, surprised to discover she was talking with an unexpected amount of detail about the agency’s private client base. Luckily for me, she was one of those people who liked to show off what they knew. It made it particularly satisfying to her, I suppose, since she was only with them a few weeks and I had, as I’d stupidly admitted, worked for them before.
She glanced around, then leaned closer, dropping her voice to a whisper. Conspiratorially… as if she was Jane Bond, working for MI6 and not a poxy nursing agency. ‘I’ve been given shifts with a private patient living on Lansdown Road starting tomorrow. It’s probably only going to be for a couple of days but still, I’m excited about it.’
Bully for you. ‘That’s great,’ I said, trying to inject some sincerity into my words. It was exactly the type of job I’d have liked, what I’d been hoping for. A nice cushy position looking after one person. I wanted to ask how she’d swung it. Wanted to but didn’t. There was a self-satisfied expression on her stupid face, I didn’t want to see it grow more smug. So I swallowed my curiosity and tried to appear above it all.
Having shared her exciting news, she sat back. ‘Maybe we could meet up again in a few weeks?’
I’d liked to have said, when hell freezes over. But I didn’t. I needed to keep her close, to find out what, if anything, she knew about me, and why she bothered me so much. Anyway, if she had some pull in the agency, it would be a sensible step to be friendly. What was that expression…？ keep your friends close and your enemies closer. It was appropriate. ‘I’d like that,’ I said.
24
When I returned from Alice Park, I sat down at my computer and emailed the agency. I wrote to tell them how very happy I was working with them, and how I was willing to be flexible not only with the shifts I worked but where I was sent. I finished the nauseatingly sycophantic drivel with the hope that I’d be working with them for many years to come, and pressed send.
I had a polite standard reply thanking me for my dedication.
A week later, I sent a follow-up email with a request to be given private home work if possible. I tried to think of a valid reason for wanting the change. There wasn’t one, of course. Looking after one patient at home was likely to be easier, but it necessitated being super organised so that if assistance was required – if we needed help to transfer the patient, or to move their position, for instance – the care was arranged around the availability of staff. Not all nurses liked the responsibility. It didn’t bother me.
Although the work would be easier, it wasn’t the only reason I wanted it. I loved poking around other people’s lives and being in a private home would give me so much more opportunity. Even in the nursing homes I liked to pry. I’d pick up the photographs the residents kept in their rooms and ask who they were. Most residents were happy to talk about their family. Sometimes, when they were asleep, I’d poke in their drawers, read letters and diaries, fascinated by the lives people lived.