The Forgotten Room: a gripping, chilling thriller that will have you hooked

Cheryl rolled her eyes and flicked the switch on the kettle. ‘That’s an understatement! Mind you, he’s an ornery old sod at the best of times, doesn’t like change. He’s been like a cat on a hot tin roof ever since the building work started. Can’t get his head around it and it upsets him no end. Mind you, I’d feel the same if I was him – seeing your land sold off like that must be hard. Still, it’s her what has the purse strings, not him. You’ll have your work cut out, mark my words – he don’t take to strangers. None of us do.’ She said it as if it was a matter of intractable fact.

Maura gave her a wry smile in appreciation of her message of doom. In her ten years as a psychiatric nurse she had been spat on, sworn at, hit and generally abused on a daily basis. She felt confident that a stroppy old man wouldn’t prove difficult. ‘I’m sure I’ll manage.’ It was what she did and why she’d chosen to work in mental health: she had the ability to tame people and absorb their distress. It was what she was good at, even if she struggled to tame her own. When it came to other people, she cared, even when nobody else did. Sometimes even when she shouldn’t.

Cheryl heaved a large teapot onto the table. ‘Going to have to, aren’t you? Don’t suppose any of us has any choice but to make the best of a bad do. As long as you don’t interfere with me we won’t fall out. I have my jobs, you stick to yours. Just do as you’re told and we’ll all be fine.’ As she spoke, her eyes flickered towards the ceiling and a slight frown settled on her forehead.

Maura followed her gaze and saw nothing but cracked and flaking plaster. She had no intention of poking around where she wasn’t wanted – the woman could clean the depressing house to her heart’s content for all Maura cared. The way she was feeling, she wouldn’t be staying long anyway. The prospect of her own, lonely, memory-filled house was becoming more appealing by the second. But she’d been paid in advance – it made it awkward. And there was the old man with no one to care for him other than Cheryl, a woman who made Maura look positively cheerful in comparison.

As Cheryl poured the tea in weak, steaming streams, Maura said, ‘You do know I won’t be here on Mondays and Tuesdays? Well, during the day anyway. I’ll also be out on Thursday afternoons.’

Cheryl slopped milk into the cups ‘They said, but it’s mainly nights you’re needed anyway. I’m here every day so I can see to him then as long as you get him up. I’ve been coming in more since she had the fall, someone had to, but I’ve got me own mother to see to so I can’t be here all the time. Just stick to your duties. We’ve managed fine without till now, so I’m sure we’ll manage when you’re not here.’

Maura took her tea and didn’t wonder at why the woman seemed so frazzled. It must have been hard work dividing her loyalties. ‘Is your mother ill?’ she asked, imagining what it must be like to be in this house day after day, having its atmosphere soak into your skin and mess with your temperament. No wonder Cheryl was so gritty.

‘Nope, just old and lonely. Mind you, aren’t we all?’

Maura wasn’t sure how to take that. She knew that what she saw in the mirror, when she deigned to look, wasn’t what she wanted to see – a face made gaunt by loss and shame. She hadn’t thought she wore her unhappiness so blatantly so she chose to take Cheryl’s words as a general observation on life rather than a direct assessment of her personally, and any similarities to the harried housekeeper and her burdened state. ‘I was told you’d run me through his routines and show me where everything is.’

Cheryl laughed and pulled a sheaf of papers towards her. ‘Her ladyship made me write it all down ages ago, as if I don’t know all their foibles already. He’s a very particular man, likes things just so – as does she, so you’d be wise to remember it. No one in this house likes change.’ She said it with a hard stare, which did nothing to reassure Maura. ‘They are people who demand perfection, so make sure you get things right first time.’

The list went on and on: how he liked his bread cut (in quarters with the crusts cut off, butter – not margarine – thinly spread right to the edges), the precise consistency of his hot drinks (tea, weak, a splash of ice-cold milk and a quarter of a level teaspoon of sugar. At night, cocoa, not drinking chocolate, made in a pan with full-cream milk, to be served at precisely 9.30 p.m.), his medication (pills to be given in precise colour order beginning with the small blues ones and ending with the white). By the end of it, Maura was heartily relieved that Cheryl had written it down; the whole thing might have been a disaster if she hadn’t. ‘I think I’d better make a copy of that and carry it around with me!’ she quipped as Cheryl explained exactly how many loops Gordon preferred in the Windsor knot of his tie, before adding that he rarely got dressed at all these days so not to worry too much about that.

Cheryl didn’t catch the joke and frowned. ‘Might not be a bad idea. Anyway, I’ll show you around and then take you to meet him.’

Maura drained the last of her piss-weak tea and followed Cheryl out into the chill grasp of the house. She was about to ask where Dr Moss had gone, but realised this would reveal she’d been listening outside doors. Cheryl was abrasive enough, without Maura rubbing her any further up the wrong way. The woman’s hostility already came off her in sharp spikes, like static electricity that snapped and bit whenever anyone got too close. Cheryl’s welcome had been as bitter and cold as the house itself. For Maura, it didn’t bode well, but she had to admit she felt sorry for the woman.

Chapter Two (#ulink_28e8179f-dcc2-5be3-8c85-52db73105569)

‘Got to watch yourself. It’s not such a big place, but there’s nooks and crannies and it’s not hard to lose your bearings. Sometimes I think they just tacked this place together without rhyme or reason. Just stick to where I show you, and don’t wander off. There’s nothing to see anywhere else anyway and some bits are dangerous so you’d be wise to not stray,’ Cheryl said as she led the way past an array of rooms, few of which seemed to be in regular use. They were too tidy, too quiet and seemed to be holding their breath as if waiting for someone else to breathe first. The creeping sensation of waiting for that breath to linger on the back of your neck was a haunting thought, forcing Maura to view the rest of the building with a fair degree of caution. She wasn’t easily spooked, but the atmosphere was solemn, giving the place a sepulchral feel that settled into her bones like a deep-seated and ice-cold itch that had burrowed into the marrow and would not be shifted. She was being dramatic and she knew it, but Cheryl had an air about her that was echoed in the feel of the house, as if they shared a twin, hollow soul.

Maura’s bedroom was a pink-chintz nightmare that looked as if it had last been decorated somewhere circa 1935. Faded, overblown roses scrambled across the wallpaper in a busy tangle, while the ditsy curtains looked as if they were succumbing to a slow death from the constant onslaught of sunlight and moth. She couldn’t anticipate trying to close them without the thought that they would disintegrate at her touch. The room might have been quaint and charming in any other house but here it made Maura long for her ten-tog duvet and central heating. As she looked around she felt a pang of homesickness and a hunger for the comfort of familiar things.

It seemed that Cheryl had read her thoughts. ‘Don’t mess with the curtains, will you? They’re a bit delicate, ever so old they are, but her ladyship calls them vintage. You can use the bed curtains if you want to shut out the light.’

Maura eyed the four-poster with its swags and tails and thought that the last thing she’d want to do in a house like this was shut out the light. ‘Do you have to address her as your ladyship?’

‘Good Lord, no, that’s what I call her behind her back. She’s got a few too many airs and graces for my liking. No, I call her Miss Hall. Her ladyship indeed…’ Cheryl scoffed, shaking her head.

‘Fair enough,’ Maura said, feeling slightly embarrassed at her assumption. Cheryl was a strange woman, prickly and intense one minute, warm and friendly the next. It was an intriguing yet repellent mix and reminded her of why she’d wanted to become a nurse. People were fascinating in all their shades of light and dark.

Back on the landing Cheryl pointed down the hall. ‘They don’t use that part of the house, it’s not safe, so don’t be going wandering. There’s nothing for you down there. His room is there, opposite yours, but he sleeps downstairs most of the time. We just use it to store his clothes – he can’t be trusted with them downstairs. Hers is two doors down from you.’ She led the way, their footsteps inducing creaks of protest from the old stair treads as they descended. Cheryl pointed to the one room she hadn’t already shown to Maura. To her dismay the door had a security chain attached to the outside. ‘Make sure to put that on at night – he likes to wander,’ Cheryl said.

Maura couldn’t help herself. ‘I’m not sure I’m keen on the idea of locking him in his room!’ The idea was abhorrent to her. She hadn’t come to the Grange to look after the man by shutting him away and denying him his freedom. She’d hoped to bring him care and comfort. She wanted to give the best of herself, not be a jailer.

Cheryl’s eyes widened, as if she was surprised to be dealing with someone who could be so naïve. ‘It’s either that or chase him around the bloody estate in the dead of night. If you know what’s good for you and him, you’ll put the chain on. Besides, we don’t want him taking a tumble too, do we? You mustn’t let him near the stairs. Like I said, the old part of the house is dangerous.’ She said this as if Maura might not have heard her the first time.

Maura saw the wisdom in keeping her mouth shut at this, but she remained unhappy about the use of the chain. She forced a smile. ‘I suppose I’d better meet him, hadn’t I?’

Cheryl chuckled. There was no warmth to her laugh and it sounded as mean and thin as her tea. ‘Suppose you better had. Brace yourself.’

Gordon Henderson was on the floor, sitting in a puddle of his own urine and looking up at the two women with the innocence of an untrained puppy when they entered the room. ‘Don’t be fooled, this is all for your benefit,’ Cheryl whispered.

Maura was too busy trying not to gag on the stench of ammonia that stung her eyes and burned her nose to pay much attention to Cheryl. This wasn’t the first time the old man had peed himself by the smell of it. She glanced at Cheryl, who seemed to be immune to the fumes.

‘Best get you up, Mr Henderson, eh?’ Cheryl said, speaking to the man as if he was a deaf five-year-old.

He raised a thin hand and pointed a wavering skinny finger at Maura. ‘She can do it, not you.’

Cheryl sighed. ‘Whatever. I’ll get you some clean clothes.’

Maura knew instinctively that she was being tested, perhaps by both of them. ‘OK, but introductions first. I’m Maura. I’m going to be staying with you until Miss Hall is recovered. I’m a nurse, I’ve come to take care of you, and Miss Hall when she comes home. I’ll be here until she gets better.’ She added what she hoped was a reassuring and confident smile. ‘Right, I’m going to crouch in front of you and I want you to put your arms around my neck. Then I’m going to lift you into a standing position. Do you think we can do that?’

The old man nodded, but there was a cold sparkle in his eye that invited caution. Maura was not unfamiliar with the wiles of awkward patients, and the likes of Gordon Henderson were ten a penny, nasty old men with a touch of the vicious. Not all of them could be changed by good nursing and a dose of compassion but she was prepared to give it her best shot. She crouched down in front of him and placed her arms around his back under his arms – he had the thin frame of a waif, but looked tall. She hunkered in, ready to lift from her knees to save her back. It wasn’t ideal, but he couldn’t stay on the floor, so she had no choice but to lift him badly. He slipped his arms around her neck and leaned in. His breath was sour and smelled of pear drops – ketones, which told Maura he wasn’t eating well, so no wonder he was so thin. She tightened her hold and began to lift, hauling him to his feet in one deft move. Once upright, he turned his lips to her cheek and, for a fraction of a second, she thought he was going to kiss her. Then he opened his mouth and took the flesh of her cheek between his teeth and bit down, holding her skin at a point where damage might be done if he felt the urge for it.

She didn’t flinch. It was an old trick. ‘Mr Henderson, if you continue, and you bite me, I will drop you straight back on your backside, call the police, tell them I’ve been assaulted, and they will come here and take one look at you, and you’ll be in a psychiatric unit quicker than either of us can reconsider our decisions. Do you understand me?’ They were harsh words, but she needed to set some boundaries if they were to come to terms with each other. She’d never be able to nurse him if he thought she was afraid. She was, but he didn’t need to know that.

He didn’t move. His teeth remained on her skin and she could feel his thin body quivering with malice. ‘I’m here to care for you, not to put up with abuse. I don’t care how ill you are, I will not put up with abuse – do we understand each other?’ She had come full of good intentions, hung on to them despite her instincts, but they were waning fast. Maybe she wasn’t ready for this after all. The sight of the little girl and all the reminders of why Maura had become a nurse had fuelled her enthusiasm and conviction and made her remember her compassion. She’d wanted to be kind, to show she was still a decent person and could still care, but this man was sucking it all away by the second.

It took a moment, but eventually he relaxed both his grip around her shoulders and his hold on her cheek, but it bothered her that he’d had to think about it for so long. There seemed to be a streak of cruelty in Gordon Henderson that had the potential to send shivers crawling down the spine. He stank, not only of piss, but of evil, and the combination made Maura’s gut churn again. The feeling did not abate when he whispered in her ear, ‘There’s bad in this house, mind you be careful of it. It gets us all eventually. Ask the nurse, she’ll tell you.’

‘I am the nurse, Mr Henderson,’ she said. Her instinct was to shove him away from her, but she couldn’t. He was old, frail and demented if the agency was to be believed. No wonder they were paying so well; no one in their right mind would have taken this job on. But Maura wasn’t in her right mind – the pack of Prozac that lay in her bag unopened was proof of her own GP’s belief in that. Maura was desperate and lonely and full of self-pity. The depression was telling her she wanted to foist that pity onto someone else so she didn’t have to feel it herself any more. Coming to the Grange hadn’t been an act of altruism, it had been an escape route. She had hoped this elderly man would an eager recipient of her willingness to care, no matter how poor the reason, but it seemed she had made a mistake there too. She wasn’t ready, and no matter how mean and vile Gordon Henderson appeared to be, he deserved better. Everyone deserved better.

Instead of pushing Gordon away she held firm, resolving to call the agency the next day and ask to be replaced by someone who was up to the job. They could have the money; she didn’t want it. She just wanted to feel useful again and keep hold of a good mood when it came along.

Cheryl came back into the room carrying clean underwear, trousers and a pack of baby wipes.

‘Soap and water would be better,’ Maura said, which got her an impatient scowl from Cheryl and a smug smile from Gordon Henderson.

‘You can always go and fetch some if you’re so keen,’ Cheryl said impatiently. ‘I’ll hold him, you clean him up.’

For the sake of cordiality, Maura caved in and took the baby wipes. No wonder the salary for this job had been so generous. She assumed it was Dr Moss who had wanted private nursing care; he must have known that whoever he hired would have their work cut out. If the bastard had asked for her by name, she would make him pay. They had never seen eye to eye and his presence in the house earlier had felt like much more than a coincidence. She didn’t know who she was most angry with, herself or Dr Moss.

Gordon stood patiently and compliantly while Maura stripped him of his trousers and underpants, a smile of victory playing around his mouth. She asked him to step out of his wet clothes and he did so without complaint, holding on to Cheryl’s shoulders while she looked away in disgust. The only frisson of trouble occurred when Maura pulled a few baby wipes from the packet and asked him to clean himself up. He hesitated, looked confused, then angry. ‘I do not do these things for myself,’ he said with more coherence and pomposity than she’d expected from a man who was supposedly terminally demented.

‘And I don’t get paid to do things for people who are perfectly capable of doing them for themselves, Mr Henderson.’ She held the wipes out. He stared at them for a moment, glowered at her, then took them and did as he was asked.

It was a dance, a setting out of the rules of engagement, and it happened with everyone. Maura was used to it, wise to it, and, nine times out of ten, could outstep the opposition in three moves flat. With Gordon Henderson it just took the two, but there was a good chance he would muster and try it on again. She wasn’t being cruel, far from it. Despite her feelings about the Grange and its owner, she’d be a poor carer if she did too much for him. The goal was independence and her job was to help him maintain it.

She helped him into his clothes while Cheryl fetched tea and he was as docile as a lamb the whole time. Once she’d got him settled in his chair she sat down opposite him. ‘So, Mr Henderson, is there any particular reason you couldn’t make it to the toilet?’

He looked away from her and mumbled something she couldn’t quite make out. ‘I didn’t quite hear you.’

‘I said I find you very rude.’

‘And I find you very difficult, Mr Henderson, so we can either battle it out while we both have a really horrible time or we can call a truce and try and work with each other – what’s it to be?’

‘If either of us lasts that long,’ he said, avoiding her gaze. She was in no mood for amateur dramatics and chose to ignore him, busying herself tidying the dirty clothes. Feeding into it would do neither of them any good.

By the time Cheryl had come back with his tea – weak, splash of milk and precisely a quarter level teaspoon of sugar – he seemed to have got the measure of Maura and decided to play ball. For now.