The Other Mother

by J. A. Baker

  ‘Don’t do this. Put it down. Please, just put the knife down.’

  I shake my head. The room seems to move. Images rush past me, a blur of colours merging and fusing, seeping into my brain making me dizzy. I grip the handle tighter.

  ‘Let me go and I won’t tell anybody about this, I promise.’

  I try to speak but the words won’t come. They stick in my throat, hot and clunky, no way to escape. Trapped. I widen my eyes and a trickle of saliva escapes from my mouth and runs down the side of my chin.

  A small whimper, ‘Come on, you know this is wrong. Just let me go. Please … LET ME GO!’

  The knife wobbles in my hand. It’s heavy; a deadweight. I hold on to it. I have to go ahead with this. All I need to do is push, place all my weight on it and drive it home. That’s all I need to do.

  The air is thick with fear, the smell of it filling my nostrils; an acrid, pungent stench ripping through me, over me. Great waves of terror gliding across wet skin.

  Outside, birds sing, cars drive past, life rolls on. The mundane continues. Just as it did all those years ago, as it always will. People everywhere eating, sleeping, going about their lives while others kill and die and grieve. Life offers no compassion. It is a cold, hard mistress and we are all its victims. I stand here ready to do it, to finally bring an end to it all.

  A noise from behind alerts me. My heart thumps even faster. I keep my back to it. No time to reconsider. My mind is made up; has been for a long time now.

  ‘Put it down,’ the voice calls from behind me, a gentle beckoning for me to stop.

  I bring the blade up, hold it high above my head and stand with my legs apart, ready. It wasn’t meant to be like this. Everything is different, wrong, spoiled. Nothing is as it should be.

  ‘Please,’ the voice in front of me begs, ‘please put it down. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘We’re all sorry,’ I murmur, before everything goes black …

  Erica

  Arthur puts the phone down and rubs his face wearily. ‘All done,’ he says, his voice gravelly with fatigue. ‘And as you probably heard, they didn’t take me too seriously to begin with but apparently they’re on the case. Or at least that’s what they said. We can only hope, can’t we?’

  ‘I thought about ringing her but she’s so volatile and unpredictable I might end up making it worse,’ I say, biting at a loose piece of skin on my lip. It comes away and I welcome the sting that accompanies it. Nothing compared to what Lissy is going through at the minute. And, of course, there’s her daughter to think of. I fight back tears at the very idea of what is going on in that house, the terror they must feel.

  ‘Best to leave the police to do their thing, now.’ He makes to leave but then stops. ‘They also said they might send somebody round here later to take a full report after they’ve checked the property out.’

  I feel a tug of dismay at the thought of it; having to tell a perfect stranger about a secret I should never have had. Something so repulsive and grotesque I can hardly believe those thoughts and ideas ever belonged to me.

  I nod and let out a deep, rattling breath, my eyes misting over.

  ‘All over now, Erica. All behind us,’ he says reassuringly. ‘This Lissy woman will probably move on to another place, disappear once more and Beverley will get some sort of psychiatric help. We’ve done all we can now to help them. Let the police do their bit now.’

  Arthur fills the kettle and busies himself getting mugs out and emptying the teapot of the old dregs. I smile and brush my hand over his as he passes me a coaster. He reciprocates, giving my fingers a squeeze. And that’s when I know everything is going be all right.

  Lissy

  He’d be dead if it hadn’t been for Rupert. After we crept in, my heart lodged firmly in my gullet at the sight before us, he had tried to coax her to put the knife down, but I could tell by the expression on her face she was beyond any kind of reasoning. Rupert saw it, too. He did what he could but she wasn’t listening. She had crossed that line.

  It all happened so quickly. She was standing there with the knife above her head, ready. I didn’t dare breathe. Every pocket of air that exited my body felt like a monumental effort. Rosie stood, her eyes wide and glassy, her face pinched in horror at the sight before her.

  We watched as Rupert shuffled forward, bit by bit, his every movement an effort, his eyes screwed up against the pain. I tried to stop him, to hold him back but he just kept on going, hobbling forward, fraction by fraction until he was so close, he could touch her.

  We watched as Beverley brought the knife down, and Rupert lunged for her, grabbing her round her legs, bringing her crashing down to the ground. Her head hitting the wooden flooring, the knife spinning over Daryl’s head and landing on the other side of the room.

  ∞∞∞∞

  And so here I stand, next to the man who I now know did it, the person who quite happily allowed me to take the blame for something I didn’t do, allowing me to go to prison for a crime he committed. And now he thinks he has the right to come here and punish me.

  ‘Mum, you need to take this!’ After the tussle, Rosie had run over and grabbed the knife and now stands with it in her hands, her thin arms shaking with fright, the welt on her face more visible than ever.

  She passes it over to me, too frightened to hang on to it, its presence a sickly reminder of what we have been through. I watch as she rushes over to help Rupert, who is hanging on to his arm. Beverley emits a low moan as she attempts to sit up, her eye already ballooning where her face hit the floor.

  And then there is Daryl. I stand over him, the knife still in my hands, shiny and heavy, the jagged edge glinting in the light as I wave it about and shout down at him, ‘You. UP!’

  He doesn’t respond, his shirt peppered with spots of blood, his hands lodged between his legs as he hangs on to his crotch.

  ‘I said, get up!’

  He rocks about and pushes himself up into a sitting position, his face pasty, a film of sweat covering his pulpy flesh as he opens his mouth to speak.

  ‘NO!’ I bellow at him. ‘No talking. You had your chance to talk all those years back but said nothing.’

  Air escapes from my body as I watch him look up at me and smile. The room moves about violently and for a second I think I’m going to be sick.

  ‘Doesn’t matter now, does it eh, sweetheart? What’s done is done. Served your time and all that …’

  I wiggle the knife about and listen to the sounds behind me as Rupert gets to his feet and Rosie scrambles about to help him, telling Beverley to stay away from her.

  ‘It’s OK, sweetheart,’ I murmur, ‘they’re both going to stand up now, aren’t you?’

  No movement from either of them. I take a step back so I can view them both, watch what they plan on doing.

  ‘I SAID GET UP!’ They both stagger to their feet and I sense Rosie’s ever-growing terror behind me.

  ‘It’s all right, Rosie,’ I say, desperate for her to listen to me. ‘Please do as I ask and do it quickly, OK?’ She nods at me, fresh tears pouring down her face. ‘Take Rupert and go next door. Call 999 and tell them to send the police and an ambulance.’

  ‘But, Mum!’ she cries, ‘I can’t leave you here with these two.’

  ‘Yes, you can, sweetheart. I have this knife. Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself but if we don’t get Rupert to a hospital as soon as we can, he might die. He’s lost a lot of blood and is still bleeding.’

  She stares at me then looks at Rupert, who is pale and shivering. She reaches out and places her hand over his forehead.

  ‘He’s freezing, Mum.’

  ‘I know he is. He’ll be fine if you take him and make that call. You need to go now, Rosie. Please go now!’

  She is a clumsy jumble of panicky limbs as she drags Rupert along, his tall body swaying beside her as they cling to one another; a pair of damaged survivors. I watch as they lean in together for support and
head back next door to Rupert’s house.

  ‘Right you two, get on your fucking feet, NOW!’

  As if sensing my renewed swell of anger, they swirl about, grappling to get up, their injured bodies knocking against the wood as they finally manage to stand upright. My ears become attuned to a noise in the distance. I need to move quickly.

  ‘Turn around with your backs to me!’ I yell, my pulse throbbing in my ears.

  They both do it without question, Beverley’s legs buckling, her gait laboured and unsteady.

  And that’s when I hear it his voice, a sickly, sweet lilting tone in the eerie stillness of the lounge.

  ‘You fucking well deserved it, anyway,’ Daryl says. He turns to look at me, his face twisted into a sneer. ‘I might have killed him but you set the scene, sweetheart. You set the ball rolling.’ He winks at me as he speaks, ‘How was prison food? Get yourself a girlfriend while you were inside? Got a bit of action going, did you, if you know what I mean?’

  I do it before he has chance to do anything, to run, to scream out, to even breathe. I plunge the knife deep between his shoulder blades and force it in, pushing with all my might. So many years of anger and frustration and hurt pouring out of me, funnelling their way into the blade that I drive deep into his pale, flabby skin. He falls on to the floor, his body twitching and convulsing, blood seeping out of him, a huge pool of burgundy liquid covering the floor, spreading around him in great, pulsing waves.

  Outside I hear the wail of sirens as they grow ever closer, a cacophony of noise blaring in the still spring air.

  ‘It was self-defence,’ I say to Beverley. She nods in recognition and reaches up to touch the wound on her face.

  ‘Rosie’s face, yours, Rupert’s injuries, this piece of shit did them all, yes?’

  She whispers her agreement, her voice brittle with exhaustion. Suddenly I feel calm, all my fear and resentment and rage disappearing bit by bit, ebbing out of me as we sit down together on the sofa and listen to the screech of tyres as a convoy of cars pull up outside.

  ‘Self-defence,’ she says quietly, lightly touching my arm as we sit and wait.

  Rosie

  Isn’t it funny how you think you know someone, then you feel you don’t know them at all, and then everything changes and they’re back to that same old person that you always knew? That’s how it was with mum. The strange thing is, I always had an inkling that something wasn’t quite right with her life story, but could never get it out of her. She was so good at covering up, at trying to protect me from it all. I don’t blame her for any of it. She was, and is, the best mother any girl could ever have.

  Since it’s all happened our lives have changed beyond recognition. Knottswood Academy has welcomed me back with open arms. It was pretty embarrassing at first, my first day, having to put up with all the backward glances, the whispers in the classroom, but knowing what my mum went through in her life has given me some perspective. Having to put up with a few sly looks and a bit of gossip is nothing compared to what she has endured in her troubled life. But it’s all behind us now. I have a gang of new friends, all completely engrossed by what has gone on. I’ve tried to keep a low profile, play it all down, but everyone is so keen on knowing every little detail that they pester me relentlessly. I don’t mind so much. It’s better than being on my own.

  Mum has a renewed sense of purpose. She is out and about every day, visiting people; going to see her. I can’t bring myself to do it but Mum reckons she needs all the support she can get. That’s what I love about my mother; her capacity for forgiveness. I’m not sure I’m ready to take that step just yet, but Mum said she’s spent so much of her life being surrounded by hatred that she has banished it from her life. Hatred is toxic, she said. The world needs more love and forgiveness; hate just eats away at people, rotting them from the inside out. She’s right, of course. She is always right.

  Beverley is in a home somewhere being treated for her issues. Mum reckons she’s been through a lot and it’s not her fault that she did what she did to us. Again, I admire Mum for digging deep and finding it within her to forgive that woman; not just forgive her but actually help her. She’s a saint, my mother. She has also gone to see the two other mothers, the parents of Erica and Beverley. She said they need some closure, to bring an end to it all. Personally, I just think that she is enjoying being out of the house, having the freedom to go wherever she likes without having to constantly look over her shoulder, worrying about being seen and recognised. So many years being cooped up and now she can flit off whenever she wants to. It’s all so brilliant for her.

  I have done a bit of my own research and discovered that my grandparents are now living in separate care homes, their brains addled by alcohol. Mum was spot on. They’re not worth bothering with. I’ve also tracked down my dad. That was a tricky one after what he did to us taking off like that, being so absolutely certain Mum was guilty and I wasn’t his but at the end of the day he is still my dad and I am curious. My memories of him are so vague and foggy, I’d like to see him if only to reassure him that neither me nor Mum are the monsters he thought we were, that she is a decent person and now living the life she should have lived for many years. She is free and happy and nobody can take that away from her.

  And as for Daryl? He didn’t die. I don’t mind admitting that I wish he had. You can’t blame me for that, can you? After what he put my mother through he deserved to be put in his grave. He had a punctured lung and lost a lot of blood but he’s still around, awaiting trial after admitting killing Greg. I’m not interested in the court case. We’ve had a gutful of it, Mum and me. And besides, the press are already snapping at our heels, offering Mum loads of cash to tell her side of the story. She told them to fuck off with their seedy stories and blood money. I jumped up and down and hugged her when I heard her say that to them. I clapped my hands and almost swept her off her feet. It was such a completely fabulous moment; one that will stay with me forever. There have been so many moments lately that it’s hard to remember them all.

  Anyway, enough about the rest of them, the other folk out there who pale into insignificance compared to Lissy McLeod. Did I tell you how brilliant my mum is? Not like the other mothers out there…… mine is the best. One in a million...

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  Acknowledgments

  Once again, I would like to thank my husband Richard for his continued support and for being my thesaurus and grammar check man when my brain has refused to work properly. I would like to thank each and every member of my family and friends for their encouragement and kind words. I am so lucky to have such close and supportive people around me.

  Thank you to everyone at Bloodhound Books Fred Freeman, Besty Reavley, Sumaira Wilson, Alexina Golding and Sarah Hardy especially Betsy and Sumaira who have to put up with my manic, late night emails and panicky messages. One of these fine days, I will get a grip, ladies!

  I must acknowledge the bloggers out there who help to get my books noticed. Your tireless efforts are the lifeblood of the publishing industry! I am eternally grateful for all that you do, promoting and reviewing. There are too many to mention individually but I think you a
re all utterly brilliant. A special mention to Carol Pickering for her help with proofreading. I always knew you had an eagle eye, Carol!

  Last, but definitely not least, I would like to show my gratitude to the readers who have taken time out of their busy lives to read my books. Without you, we writers are nothing, so a heartfelt thank you from a fairly new author who is still finding her feet!

  Undercurrent

  If you enjoyed The Other Mother take a look at these books also by best selling author J.A Baker.

  Undercurrent, The unmissable best selling debut psychological thriller by J.A Baker.

  Phoebe and her disabled husband, Martyn, move into a new house in a village on the edge of County Durham. They plan to lead a quiet existence, a set up that suits them both.

  Then Anna, who lives over the road and is bored of spending her days alone, seeks friendship with Phoebe and events take a dark turn.

  Phoebe has secrets and is haunted by her past and Anna’s arrival in her life may prove to be the catalyst for her undoing.

  What is Phoebe hiding and why are she and her husband so reclusive?

  When Anna gets caught in a storm and is rescued by Phoebe the truth becomes apparent and Anna is thrown into danger.

  Is there a difference between madness and evil?

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  Order your copy here