The Forgotten Woman: A gripping, emotional rollercoaster read you’ll devour in one sitting

by Angela Marsons

  ‘It says that you’re confused. He’s done a lot wrong. They’ve done a lot wrong,’ Martine said softly, now aware of the whole story. ‘But this might be the last chance you have.’

  Fran remembered similar words she herself had spoken to Kit. She nodded uncertainly, as a black cab pulled up before them.

  ‘Go on, you take it,’ said Martine. ‘I fancy a walk. Call me later.’

  Fran impetuously turned and kissed her quickly, but gently, before diving into the taxi.

  Martine watched with trepidation as the taxi disappeared from view. The chrysalis was emerging. The controlled, calculated movements of the caterpillar were becoming the fluttering, disjointed reflexes of a young butterfly that was unsure what to do with the new body.

  They were fire and ice, she knew that. With her red hair Fran should have been the fire but it was the other way round and Martine’s fire was gradually melting the ice that preserved Fran’s emotions in a five-foot-eight, rock-hard ice cube.

  Slowly, she had said. Spend some time together. And that’s what they’d done. It was for Fran’s benefit as well as her own. But it didn’t matter. Martine knew she had crossed the line and she was in love with the woman with the long red hair.

  Her mind was thrown back to an earlier time when a visit home had cost her the woman she loved.

  She shivered with the cold that came from inside and glanced after the taxi that had turned the corner, out of sight. Was history about to repeat itself?

  Foreboding consumed Fran as she pulled up outside the house.

  Was it her relationship with Martine – or rather her friendship? No physical expressions of their affection had happened. Fran knew that was down to her. The thought of the physical relationship filled her with a desire and longing so deep that it reduced her to a quivering mass. She had never wanted anyone with the all-encompassing desire with which she wanted Martine, but something held her back. She was still hiding from herself and the rest of the world and she was unsure what was preventing her from taking the final step that she wanted to, needed to, take with both her body and her heart. Her life was changing almost by the minute. Layers were being peeled away to reveal a vulnerability she hadn’t known was there.

  Fran looked again at the exterior of the large house that had no redeeming features. No bushes or shrubs were littered to soften the edges. No attractive lamps to shine and welcome visitors. The source of her discomfort became clear. There was unfinished business in this house.

  ‘Hello, Mother,’ addressed Fran as the door was opened for her. The coolness of the large entrance hall hit her. It was the end of July but somehow this house remained the same temperature all year. ‘How is Father?’

  ‘It’s not a good day today,’ her mother said with just a hint of impatience.

  Fran caught Alicia’s disapproving look as she noted the casual jeans and V-neck T-shirt along with the mass of curls falling like a waterfall over the shoulders.

  She realised that her mother’s surreptitious glances were never that. They were designed to be noticed just enough to make you question yourself but not enough to provoke a confrontation.

  Fran ran her hands over the denim on her hips to rid herself of the perspiration already building on her palms. Why was she peering so closely at her mother’s every word or expression? What was she looking for?

  ‘I’ve ordered tea to be taken in the lounge. I thought we might have a chat before you see your father.’

  There was no such thing with her mother. Alicia didn’t waste anything, not even syllables or syntax. They sat opposite each other in the lounge that hadn’t changed at all. Two things occurred to Fran as she sat waiting for her mother’s very own brand of Spanish Inquisition.

  The first was her surprise that they hadn’t even touched. There had been no pathetically false hug or even an attempt to kiss the air to the sides of each other’s cheeks. Are the pretences falling away before my very eyes? Fran wondered. Can we not even be bothered to act as though something real exists between us? Secondly she looked around, urgently, trying to find some shred of evidence that she’d been here, lived here for the first eighteen years of her life.

  There were no photographs or pictures or any little trinket she’d produced proudly at school for her parents. No chipped vases or marks on the furniture that could prove her dying conviction that she’d been a child in this house. Globe lights still shone down on to ivory wallpaper with delicate gold horizontal lines. Gold-plated picture lights illuminated limited edition prints of beautiful works of art that were wasted here. Sculptures that had been pored and sweated over that deserved respect and conversation remained unnoticed. Fran looked around sadly, wishing the house felt more like home instead of a distant memory. There had never been any children in this house. A stunted, small adult, but no child.

  There were many things that she wanted to say to her mother, was desperate to scream at her, but that would inevitably be followed by her leaving the house with the intention of never returning. But she was not free to take that action yet. She had to see her father.

  ‘You’ve quit your job,’ Alicia stated.

  ‘Yes,’ answered Fran, feeling like a kid with her fingers caught in the cookie jar.

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘What more do you want, Mother?’ she asked with a show of bravery that was not mirrored in her nerves, which still jumped to attention in this woman’s presence.

  ‘You have this romantic notion of becoming an artist. You think you have the talent to produce good works and support yourself with an easel and a paintbrush. Frances, you don’t have a chance.’

  Fran was stung by the words. ‘At this point, Mother, I have no idea what I’m capable of except the courage to try.’ She tried to reason with her. ‘Have you never had that urge to create something that’s all you? Isn’t there just one thing inside of you that you’d like to share with other people? Something that makes them laugh, cry, shiver, anything just as long as it makes them feel.’

  Her passion had forced her to once more try to bridge the gap between them. If there was only one thing on which they could agree… Alicia’s blank expression at the heartfelt words convinced Fran of her worst fears: there was no way back for them, ever.

  ‘Your time would be better spent asking for your job back. Law is what you’re good at, and you enjoy it.’

  ‘That’s your opinion, but just because you think it does not make it a fact. I was good at it, yes. But I wasn’t happy. And I won’t be going back.’

  She knew by Alicia’s set expression that she was not happy with the outcome of the conversation.

  ‘I’ll go up and see Father now,’ said Fran, eager to be out of her mother’s presence.

  Alicia sighed, nodded and retrieved a book from the coffee table.

  The sight of her father’s fragile, ashen face shocked Fran. Only a couple of weeks had passed since she’d seen him.

  She took his rough, bony hand in hers. After all their years without physical contact Fran was surprised at how easily she made that small gesture. Anger still bit deeply at her stomach, but this was not the time. It was too late. However hot the rage that boiled in her veins, she could not scald a dying man.

  His face lit up slightly when he saw her. Something shifted behind his gaze as though he were disorientated. ‘You look wonderful! Your hair is better like that.’ Fran heard a wistful tone tinge the words that were spoken gruffly.

  ‘You’re looking well too,’ she lied.

  ‘I’ve made a very good living from reading people’s faces. I look like shit! It won’t be long now.’

  ‘Don’t—’

  ‘It’s all right, Frances. I’m not scared. There’ll be someone waiting for me. I’ve seen her. She’s unhappy with me and she’s right to be, but she loves me and she’s waiting.’

  Fran became a little scared. She hadn’t realised that he was delusional. She didn’t know what to say. He was oblivious to her fear. ‘I failed her and I failed y
ou. If I could go back I would. I’d give my life to make it up to you and Bethy.’

  ‘I think I should call—’

  ‘I’m sick of it,’ he said with more force than his body owned. ‘Sick to death of never being able to mention her name. Tired of denying she ever existed and that I loved her, more than life.’ He turned serious eyes on her. ‘You see, Frances, I deserve my life. I courted the disappointment and disillusionment that I got. I had a chance to be happy and I blew it so I deserved what she gave me. But not you. I loved you so much and couldn’t show it.’

  A tear slid out of the corner of his eye. His voice was tormented. Fran was transfixed by his words. He spoke with confidence and clarity and something else, she thought it was urgency. She had the definite feeling that she’d entered the wrong room. That her father lay elsewhere in staunch silence waiting fearlessly for his final breath.

  ‘Every day I ached to hold you and play with you. I wanted to take you places and watch you grow.’ His eyes stared through her as though he were explaining his actions to someone else. ‘But I didn’t. I was a coward of the worst kind. I stood by and watched as she gradually picked away at your spirit because she knew. She could see that you had fire, and she knew where it had come from.’

  Fran was bewildered. She still clutched the hand that lay still within hers while the other gestured with animation. She could do nothing but listen. He’d spoken more words to her in five minutes than she could remember throughout her entire life.

  She wanted to understand his torment, even if it wasn’t real. ‘Are you talking about Mother?’ she whispered.

  ‘Don’t call her that!’ he roared. The effort forced artificial colour into his ashen features, which quickly faded away. Fran reared backwards. She’d never seen such deep, emotional feelings in her father. His mouth twitched. There was something hovering behind the closed lips. His eyes held fire that threatened to spill out and burn him. Fran knew something major was happening but she was fearful for his health. She pushed herself out of the chair but Patrick held fast to her hand with surprising strength. ‘She’d have me go to the grave with this on my conscience just as long as it didn’t open the can of worms she had nailed, locked and welded shut tighter than a Pharaoh’s tomb twenty-three years ago. There is no more she can do to me now. I should have told you years ago.’

  Fran felt the tight squeeze of his hand. Her bewilderment kept her silent. ‘If I thought the truth would harm you I would gladly keep it inside and live with it for all eternity, but I don’t think it will harm you. I think it will save you.’ He took a deep breath that barely lifted his chest. ‘You had a skeleton childhood. If it can be personified as a human then you had the bare bones. You were fed, clothed and educated but you didn’t get any of the flesh and muscle which is affection, encouragement and guidance.’

  Fran’s heartbeat began to thud against her chest wall. It felt as if the sound filled the room.

  ‘Alicia and I were never in love. We met at college and both thought the whole concept overrated so we sort of gravitated together. To cut a long story short I met someone. She was lifeblood itself. She had spirit and love and she was wise enough to see into your very soul. We had an affair – that’s a horrible word for the love that we shared – but she became pregnant. Alicia found out about us at roughly the same time. It was hard to hide; you see, Fran, Beth was Alicia’s sister.’

  The room began to swim. Fran pushed her feet to the ground to keep from falling over. She knew what was coming.

  ‘You’re my daughter, Frances, mine and Beth’s.’

  Her foundations crumbled beneath her. A sickness rose up and consumed her, the full force of her father’s words hitting her time after time. She’s not my mother; she’s not my mother. The words circled around her brain like vultures around a corpse. She wanted to pull her hand away from his but she couldn’t. The familiar thudding started in her chest. A mist appeared around her father like an old photo. Oh God, not now, please not now, she prayed. She fought the approaching darkness with all her might. Hang on, just hang on; let me get to the truth first, she pleaded. She knew only that she gripped her father’s hand with caveman strength, aware that if she let go she would fall headfirst into the blackness that stalked her. She focused on his face and felt her heartbeat slow as her mind became busy. Old questions were being evicted by new ones. She was an addict; she wanted to hear it all.

  ‘She had wild, curly hair, didn’t she?’ The words were barely audible but Patrick heard them. He nodded.

  ‘Alicia hated her with as much passion as she is capable of. Beth was everything she wasn’t: she was artistic and free. When she found out about us, Alicia supposedly forgave us both and asked Beth to move in so we could look after her during her pregnancy. I was ordered to stay away, and I did. The only person she saw for seven months was Alicia. During that time Alicia convinced Beth to leave you here when you were born.

  ‘Alicia arranged for Beth to go away for a while to recuperate after the birth. By the time she returned you were legally ours and Beth had no rights to you at all.’

  ‘But you loved her?’ cried Fran. Her body was alive with a mixture of feelings that ran around her alternating between betrayal, anger and loss for something she’d never known.

  ‘Yes, I did, but I was scared. I was weak. We were both successful. Alicia could have destroyed all that.’

  ‘But how did you…’

  ‘As I said, we were both successful lawyers and we knew some powerful people. The details were simple. The birth certificate was easily falsified and Doctor Treadwell had been in the family for years.’

  ‘But why did she want me?’

  ‘Because you were a part of something she could never understand. It gave her power to have something of Beth’s.’

  ‘How did she die?’ asked Fran. She wanted to know everything.

  ‘She was in a traffic accident on her way from a private investigator’s office. She hadn’t given up trying to get you back and was in the process of attempting to find a loophole in Alicia’s plan.’

  Fran sat silently, her whole body paralysed.

  ‘Why couldn’t you tell me sooner?’ She tried to keep the accusation out of her voice but her words had an edge.

  ‘I have no excuses to give you. I watched you as a child strive for Alicia’s attention, her love. I cried inwardly every time she pushed you away. The more love you showed, the harder she pushed as she saw you become like your mother.’

  Those words – ‘your mother’ – which now bore no relation to Alicia flew around Fran’s head looking for a home.

  ‘Even now you still try to gain her approval. I only wonder what that has cost you.’

  She didn’t know where they came from but one of the feelings had strayed from the others and aimed straight for her eyes. The tears scalded her cheeks. Fran didn’t know whether they were for herself, her mother, father or Alicia. She only knew that they had to be released.

  Everything had been built on a lie, a lie which had assured her life and the person she was only now beginning to realise was not real. She had been shaped into a product, a robot that worked by remote control. A top-of-the-range, state-of-the-art android. Alicia had wanted to make her sister’s child into a carbon copy of herself and so she stripped away the soul that should have loved to sing, dance, hold a paintbrush and feel.

  An image of Martine swam before Fran’s blinded eyes. Yet someone had broken through. Somewhere in her battered, rejected heart remained a portion of undamaged tissue. She did have the ability to feel, and yet she still held Martine slightly away. Why was she afraid to seize what she wanted and what she knew would make her happy? Was she still trying for her approval even now? Would she, could she, break the habit of a lifetime even after what she’d just learned?

  She wanted to be alone to collect her strewn emotions. Thoughts tumbled around her head like clothes in a spin dryer. She wanted someone to blame. She wanted to rage and shout at the drawn, sick figure in th
e bed, with whom she could have been so close.

  Even now his hair held only a hint of grey but his eyes were haunted, the past running around in his head like an old, favourite movie. Her father was broken – he had been broken by a woman with a will of steel against which he’d never stood a chance. Yet Fran couldn’t vent her feelings at him. He had nothing to gain by his words; he’d done it for her. She might never have known, but he was trying to set her free.

  She leaned over and kissed his cheek. The moisture from her tears transferred to his cheek. ‘I love you.’

  Fran didn’t know if Beth was waiting for him, but she hoped so. She swallowed hard. ‘Dad, if you see her, tell her I’ll be okay. Tell her I’m happy now.’

  He nodded, eager to believe her.

  They sat together for what seemed an eternity. Just holding hands and allowing the tears for a life they had lost to cleanse their hearts of the past they had endured together but separately.

  After what seemed hours, and when Patrick fell into an uneasy sleep, Fran reluctantly released his hand. It was time to face the woman who called herself ‘Mother’.

  17

  Kit

  It took Kit a split second to realise that something was wrong. Even in the darkness she knew that there was someone in her flat. That it had been defiled. It was too late to run as she was forced backward against the door by a five-inch shining blade pointing at her face. Her heart filled with dread and she knew, her whole body felt and knew who it was. The trembling started in her legs and quickly travelled upwards, causing her cheek to move precariously towards the steadily held knife. She closed her eyes and prayed for her life.

  ‘You knew it wasn’t over.’

  The voice was the same. Soft, controlled and with a power that went straight for Kit’s stomach.

  She nodded. She had always known that he would find her. Her sight adjusted to the light, making his eyes visible through the darkness. A slow smile formed on his cruel mouth to reveal even white teeth punctuated by two gold ones.