I must have come out wrong. Martha’s somewhere in between all of us. I loved her so much. I love her. I love those kids of hers.
And yet she betrayed me.
I still can’t believe it.
‘Tell them,’ I reply.
‘What?’
‘Tell the police. Tell anyone you want. Who’s going to believe you? What proof have you got?’
It’s awful, it’s scary and yet I still get that buzz when I see the confusion on his face. He’s not even considered this.
‘They’ll believe it,’ he says – but his voice falters halfway through.
‘I’m going home,’ I reply.
I’m almost out of the kitchen when Liam lunges, grabbing my arm and pulling me roughly back into the room with him.
‘If I go down, if I lose this house, everyone’s coming down with me. You, Helen, those girls, everyone.’
The chills are back. His teeth are clenched, spit flecking between them.
‘What do you mean?’ I reply.
His eyes are wild. ‘That inheritance should’ve been for Martha and me. You were thirteen, for God’s sake. What were they thinking? How could they leave us all the same?’
The strange thing is that I’ve always wondered about this, too. Liam’s furious about this – but it was always money with him. If he’d had one million or ten million, he’d have found a way to blow it. That’s who he is.
I’ll never know why Mum and Dad decided to split everything equally between us. Martha said she thought it was the fear of shame. Whether they died when they did, or if they lived until they were in their nineties, they had a legacy. People remembered them fondly and if it had come out that they’d done something odd with their will – leaving me out, for instance; or giving everything to a dog sanctuary or something – then it would have affected how they were viewed.
She was probably right. Mum and Dad were thinking about keeping up appearances even when dead. That’s their real legacy, I suppose.
‘Don’t you dare touch those girls,’ I say – and in doing so, my brother knows my weakness. If I’m honest, if I were really put on the spot, it’s hard to care about Liam. We’ve never known each other and we share nothing in common.
But those girls…
I love Dillon and Daisy like they’re my own. Every time I see them, I remember those evenings alone with Martha in the flat. The fun and the jokes. The way we made time pass through doing so little. And when I saw Jasmine and Skye for the first time, the feeling was there, too. I’m not even sure why.
Liam smirks and shows all the nastiness in him. He really is our mother’s child.
‘Or what?’ he scorns. ‘What will you do? Go to the police? Do it – you tell them your story and I’ll tell them mine.’
Those poor girls. Poor Helen. I don’t know how this keeps happening. How my parents somehow fooled so many people for so many years. Child entertainers who were heroes to millions, only they weren’t.
‘What do you want?’ I ask.
My question brings perhaps the first genuine smile of our exchange. I’m shattered.
‘All I want is about a hundred grand,’ Liam says. ‘That’ll help me settle a few bills and then I’ll leave you alone – that’s if you want. You can see the girls. It’s all up to you.’
‘I don’t have a hundred grand, Liam.’
‘I’ve got an idea for that. Mum and Dad used to do it all the time. They were the masters at it. Now it’s our turn.’
Forty-Eight
Now
Seth
‘Call the police.’
Charley’s instruction is terrifying in its simplicity. I think she’s talking to me, but she’s not. Helen is still swaying on the sofa, but her eyes are wider and she’s starting to sit straighter. Charley pushes herself up from the sofa and strides towards me. She stops in the doorway.
‘Call them now,’ Charley says.
‘Tell them what?’ Helen replies, then: ‘Where are you going?’
‘My parents’ house in Langton. Send the police there. Tell them it’s urgent. Call now.’
Charley waits until Helen picks up the phone and then rushes past me towards the front door. By the time I catch her, she is almost back at the car.
‘Hey, I’m coming, too,’ I say.
‘Fine.’
I’m not sure if her driving is impressive or reckless. It’s probably both. It’s definitely frightening. All the while, she’s staring unwaveringly in front. Her parents’ old house is only six or seven miles from Liam’s place – although it’s all country lanes.
‘How do you know he’s gone to your parents’?’ I ask.
‘Where else is he going to go? It’s all about the story for him.’
There’s little point in arguing. He’s her brother, after all.
‘Were you at his house the whole time you were missing? Is that why you knew about the basement?’
‘Yes.’
As simple as that. No expansion – one word.
‘What about Helen and the girls?’ I ask.
‘He said they were staying at her mum’s. I don’t know.’
‘You were with him the whole time?’
‘Yes.’
I pause as Charley takes a corner on the wrong side of the road. I know I should tell her to stop. If she has a death wish, that’s one thing – but there might be other drivers out as well.
When we’re back on course, I wait a few moments before asking the other thing. ‘What about the black eye?’
‘He said he wanted it to look good.’
Liam. Her own brother said that.
‘But why?’
Charley finally shows some emotion: a long, loud sigh. Regret? Who knows.
‘Money,’ she says. ‘It’s what it’s always about with my family.’
She takes another corner and then brakes sharply, tyres squealing on the road. Thank goodness it’s dry.
This is ridiculous, but I have a feeling that if I were to say something, she’d screech to a halt and tell me I’m free to get out.
The gates to the Willises’ old house are open and Liam’s 4x4 is parked where Mason stopped when we visited. The headlights of our car flash across the building site and Charley leaves them on as she slams on the brakes and opens her door. The car’s buzzer whines in annoyance at the headlights still being on.
As if the battery matters much right now.
I’m slow off the mark, dazed by the evening. It’s late and everything has gone wrong.
Liam is here, precisely as Charley said. It feels as if he’s been waiting for her. He’s in jeans and a plaid shirt as if he works on the site, standing with his back to the pit. He’s on the edge and as Charley races towards him, he holds up a hand.
‘Steady there, sis,’ he says. ‘Don’t come too close.’
She stops four or five metres short.
There are two lumpy blankets at his feet and it takes me a second to realise those are his daughters.
They’re not moving.
I approach slower, arms out to my side, trying to be unthreatening. Liam acknowledges me with a sideways glance, but he only has eyes for Charley.
‘What have you done to them?’ she asks. Her voice is calm, but I know her too well. Or thought I did.
She’s scared.
I am, too.
‘Bit of this sleeping agent,’ he says. ‘Got it on prescription. Helen seemed to enjoy hers.’
‘Those things are dangerous for children.’
‘Bit late now.’
Charley takes a half step forward, but Liam growls at her. His feet are right by the blanket balls and he is so close to the edge that it would only take a flick and they’d both be over the top and into the pit. The fall would be five metres, or so. Perhaps enough that an adult might break a bone or two and survive. Perhaps. A baby, though…
Liam crouches and nudges the blankets to the side. His eyes don’t leave Charley, but he uncovers one twin after the other.
There are wispy bits of blonde on top of their heads. They’re five months old now, definitely bigger than when we last saw them. They’re wearing matching yellow all-in-one romper suits, bottoms bulked from a nappy.
‘They’re heavier than they look,’ he says before standing again. ‘I thought you might turn up.’
‘Have they been outside this whole time?’
Liam doesn’t reply.
‘Are they still breathing?’ Charley sounds like she might cry.
Liam smirks and there’s something awful there. When it comes to Charley’s family, her parents specifically, I only knew what everyone else did, until this evening. If her mother was even half as cruel as Charley says, then I can see where it comes from. He’s actually amused by all this.
‘They’re not going to pay you, are they?’ he says. ‘We’re never going to get that money for your interviews.’
Charley is cool again, cooler than me, that’s for sure. I’m a little behind her, off to her left, not daring to go any closer in case her psycho brother flips one of those poor girls off the edge. That’s if they’re still breathing, of course.
‘We never wanted the money,’ Charley replies. ‘I didn’t want it before and I don’t want it now. You wanted it. You made me do all this. It’s always about the money. You really are our parents’ son.’
I want to say her name, to tell her to shut up. The bloke is literally on the edge – that’s not a time to start pushing.
I say nothing.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Liam replies. ‘It’s the world we live in.’
‘Your world,’ Charley says.
Another smirk. ‘Not any more, Charlotte. You were a natural on TV.’
Charley edges a centimetre or two forward. ‘Let me take the girls,’ she says.
‘Uh-uh. Get back.’
His foot hovers over one of the bundles. I’m not sure which twin is which.
‘This is murder,’ Charley says. ‘What do you think’s going to happen? How will you explain this?’
‘You’re the one who knows about murder.’ He glances to me. ‘Do you know about the monster you married?’
‘I, um…’
‘Don’t talk to him.’ Charley speaks over me and her brother grins.
‘No one needs to know about this.’ He nudges one of the twins with his foot. There’s a horrifying fraction of a second where I think he’s going to keep pushing, but he doesn’t.
‘No one needs to know about us being here?’ Charley asks.
‘Right. We can forget all this.’
‘What about the other stuff?’
‘They don’t know I was with you,’ Liam says. ‘I’ve seen the pictures online – it’s only the back of my head. You could make up anything. Say it’s anyone. You’re having an affair, or whatever. Tell them you’re still a wreck after what happened to Mum and Dad and Martha. You ran off with someone else and then changed your mind. You made up all that stuff about being abducted because you’re mental, or whatever. No one will care in a few weeks.’
‘What about the money? I only did all this – said all this – because of you. I can do what you say, but it’s not going to get you the money.’
‘I know. I’ve thought of that.’
It’s not a cold evening. Long-sleeved top and shorts or jeans. No jacket needed – but it feels cold now. There’s a slight breeze tickling across the pit but it’s more like a hurricane.
Liam nudges one of his daughters with the toe of his boot again. ‘This will be the killer,’ he says. ‘The one from fifteen years ago. He came back and took the girls, threw them into the hole where the house used to be. Cursed house, cursed family. That’s the story, isn’t it? That’s what they’ll pay to read. This will get us back in the spotlight. Another tragedy. It’s all there: Mum, Martha, the girls…’
He tails off as if this is all a straightforward plan that makes perfect sense. As if there aren’t people involved. As if his baby daughters aren’t at his feet, either dead, doped or both.
‘This isn’t going to work,’ Charley says. Her voice is cold, a tickle on the breeze.
‘Why? This is the next thing. My turn, I guess. Mum, dad, sister, now my girls. This is my story, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t do this.’
‘You have to keep giving people more, don’t you? Mum and Dad knew that. It’s why they had you. People were forgetting them, so they had another baby and then they were famous again.’
I’m staring sideways at Charley and I want to hold her so badly. How can anyone live their life knowing this? That a person – an actual human – is window dressing for their egomaniac parents.
‘Don’t say that, Liam.’
‘But it’s true, isn’t it? I knew it as soon as Mum said she was pregnant. You spent all those years with Martha, thinking you were better than me, but, really, I’m the original. You were there to sell books and make a TV show. You’re a prop.’
I take a small step ahead, but I’m still a little behind Charley. I want to tell her she’s not a prop to me, she never will be – but this isn’t my place. I’m not even sure I should be here.
‘People demand more stories,’ Liam says. ‘More pictures. More access. More everything. The strange thing is, even though you killed Mum and Dad, it completed their story, didn’t it? It made them more famous than they could have ever hoped. If they’d stayed alive, they’d have drifted away and, five years later, no one would know who they were. You made them in the end. You know that, don’t you?’
I’ve not had anywhere near enough time to process what Charley told me about her parents – but Liam is right. Charley knows it, too. I can see it in her expression. It’s a stunned state of bewilderment, like he’s actually struck her.
‘I—’
Liam cuts her off. ‘That’s what gave me the idea. I should’ve thought of it before. When Helen had twins, I thought people would care. Continuing the Willis legacy and all that – but that isn’t what they want. They want tragedy. There is no curse, no killer – but it’s only us who knows that. People will believe what they want. They believed it with Mum and Dad, they believed it with Martha.’
It’s as if everything has frozen. Charley stares at Liam and he stares back at her.
‘There’s no way Martha told you what happened,’ Charley says.
He smiles.
‘How could you know?’ she adds.
Then Charley’s expression changes from measured anger to outright horror.
‘Tell me you didn’t…’
Forty-Nine
4 Years Ago
Martha Willis, 33 years old
I don’t recognise the number that calls my phone. It’s a mobile, probably some random who used to know the person that had my number before I did.
‘Hello?’
‘Martha.’
I recognise his voice straight away, even though I can’t remember when we last spoke. Liam.
‘How are you doing?’ he asks.
The thing is, it doesn’t matter how my brother greets me or whatever I say to him, he’ll always bring the conversation back to money. It’s what he does.
Dillon is busy trying to eat a Duplo block, while Daisy is sleeping in her crib. Mason’s busy in the garden, but I pull the living room door closed in case he comes back inside.
‘What do you want?’ I say quietly.
‘All right, sis. Bloody hell. What sort of greeting is that?’
‘Just tell me what you want.’
‘Fine. I’ve got news about what happened to Mum and Dad. Can you come to the house?’
I was ready for him to ask for money, primed to tell him to get lost. What I didn’t expect was this. How can he know about Mum and Dad? He can’t. Surely he can’t? Charley wouldn’t have told him and it’s only us who know.
‘Martha?’
‘I’m still here.’
‘Can you come? I’ll meet you at their house. Don’t tell anyone. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. It’
s important.’
I’m about to tell him that it’s going to take me at least forty to get there, but he’s already gone.
I spend a good minute staring at my phone, wondering if he’ll call back or text, wondering if I should.
What the hell?
How could he know? It’s impossible.
‘Mummy…’ Dillon is tugging on my leg, but I didn’t even realise he’d crossed the room.
‘What, sweetie?’
‘Will you come play? I’m making a fire engine.’
There’s a mound of red bricks on the carpet that have been bashed together. A fire engine is probably pushing it a bit. If my house was on fire, his concoction of randomly slapped together bricks is not what I’d want rolling up. Not that it could roll up. It’s only got three wheels and two of them are square.
‘That’s really smart,’ I say. ‘I’ll see if Daddy can help you.’
‘Want you.’
I smooth his hair. ‘I know you do, honey – but Mummy has to go out.’
He frowns up at me and it’s hard to know if he’s actually annoyed. Either way, I pick him up, make a quick check on a still sleeping Daisy, and then head through to the garden.
Mason is busy doing his man stuff. Grrr and all that. He’s been digging a hole because, presumably, that’s what men do. I want to make fun, but he’s all sweaty and the muscles in his upper arms are bulging. Yeah. Grrr and all that.
‘I need to go out for a bit,’ I say. It’s our little code when either of us want a short break from the kids. An hour here, ninety minutes there.
He wipes his brow and puts down the spade. ‘Can you give me a couple of minutes to clean up – then I’ll come in.’
‘Sure.’
It’s a long two minutes as I sit in the living room, watching as Dillon puts wings on his fire engine. I can barely focus on him, all I can think of is Liam and what he knows. Or thinks he knows.
There’s no way I’ll let him harm Charley. That girl’s been through enough already. None of it was ever her fault.
Mason comes into the living room, wiping his wet hands on his trousers. He grins and places his clammy palms on my cheeks, growling as he gives me a quick kiss.
The Wife’s Secret: A gripping psychological thriller with a heart-stopping twist Page 26
