by Rona Halsall
They’d met at Crufts, just over a year ago, when Pete had been competing in the dog agility competition with his two collies and Martha had gone along to help. Izzy had been admiring the dogs and they’d got talking and had been in touch ever since, meeting up at a couple of events, but mostly talking on Messenger.
Izzy loved dogs as much as Martha, but she was studying for a psychology degree and couldn’t have a dog in her rented accommodation. That was something Martha could relate to because her mum was allergic to dogs, so she couldn’t have one of her own either. Fortunately, Pete let her help with his, and she often walked Pip and Buddy in the afternoons when the surgery was quiet, something that gave her an enormous amount of pleasure.
Izzy tucked her wispy blonde hair behind her ears and smiled. ‘Hi, Martha, how you doing?’
Martha could see in the thumbnail picture of herself that her face looked puffy, the red-rimmed eyes a giveaway that she’d been crying. ‘Oh God, Izzy. I’ve just had one of the worst days of my life.’ There was a tremor in Martha’s voice and tears welled up, started to trickle down her face.
‘Hey, what’s happened, hun?’ Izzy frowned and leant towards the screen as if she was looking for a way to climb through and provide a more solid form of comfort. ‘Is your mum being tricky again?’
Martha snorted and swiped at her cheeks, fed up of crying now but unable to stop, her grief flowing out of her like an eternal spring. ‘Pete…’ She gulped. ‘Pete’s dead.’
‘No!’ Izzy’s hand shot to her mouth, eyes wide. She’d met him a couple of times and knew how much Martha liked and respected him. ‘That’s awful. Hey, you cry if you need to, don’t mind me.’ She pulled a face. ‘In fact, I might join in. That’s so sad. You really loved the guy, didn’t you?’
Martha sniffed and wiped her face with her sleeves, unable to speak for a moment. She took a deep breath and sat back on the bed, her phone propped up on the bedside table so she could still see her friend. ‘I can’t even begin to tell you how I feel. It’s like my dad just died. He was that special to me.’ They sat in silence for a moment before Martha let out the longest breath. ‘On top of that bloody trauma, I’m now jobless and I’m really worried about how we’re going to manage.’
‘Won’t you get redundancy?’
This was one of the things Martha loved about Izzy; she always thought about the practicalities and she was a brilliant lateral thinker. Martha was hoping she might be able to see her situation differently and help her feel more positive about the future. She chewed at a hangnail, trying to remember what Gemma had said. ‘Only a bit, I think. I’m basically still on minimum wage, and I’ve only been there three years. It’ll be something, a couple of grand maybe, but we’re living off my wages and it’ll disappear in a matter of weeks.’
Izzy frowned. ‘Your mum still not getting much work in?’
‘Oh, Izzy. That’s my other problem. She’s getting worse. I’ve no idea how her finances work, to be honest. I mean she’s pretty secretive about that side of things and usually just tells me not to worry. But she pinched twenty quid out of my purse a couple of days ago. Swears blind she didn’t, but…’
‘Christ, the thieving bitch!’
Martha winced, shocked by the ferocity of Izzy’s response. Bitch was a bit harsh, but she could see how things might look to an outsider. Izzy had never met her mum so didn’t know about the kind, gentle, fun side to her. She’d mostly only heard Martha moaning about her.
‘How’s her drinking been this week?’
‘As bad as ever.’ Martha’s shoulders slumped, as the weight of her problems landed with a thump. ‘I don’t know what to do with her, really. I mean she doesn’t look after herself very well. That’s getting worse. She seems to be in a bit of a downwards spiral. Doesn’t care about her clothes, whether they’re clean. Doesn’t eat properly. And with her diabetes… well, it’s a constant worry.’
Izzy tutted, her head cocked to the side as she listened.
Martha ran a hand through her hair, and leant back against her pillows. ‘I’m quite worried about her, but she won’t accept any help. She hardly does any work. I don’t even know if she tries.’ She picked at a stain on the duvet cover, smoothed it out. ‘I honestly think she’s a bit depressed, but she won’t go to the doctor about it. That’s why me losing my job is such a worry. I can’t rely on her to take up the slack, it’s all down to me.’ The reality of her situation tightened her throat and she closed her eyes for a moment. I’m not going to cry again. I’m not. I’m not.
‘Are there no other vet’s practices around?’ Izzy asked. ‘Or animal rescue centres? Doggy day care? You know, that sort of thing?’
Martha gave a harsh laugh. ‘Well, it’s obvious you live in a city and have never been to this part of the world. Our neighbours moo and have four legs. Nothing but miles and miles of fields around here. Hardly any houses. And lots of those are holiday homes. Unfortunately, he was the only vet in the area. I’d have to travel to Plymouth, really, and that’s a fricking nightmare journey from here.’ She chewed at her hangnail, picking and pulling at the skin until it came loose.
‘Oh, hun, what a horrible situation. Maybe I can help?’ Izzy looked away, as if she was embarrassed. ‘I know I’m a student, but—’
‘Don’t be daft. I couldn’t take any money from you. I know how difficult it must be to manage.’ Martha huffed. ‘This is just me letting off steam. Having a rant. It’s my problem, not yours.’
There was silence for a moment. Martha rubbed her hands over her face then gave a sheepish smile. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all my problems on you.’
‘Hey, I’m here for you, Martha.’ Izzy had a fierce look on her face, the one that always made Martha smile inside. She was such a warrior at heart, was Izzy. ‘That’s what friends are for, isn’t it? A problem shared is a problem halved and all that.’
Martha welled up again, unable to speak. She nodded.
Izzy sat back and sighed. ‘I don’t suppose it’s all your mum’s fault.’ She grimaced, apologetic. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have dissed her like that. If your dad hadn’t have left… then I suppose things would have been different.’
Martha raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Don’t get me started. I know Dad leaving was the beginning of our problems, but Mum hasn’t exactly excelled when it comes to being a parent. Obviously, I love her. I do. I mean she’s a lovely person and really talented. Lots of fun on a good day.’ She took a deep breath, wishing the good days could be the norm. ‘Yeah, sometimes she’s great and I know she’s done her best, but she’s never really been…’ She pressed her lips together and gazed at Izzy for a moment before she spoke again, her voice heavy with regret. ‘Well, she’s never been there for me. Not really. She just doesn’t seem to understand when I need her, thinks a hug’s enough. She brushes problems away, pretends they’re not there. Talk about elephants in the room – I think we’ve got a whole herd of them in this house.’ She gave a feeble laugh. ‘I didn’t realise when I was younger, but looking back… I think she’s had a drink problem for a long time. I can see the mood swings, the inconsistency, the empty promises. It was probably all down to the drink.’ She puffed out her cheeks. ‘I mean, I understand. Of course I do. It’s been very lonely for her. I just wish she could see that I need a bit of support sometimes, but she gets all defensive if I say anything and we end up having a shouting match.’
‘You’ve done amazing, hun. Honestly, you have.’
‘I’d have done even better if I hadn’t been dragged away from a school that I bloody loved, and all my friends, and dumped right at the other end of the country in the middle of sodding nowhere.’ Martha gazed out of the window, feeling thoroughly despondent and sorry for herself. ‘Honestly, I never bonded with anything down here. Not the house, the school, the kids…’ She gritted her teeth, angry for her younger self having to go through the trauma of such a dramatic upheaval. ‘All my time growing up I’ve been an outsider. For years I didn’t kno
w what anyone here was talking about half the time and the kids laughed at my accent.’ Her chin quivered. ‘Now the one person who was a really positive influence in my life has died. And it just feels like…’ She stopped, and swallowed, battling against a fresh onslaught of tears. ‘It feels like my future died with him.’
‘Oh, Martha. I wish I was there to help; I really do.’ Izzy blinked, her lips wobbling, and she looked like she might burst into tears herself.
‘Yeah, so do I. Why do you have to live so far away?’ Martha ran a finger under her eyes, wiped her cheeks. ‘Don’t answer that. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or anything. I know you’ve got your course to finish.’
‘Look, why don’t you just leave?’
Izzy’s question hung in the air as Martha’s screen froze then went blank.
‘Where’ve you gone?’ Martha’s voice was panicky.
‘Bloody phone’s playing up. Sorry, hun. I can still see you though.’
Martha settled back on the bed, her eyes tracing the damp patch that was creeping down the wall. ‘I’ve thought about it. Leaving. A million times, you know, when we’ve had a row. But I can’t. Mum would never manage without me.’ She sighed, shook her head. ‘It’s not the answer.’
‘She’s keeping you prisoner.’ Izzy’s voice sounded firm, and her words took Martha by surprise. She’d rarely voiced her opinion about Martha’s situation before. ‘You know that, don’t you? Emotional blackmail. You’ve got your own life journey ahead of you. It’s not right that you’re tied to her decision-making model, her spiral of self-destructive behaviour. She manipulates you to stay by making you feel sorry for her, by being helpless. Can’t you see that? You deserve a life of your own and it’s time you thought about your own personal development needs for once.’
‘Oh, don’t go all psychologist on me, Izzy.’ Martha shuffled on the bed, adjusting the pillows to make herself more comfortable. She wasn’t sure she wanted to have this conversation at the moment, but she needed Izzy’s company. If I don’t answer, she might give up.
But she didn’t, her voice increasingly strident as she continued. ‘You know it’s true. And you know what they say about every cloud having a silver lining? Well, maybe this is the right time to have some proper conversations with your mum about the future. Make sure that any decisions meet both of your needs, not just hers? This could be a chance to make some major changes in the dynamic between you, don’t you think?’ Izzy thumped the desk she was sitting at, a sudden noise that made Martha jump. ‘Start breaking those ties and find a bit more freedom for yourself.’
It was quite a speech, and the conviction in Izzy’s voice was unnerving. Martha closed her eyes. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t thought about escaping from her responsibilities to her mother. Becoming properly independent, an ordinary woman in her twenties, carefree and having fun. But the reality was that she couldn’t do it. It wasn’t in her nature. In fact, it was the opposite of who she was. Her mum needed her, and in her heart, if she was being completely honest, Martha knew she liked being needed. Even if it did get a bit overwhelming at times. It had always been the two of them, and however much they argued, they loved each other.
She glanced at her phone, noticing Izzy’s camera was working again, her face close to the screen.
‘Look, I’ve gotta go, hun. I’ve got a tutorial group this evening.’ Izzy grimaced. ‘I’m so sorry about Pete. I know it’s really tough for you.’ She gave an apologetic smile. ‘I promise I’ll call later, okay?’
‘Oh, okay.’ Martha’s voice was weak with disappointment. ‘Tonight?’
‘About nine, I’ll be sorted by then.’
They said their goodbyes and Martha lay on her bed, lost in thought, wondering about the past. What could have happened all those years ago to land her here and turn her mother to drink?
Six
Martha
Two days ago
The following morning, as Martha sat at the breakfast bar drinking her morning cup of coffee, Izzy’s words echoed round her head, refusing to be ignored. Could I leave? She let herself consider the question in earnest. Izzy was right about a lot of things and Martha respected her opinion because she was a bit older, and you didn’t get to do a psychology degree if you weren’t clever, did you? Izzy understood people and could see things from a different perspective. One that Martha didn’t have.
Is Mum manipulating me? Is that what’s happening?
She’d known nothing but her mother, when she thought about it. Her father’s presence had been reduced by the passage of time to snapshots: small, vivid memories that popped into her mind every now and again. Playing football in the park, helping him round the house, bedtime stories, hugs on the sofa watching TV. There had been her gran, of course, but she’d died when Martha was a toddler, and she only knew her from the photo on the mantelpiece.
She frowned and rooted around in her memory bank, tried to take herself back to that night, when she was nine years old, the point at which the trouble had started.
The sound of shouting had woken her. That in itself wasn’t unusual as her parents seemed to enjoy a good row every now and again. It cleared the air, her mum told her, and there was nothing wrong with getting cross with each other if something was bothering you. She’d ignored it at first, but then she realised that this was different. There was only one voice. Her mum was hysterical, screaming and sobbing, and that wasn’t normal at all. She crept out of her bedroom and sat at the top of the stairs, not daring to go down because that definitely wasn’t allowed. The lounge door was open though, so she could hear snippets of what was going on.
‘The ambulance is on its way,’ her mum said, in a voice thick with tears. ‘Oh, Greg, how could you? I told you not to contact them. I told you.’
She could hear her dad making raspy, shushing noises.
‘I don’t know what we’re going to tell the doctors,’ her mum continued. ‘They’ll want to get the police involved and that’ll cause even more trouble.’ There was silence for a little while. Dad’s going to hospital? Martha shivered at the very thought. Then her mum’s voice again. ‘I can’t even come with you. There’s nobody to keep an eye on Martha. Oh, Greg, what have you done?’ She’d never heard her mum sounding like this – so much anguish in her voice. ‘And what if these people decide to give me or Martha a warning as well? Did you think about that? We’re not safe, are we?’
Her dad mumbled something, his words too quiet for her to hear. She wrapped her arms round her chest, hands buried in her armpits and held herself tight. This was scary. An ambulance. That must mean Dad’s really hurt. Desperate to know what was going on, she crept downstairs and peeked round the door, saw him lying on the sofa, his face battered and bruised and covered in blood. He was clutching his stomach, his mouth twisted in pain.
‘I’m not dragging Martha into this.’ Her mum’s voice was high-pitched and screechy, always a sign she was really worked up about something. ‘I can’t. She’s too young. And I don’t want her to see what those thugs have done to you. I’ll have to stay here with her.’
‘You need to calm down, Fran,’ her dad muttered. ‘Or you’ll be having a stroke, just like your mum.’
‘Don’t you tell me what to do!’ Her mum’s hands flew in the air as she spoke. ‘This is your fault. You stupid, greedy man. Your fault.’
Martha had seen more than she was supposed to and started to creep back upstairs before she was found.
‘What are you doing out of bed, young lady?’
Martha froze, her heart skipping in her chest. She peeked over her shoulder, cheeks burning. Her mum had that pinched look around the mouth, always a precursor to trouble.
‘I… I couldn’t sleep,’ Martha whispered, tensing as she waited for the inevitable telling off.
But it didn’t come. Her mum looked at her for a long moment then brushed past her on her way to the bathroom and Martha scurried back to bed.
Not long after, she heard a vehicle
pull up outside. A knock at the door, voices in the hallway. She got out of bed and peered through a crack in the curtains, saw an ambulance outside, watched the paramedics get the stretcher. She hopped back into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. Her dad was so badly hurt they were taking him to hospital. Her mum was furious. Her life had flipped into unknown territory. It was a long time before she got to sleep.
Nothing was the same after that night. Her dad never came back home.
Martha sipped her coffee and tried to work out the chronological order of things. After her father’s beating, an element of fear had crept into her life as she worried that she or her mum would be beaten up just like her dad. The atmosphere in their house had changed. She remembered phone calls punctuated by shouting when her mum thought she was asleep and hissed comments when she knew she wasn’t. Even though she’d asked about her father’s whereabouts, her mother’s stock response was, ‘You don’t need to worry about that now.’ It had never been a satisfactory answer, but her mother wouldn’t elaborate. Stubborn as a mule when she wanted to be.
A couple of months after her dad’s disappearance, her mum’s friend Anna had come to pick them up and Martha was told they were going on holiday, which was pretty exciting and she hadn’t thought to question it at the time. They’d packed a couple of suitcases and Bugsy, her favourite cuddly toy, and that was all they took, because she’d thought she’d be coming back.
They’d moved into the house where they still lived, with unfamiliar furniture and very little in the way of toys to keep her amused. It had been a very confusing time, with her mother prone to bouts of crying, leaving Martha to fend for herself. She’d spent a lot of time sitting on the windowsill with Bugsy clasped to her chest, looking out across an unfamiliar landscape of fields and hedges, watching for her dad to arrive, hoping he’d bring a semblance of normality with him. Because he would come for her. He would.
