Her Mother's Lies: A gripping psychological thriller with a stunning twist

by Rona Halsall

  ‘Well, it would be a shock you just turning up on his doorstep after fifteen years. But from what you’ve told me, it seems like—’

  ‘He wasn’t my dad. That’s what he said.’ Martha sniffed, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

  ‘Yes, but…’ Izzy was clearly at a loss to know how to ease Martha’s pain and confusion. ‘It sounds like you need a proper conversation with your mum. Get it all out in the open and see what she has to say. You don’t know what happened, do you? Maybe he wanted to be with you and she wouldn’t let him?’

  Martha nodded, her teeth biting at her bottom lip to try and quell the tears. ‘I’ve always wondered that. You know, made sense of his absence by believing that. But now I’ve met him again, I’m not so sure.’ She glanced at Izzy, eyes wet and sore with crying. ‘He didn’t want me there. Didn’t want to speak to me.’ Her hands tangled together in her lap. ‘That’s why I got angry with him.’

  Izzy seemed to have run out of comforting things to say and they sat in silence, staring out of the windscreen at the dimming light of the evening sky. ‘Look, we can go round and round with our theories and we won’t get any further with this conversation,’ Izzy said eventually. ‘I vote we go in here and have something to eat, then we might feel a bit more positive.’

  Martha nodded and managed a fleeting smile. She had no better ideas, and now they’d stopped she could feel hunger gnawing at her belly.

  ‘My treat,’ Izzy said when they found a seat inside and started looking at the menus. It was a generic sort of pub, one of a chain, full of dark oak furniture and red carpets, the menu familiar and unexciting.

  Martha shook her head. ‘No way. If you’re driving me home, then I’m buying the food.’ She looked back at the menu. ‘And I’ll pay for petrol.’

  Izzy huffed. ‘Nope. You’ve just lost your job. I’m not taking any money off you.’

  They stared at each other. Martha sat back in her seat, holding her menu like a shield against her chest.

  Izzy put her own menu back in the holder on the table and fiddled with a beer mat, turning it over and over, her eyes glued to it as if she was hypnotised. ‘Look, money isn’t a problem for me. My mum died when I was a teenager. She left me some money. Not loads, but it’s been invested, and I’ve got plenty to keep me going for a while. I’m not on a student loan, like you think I am.’ She glanced up. ‘Maybe I should have said something sooner but, you know, money’s not an easy subject, and once you’d made that assumption about where I was at financially, it just felt awkward having to make a bloody statement about it.’ She looked down at the beer mat. Laid it on the table, edges squared up, just so. ‘Anyway, I don’t need looking after. So, please don’t worry about money on my behalf, okay?’

  Her voice was firm and Martha felt like an impertinent child who’d been put in their place. A flush of heat rushed up her neck, burned her cheeks, and she realised it was the first time she’d been so keenly aware of their age difference. She’d never asked Izzy how old she was and the information had never been volunteered, but looking at her now, she could see the creases round her eyes, lines at the corner of her mouth, and decided she was probably older than she’d originally thought. Mid-thirties at a guess, maybe nearer forty.

  I really don’t know her that well, do I? The thought made her scalp prickle.

  Izzy gave her a little smile. ‘Sorry. I’m not getting at you in any way, but I don’t want to talk about money. I’d decided I was going on a trip for the Easter holidays, I just picked you up along the way. Okay? No big deal.’

  Martha nodded. ‘Fine, yes, that’s… understood.’ She looked at her menu again. ‘Caesar salad would be lovely. Thank you.’

  She watched as Izzy went to order, trying to work out why she should be feeling so bemused by her generosity and kindness. Izzy had rushed over to Wales to support her and taken control when Martha had been falling apart, getting them away from a situation that could have been extremely difficult. Now she was taking her home. She’s looking after me, that’s all. In fact, she’s being a proper friend. Really, she should be a bit more grateful.

  With her thoughts in order, she smiled when Izzy came back to the table carrying two glasses of wine. Martha took a grateful sip and put her glass down carefully, arranging it on the centre of a beer mat.

  ‘Look, I just wanted to say thank you for everything.’

  Izzy looked embarrassed and flapped a hand.

  ‘No, it’s a big thing for me. I’m not used to being looked after and I’ve been a bit…’ She scrunched up her nose, feeling awkward. ‘I’ve been hard work, I know I have. So I’m sorry for that, and thank you for everything and for taking me home.’

  Izzy beamed at her, but Martha noticed her chin wobbling, her eyes glistening. ‘Like I said, hun. It’s not a big deal.’

  Martha wiped the condensation from her glass with a finger, feeling empty and exhausted after her little speech, at a loss to know what to talk about. In the silence, her problems crowded her thoughts. Pete, Greg, money, her mum – they were all in there, vying for attention.

  ‘How’s your mum?’ Izzy said, as though she’d read her mind. ‘Have you spoken to her today?’

  Martha slapped a hand to her cheek. ‘Oh God, no I haven’t. And she’s expecting me to visit this evening.’ She cringed. ‘I mean, I know it was never going to be possible with the train times, but I had to say something to cover my tracks, so she wouldn’t know what I was doing.’ Her mouth twisted when she caught Izzy’s eye. ‘I told her I was going for an interview at KFC this afternoon and might not be able to get there at visiting time.’ She looked away, shame burning her cheeks. What was I thinking? As if Mum hasn’t suffered enough already? She’ll think I don’t care. Martha felt it then, the tug at her heart, certain that she’d let Fran down. ‘I’d better give her a ring. She’ll be waiting for me.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s not nice being alone in hospital. And there’s nothing worse than waiting for someone who doesn’t turn up, is there?’

  The tone of Izzy’s voice made Martha feel even worse. She’s judging me. Her jaw tightened and she prickled with indignation for a moment until she remembered that Izzy had been on the other side of things, as a nurse. She’s only trying to be helpful. A little nudge, that’s all.

  ‘Go on, give her a call while we’re waiting for the food.’ Izzy shooed her away with her hands. ‘Then you can relax. You’ll definitely be able to see her tomorrow – can’t say what time, though. Maybe say late afternoon or early evening, just to be sure?’

  Martha hurried outside, where it was quiet, and pulled her phone out of her pocket, guilt knotting in her chest as she noticed all the missed calls.

  Sixteen

  Martha

  Now

  Martha had thought that the day Pete died was the worst day of her life. Finding her mum in a coma was up there with it, but she realised that this one was probably top of the list. Her emotions were so tangled up she wasn’t sure how she felt about anything any more. All those stupid dreams she’d had about her reunion with Greg, how he’d be so pleased to see her. How wrong was that? Now he was dead, murdered, and the very idea of it struck terror into her heart. Because if she hadn’t killed him, then someone else had.

  Away from Izzy, she made a quick check on a couple of news sites and found a report about the incident. There was no mention of looking for a blonde-haired young woman in connection with the crime. No photofit that looked just like her. No witness saying they’d seen somebody running away down the alley at the back of the houses.

  Izzy’s right, she told herself as her heart skipped around in her chest. Nobody knows I was there.

  She leant against the wall of the pub, took a deep breath and rang her mum.

  ‘Martha?’ Fran’s voice was wheezy, like she was struggling to breathe.

  ‘Hi, Mum, how are you today?’ Martha tried to sound light and chirpy, the opposite of how she felt.

  ‘I thought you were coming to visit.’ The
hurt in Fran’s voice stabbed at Martha’s conscience. ‘That’s what you said. And you haven’t answered any of my calls.’

  Martha cringed. ‘I’m so sorry. I know I said I’d try and visit. But they were late with the interviews and I missed my bus, so I’m afraid I couldn’t make it. And you know how patchy reception is round here. I thought it would be best to wait until I got home to call.’

  Silence for a moment, then Martha could hear sniffing and she realised her mum was crying. Her guilt deepened, tightening her chest. Should I just tell her? She shook the thought away as quickly as it had arrived. Not over the phone. But definitely when she went to see her – it was time for a bit more honesty between them, time for them both to be a bit more adult in their relationship.

  ‘Tomorrow, Mum. I’ll definitely be there tomorrow. Honestly, I promise.’

  ‘I’ve…’ Her mum sniffed. ‘I’ve been waiting all day. And I was so looking forward to seeing you, sweetheart. I really miss you, you know?’

  ‘I know, Mum. I know. I’m really, really sorry.’

  Tears pricked at Martha’s eyes as she listened to her mum cry on the other end of the phone, so far away, all alone and poorly. A little memory paraded itself in her mind. She’d had chicken pox and her mum had put her work on hold for a couple of weeks while she was off school; she’d spent hours playing board games with her and making drawings for her to colour in, doing everything she could to make her comfortable. Then there was the time she’d broken her leg. Another time, when she’d had flu. She hung her head, thoroughly ashamed of herself. However much Martha believed Fran’s illness was of her own making, now, more than ever, she needed her.

  I’ve got to step up. Make this right, she decided.

  ‘Are you feeling any better? Have they said when you can come home?’

  Her mum sighed, her breath sending a blast of white noise down the phone, her voice shaky. ‘They think my feet are improving, so they don’t think they’re going to need to operate, which is a massive relief, I can tell you. But they need to get my blood sugar normalised. And then there’s my heart… I can’t remember exactly what’s wrong, but they said my blood pressure’s high, so they’ve put me on medication for that.’

  ‘Oh, Mum. So, good news and bad news then? Have they told you what happens next?’

  Fran sniffed. ‘God knows. There’s so many different doctors specialising in this, that and the other, I’m completely confused.’ More sniffs. ‘I’m really fed up here now. I just want to come home.’

  Martha wished she was there to give her a hug. She sighed, determined to make sure they got to the hospital as soon as possible. ‘I’ll be there tomorrow, Mum. And I’ll make sure I get to talk to someone, find out what the plan is, okay? But you can’t come home till they’ve done the home assessment. We know that. So, another few days.’

  Fran didn’t reply, not even a sniff.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’

  Another sigh rattled in her ear. ‘You will come though, won’t you? Promise me you’ll definitely come.’

  ‘I will. I promise.’ Martha swallowed, only just managing to say goodbye before the tears started.

  What a mess. What a bloody awful mess her life had become. And in such a short space of time. A week ago, she’d had a job, was being sponsored by her employer to go to college and get some qualifications, and had even been promised a pay rise. And now she was jobless, her mum was in need of a carer and she might have been responsible for the death of a man she’d known as her father, but apparently wasn’t.

  She covered her face with her hands, images of Greg when he was younger – when to all intents and purposes he’d been her dad – flooding into her mind. Whatever her mum said, he’d been a lovely man, a playful parent who always made time for her. And he’d been a master at bedtime stories – all those different voices. He’d really brought Anna’s books to life. God, I’ve missed him. It was strange how it was only now that he was no longer alive that she could be honest with herself about her feelings. When he’d been alive it had seemed disloyal to her mother somehow, to be hankering after her father’s love, especially when Fran tried so hard to do all the parenting on her own. Sobs wracked her body, tears dripping off her chin.

  ‘Hey, Martha.’ Izzy’s voice made her look up, but still she couldn’t stop crying. Even when Izzy wrapped her in a hug, stroking her hair, she couldn’t control her tears. ‘It’s okay,’ Izzy said as she gently rocked her from side to side, her voice like a soothing balm. ‘It’s been a hell of a few days for you. Just let it all out, hun. Let it all out.’

  Eventually Martha’s sobs shuddered to a halt and she pushed away, fumbling in her pocket for a hanky, dabbing at her face, blowing her nose.

  ‘It’s not your mum, is it?’

  ‘No. No, she’s okay.’ Martha sighed. ‘Well, obviously she’s not okay, but she’s stable by the sounds of it. I feel so bad for leaving her. She was crying and I felt so bloody useless and so mean for not being there for her when I said I would be.’

  Izzy tutted. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She looked a bit despondent, like it was her fault.

  ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for. It was my stupid decision to go and find Greg. And look where it led me: absolutely bloody nowhere.’

  Izzy rubbed Martha’s shoulder and it was a moment before she spoke. ‘But it did lead you somewhere. You now know Greg’s not your real dad. You know your mum has the answers you’re looking for, and we’ve actually got to spend a bit of time together. Got to know each other a bit better. That’s a good thing, right?’

  Martha managed a ghost of a smile. ‘That’s the only good thing. I don’t know how I would have managed without you. Honestly, you’re an absolute star.’ She took a few deep breaths and wiped her face. ‘Above and beyond the call of duty.’

  Izzy grinned and pulled at Martha’s arm. ‘Come on, food’s ready. Well, it was ten minutes ago. Good job we’re having salads.’

  Martha found she wasn’t that hungry any more, her mind busily composing a whole symphony of guilt that completely spoilt her appetite. As she picked at her food, a familiar sound caught her attention and she looked up to see the news on the large-screen TV which was fastened to the wall opposite. The newsreader ran through the headlines and Martha relaxed when she realised that Greg’s death hadn’t been mentioned.

  He wasn’t my dad. How could I have not known that? She pictured him again in her mind and it was true that there was nothing of him in her own features, her body shape, her mannerisms. But if he wasn’t her dad, who was? And why hadn’t her mum told her?

  Her jaw clenched and she pushed away the remains of her food, her feelings towards her mother as confused as ever. Love and anger, hate and pity, and so much more besides. This time, I’ll not give up until she tells me the truth, she decided. Mum owes me that, doesn’t she?

  ‘I’m talking to myself, aren’t I?’ Izzy’s voice broke into Martha’s thoughts and she looked up to see Izzy staring at her, annoyance sharpening her features.

  ‘Sorry? I was miles away.’

  Izzy huffed, clearly frustrated that Martha hadn’t been listening. ‘I was just saying it would be good to work out a route to your place.’ She held up her phone. ‘Then you can be navigator. It probably gets a bit more complicated from here. Got to get round Cardiff and then Bristol and then…’ Izzy shrugged. ‘I haven’t got a bloody clue what happens after that. You’re going to have to help me.’

  Martha smiled. ‘I’d have to admit that I’m as clueless as you. I’ve never actually been in this part of the UK before. In fact, since we moved to Cornwall, I’ve only ever been out of the south-west to the odd dog show with Pete, and he drove, so I didn’t really take much notice.’

  Izzy laughed. ‘We’re as bad as each other. I’ve hardly been out of Yorkshire, if I’m honest. All this driving is new to me, and I’m not gonna lie, I’m finding it really draining. Jeez, I can’t remember when I’ve ever had to concentrate so hard for so long.’<
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  There was something in her voice, her expression, that made Martha uneasy. She’d noticed how cautious a driver Izzy had been, and they’d had to stop a lot for her to have a breather because she’d said her brain needed a rest, even though the roads had been quiet. She’d seemed to find the whole journey pretty stressful, her hands grasping the wheel really tight.

  Now, all these little things started coming together in Martha’s mind, making her wonder whether the train might have been the better option. Being a passenger in a car with a nervous driver was quite torturous. How’s Izzy going to cope when the roads get busy round Cardiff and Bristol? The thought of it made her shoulders tense.

  She had no idea how far it was to Cornwall or how long it would take, and she opened a map app on her phone. She tapped in their current location and their end destination, studied the route outlined on the map. ‘A hundred and ninety-one miles it says.’ She looked at Izzy, who visibly paled.

  ‘That’s further than I thought it would be,’ she said, uncertainty quivering in her voice.

  ‘Three hours and eight minutes. That’s how long it’s supposed to take.’

  Izzy shook her head. ‘Yeah, but that’s without stops. Let’s double that time. More realistic.’

  Martha stared at her, appalled at the idea of being in a car for that length of time for a second day in a row. And she’d promised her mum she’d go and visit, wanted to be there as early as possible. ‘That sounds like forever.’

  ‘Well, that’s how long it’s going to take,’ Izzy said firmly, her tone telling Martha there was going to be no discussion, her gaze defying any challenge. ‘I can only drive at the speed I’m comfortable with.’

  ‘Look, I’ll get a train.’ Martha found the website and studied the timetable, her heart sinking when she saw the notice about engineering works causing delays and saw how long the journey would be. Much longer and more wearing than the car journey. ‘Oh God,’ she whispered and glanced at Izzy. ‘Forget I said that. By the looks of this, the train’s not really an option anyway.’