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

by Rona Halsall

  By the time Martha got to Truro, she was exhausted, her fingers aching from gripping the steering wheel. She’d got used to the car’s controls and found that it was quite easy to drive, although she’d been looking in the rear-view mirror a lot to make sure she wasn’t being followed, checking there were no blue flashing lights. Nobody knows who you are or who the car belongs to, she reassured herself as she carefully manoeuvred into a parking space. She’d have to make sure she drove back in the light though; the thought of driving in the dark was beyond her at the moment.

  She looked up at the hospital, a feeling of dread roiling in the pit of her stomach. It’s good news. Mum’s come round. Very good news. But still she felt anxious and… scared. Yes, that was it, scared because her mother’s actions had brought the police to their door. It’s probably ridiculous, she told herself, but she couldn’t help thinking the police would make a connection, would somehow realise Martha had been at Greg’s house shortly before his death. Her DNA must be all over that kitchen – on the door knob, probably hairs on his clothes. She’d seen on TV how they managed to track people from the tiniest bit of evidence. Her mind galloped on as she got out of the car and made her way through the hospital. By the time she arrived at the ICU, she’d worked herself into a trembling mess.

  I can’t do it. I need to calm down. Her hands balled into fists at her side, annoyed with herself for letting everything overwhelm her like this. She was normally good in a crisis, but at the moment, she felt there was far too much going on to be able to focus on addressing even one of her problems.

  She walked back the way she’d come, passing a café, and she doubled back and went in, deciding that a cup of tea and a sugar hit might put her in the right frame of mind.

  A large slice of cake and a pot of tea later, she had managed to see the other side of the argument as usual. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. And she definitely needed to find the right moment to bring up the subject of the police when her mum was in such a fragile state. She didn’t want to cause another heart attack. There was a time and a place for certain conversations and she’d just have to be patient.

  By the time she reached the ICU, her heart was no longer thrashing in her chest like some wild animal and her hands were no longer clammy. She was just popping in to see her mum for a bit, that was all.

  When she stepped behind the curtain that had been screening her mum’s cubicle to find a policeman sitting next to the bed, her calm shattered into tiny pieces. Her first instinct was to turn and run, but she couldn’t – he’d seen her and she was trapped. A sudden heat flushed through her, and she focused her eyes on Fran.

  ‘Mum,’ she said, ignoring the policeman for a minute. ‘You gave me such a fright. How are you feeling?’

  Fran gave her a feeble smile. She looked very pale, her eyes red and puffy, her voice breathy and weak. ‘There you are, poppet. I wondered when you’d be able to get here. It’s a bugger on public transport, isn’t it?’

  Martha hesitated for a moment, her worries racing around in her head. How much has the policeman told her? Has he mentioned Izzy? Oh God, I don’t know what to say. She leant in to kiss her mum’s cheek before pulling up a chair next to the bed and taking Fran’s hand. ‘I hitched. Got lucky with a lift.’

  Her mum gasped. ‘I told you not to do that.’ She turned to the policeman. ‘It’s too dangerous, isn’t it? Tell her, will you?’

  ‘We definitely wouldn’t advise it,’ the policeman said. ‘I’m Sergeant John Collins, by the way. I’m here in connection to an investigation in North Wales.’

  Martha feigned surprise and hoped it was convincing, the policeman’s eyes never leaving hers. ‘What’s Mum got to do with North Wales?’

  ‘It’s not the place, more a person of interest.’

  She looked at her mum then, and could see that she was upset. She squeezed her hand. ‘Mum, what is it?’

  Fran’s chin trembled. ‘It’s your dad, love. He’s…’ She gulped and sniffed a tear trickling down her cheek.

  ‘What? Dad’s what?’ She hoped that her voice held the right amount of panic, hoped she was behaving in the right way.

  The policeman caught Martha’s eye again. ‘I’m afraid to say your dad has been killed.’

  Martha had no clue what she would be expected to say in the situation if the news was fresh to her. She let her mouth drop open and looked away, focusing on her mum’s hand clasped in hers. She could feel her mum shaking as sobs wracked her body, the ripples of her misery moving right down her arm and into the hand that Martha was holding.

  ‘I can’t believe it.’ Martha made herself look at the sergeant. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’m sorry to say he was murdered.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Martha blinked, her mum’s tears bringing her own emotions to the surface. ‘I don’t really know my father. I was nine when the family broke up. That’s when we moved down here. He hasn’t been in touch since. Nothing. Not even a birthday card.’

  Her mum’s sobs continued, and Martha rose to give her a hug, laying her cheek on the top of her head. ‘Hey, Mum, it’s okay. Don’t you go getting yourself upset. It’s not good for you.’ She turned to the sergeant and frowned at him. ‘I think she’s had enough now.’

  He nodded and got up. ‘Well, I’ve got what I need. I’m very sorry for your loss. We’ll be in touch if there’s any further questions or information.’

  Martha gave him a curt nod and turned back to her mother, rubbing her back as she continued to cry, annoyed that the police had been bothering her when she obviously wasn’t up to it. She waited until she heard his footsteps recede before she allowed herself to breathe. Her mum was wiping her eyes with her hands and Martha passed her the box of tissues from the bedside table.

  ‘What’s going on, Mum?’ Martha tried to keep her voice even, but there was a tinge of sharpness to her words. ‘I don’t understand how the police connected Dad to us. Trouble followed him around, you said. Better if nobody knew we were here.’

  Her mum looked down at her hands, where her fingers were shredding the tissue.

  Go on, Mum, tell me the truth now, she urged, silently, watching Fran chewing at her bottom lip.

  ‘I’m sorry, Martha.’ She sighed, wouldn’t look at her. ‘There’s some things you didn’t need to know.’

  ‘Look, Mum, I’m not a child any more. I think I deserve to be told the truth.’ She reached for Fran’s hand again, and made her voice softer, aware that gentle coaxing was more effective than confrontation where her mother was concerned. ‘What did happen all those years ago? Why did we have to move down here?’

  Her mum was quiet for a few moments and Martha thought she wasn’t going to answer, but just as she opened her mouth to speak, a nurse appeared.

  ‘Now, Fran, I just need to check that everything is all right. Your pulse is elevated, and your blood pressure has just shot up.’

  Martha leant back in her chair, quietly fuming, while the nurse fussed about checking leads and machinery. That was it, opportunity gone. Still, there was plenty of time to get to the truth, and her mum knew now that she’d have to tell her. It was probably enough for today.

  ‘Doesn’t matter, Mum,’ she said, squeezing her hand. ‘Let’s not worry about it now. Probably enough of a shock for today.’ She looked at the nurse. ‘The policeman just came to tell us that my dad died. He’s been… murdered.’ It still shook her to say the word.

  The nurse’s eyes widened. ‘Oh my goodness ! I wouldn’t have let him in if I’d known. In fact, I’m not sure who did buzz him in.’ She tutted, then her face softened and she put a hand on Martha’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’

  Martha looked away. ‘He’s been gone fifteen years, so it’s not like I knew him.’

  Her mum started to cry again.

  ‘Look, I’m really sorry,’ the nurse said, ‘but it might be better if you let your mum have a rest now. We can’t have her being stressed.’

  Martha stood and leant ov
er, giving her mum a kiss on the cheek. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow, Mum. We can talk then, okay? I’m getting the bus back and I’ve got a lift lined up for tomorrow, so don’t worry about me, all right?’

  The nurse shooed Martha out of the unit, walking down the corridor with her. ‘I’m really sorry to do this. But it was a bit touch-and-go with your mum, so we’re being careful to keep everything stable. The doctor will be assessing her later, then we’ll know what’s what, but it’s going to take a bit of time before she’s able to cope with any sort of upset.’

  Martha frowned. ‘I think it was the policeman who did the upsetting, not me.’

  The nurse looked embarrassed. ‘I know, that was probably my fault. He sort of slipped in when I wasn’t concentrating. Another patient had just gone into cardiac arrest and… well, no excuse. Not enough hands on deck in here and that’s a fact. Anyway, I’ll make sure the police don’t come in again, and we’ll do our best to keep everything calm.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Martha muttered. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow, shall I?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure she’d love to have a bit of company. The days can be very long in here.’

  Martha left the hospital deep in thought. She was nervous about the police and worried about her mum.

  With her mind in a whirl, she got in the car and headed home, stopping to buy a few groceries on the way. Life was so much easier with a car, and once again she reflected on how unfortunate it was that her mother had got rid of hers just when Martha was learning to drive. Surely it wasn’t just about cost. Then it came to her, a sudden moment of truth: it was also about keeping her close, not wanting her to leave, not giving her the means to fly the nest.

  She cursed the insular life that her mother had made them lead, determined now that things were going to be different. As long as the police stayed away, then everything would be fine.

  Twenty-Five

  Fran

  Now

  Fran lay in bed that night, listening to the monitors beeping while the ward slept. They’d sedated her earlier, but it was wearing off now and her thoughts were running round her head, keeping her awake. She’d been feeling jittery since the policeman had come and told her that Greg had been murdered. Murdered! She’d thought she was going to have another heart attack, her chest so tight she’d struggled to get her breath.

  A tear rolled down her cheek. Greg, the only man she’d ever loved, was gone. His life taken away by someone, but who? Unfortunately, there were a few possibilities.

  Not only was he involved with selling on stolen goods, he was always looking for ways to make a quick buck. He mixed with a bad crowd, connections that his brothers had formed. In fact, the whole family lived in a grey world on the edge of legality. It was the norm for them, how they’d grown up and how they continued to live their lives.

  She thought about their more recent exchanges, looking for clues. Since he’d been beaten up and warned off, he’d always been concerned that someone was watching him. She’d thought it had been paranoia, but maybe he’d been right? Of course, they’d both changed their names, as an added layer of protection, but he’d still worried. Well, they both did. Would the past catch up with them? Is that what had happened?

  Stupid bugger, she thought as another tear rolled down her cheek. Fancy thinking blackmail was a good idea. If only he’d listened to her, but to be fair, they’d both been drunk when he’d told her his idea and he’d made the call after she’d gone to bed. A stupid phone call, an idea dreamt up in a drunken fantasy, when reality was blurred and consequences weren’t obvious.

  Martha was the daughter of a rapist. When Greg had found out she wasn’t his child, at first he’d been livid. But then, just a couple of hours later, he’d seen an opportunity, not only for revenge but to get some money. Compensation, he’d called it. Stupidly, Fran had told him everything – she’d had to if she was going to convince him that she hadn’t had an affair when he’d been away. She’d had to show him proof she wasn’t lying. She’d told him about the agreement, Martha’s allowance, how the rent was paid. Then he’d wangled the phone number out of her – the one she’d only ever used once, right at the start. She’d told him everything to save her marriage. In reality, it was an act that had ruined everything.

  She sighed. One stupid moment that had defined both their lives. The idea had got stuck in his head and become his obsession. Especially once he’d discovered that the rapist was the son of a judge, and then he’d got on his high horse about judges and their families not being above the law. Why should a judge’s son go unpunished for what he’d done? That had been his reasoning. He’d been warned that he had to stop asking for money or there would be consequences, but he’d decided to call their bluff, made threats he couldn’t follow through on because they were based on lies. He got greedy. Not just for the money, but for the power; a working-class lad making a judge pay up. Not that the judge had done anything wrong, really. That was the shame of it. The original deal had been kept to, and Martha had been provided for until Greg had pushed his luck, ignored the warning signs and then…

  It was Greg’s fault, all his fault that they’d had to live their lives apart and in fear. Thank goodness for Anna and her holiday cottage. Nobody knew where they’d gone. Not even her sister. She’d felt safe for a while.

  Even after all that, she couldn’t help loving him. He wasn’t a bad man. He was just a bit stupid sometimes, determined that he was right – and look where that had led him.

  She sniffed and reached for a tissue, blew her nose and wiped away her tears. Someone had caught up with him. Had he been up to his old tricks with the blackmail again? Had the judge sent him another warning? So many questions. Like who had answered Greg’s phone when she’d called? Was that them? Would they be able to find her as easily as the police had done? They’d traced her from her number on Greg’s phone, that last text message. She’d known it had been a mistake, known it as soon as she’d pressed send.

  Her monitor started beeping again, and a nurse came over, pumped something into the cannula in her arm. Her mind started to slow and sleep came quickly.

  Twenty-Six

  Fran

  Fifteen years ago

  Fran looked out of the window when she heard a car’s engine outside and sighed with relief when she saw it was Anna, pulling into the drive next door. She’d been on edge ever since she’d got the letter the day before, and having her neighbour at home would make her feel a bit less vulnerable, even if it was only for the weekend.

  She rushed outside and through the gap in the fence that separated the two properties.

  ‘Fran, how are you?’ Anna gave her a welcoming smile. She held a carrier bag of groceries in each hand. ‘Come in, come in. Let’s get a cup of tea. I’m parched after that drive.’ She headed inside without waiting for an answer, Fran following on behind.

  Anna’s house was the mirror image of Fran’s except it was sparsely furnished in a shabby chic sort of way – just enough to make it work as a holiday home and a place for Anna to come and write. There was a wooden desk and chair in front of the window, a couple of two-seater settees on either side of the fireplace, a square coffee table in the middle on a faded rug, and that was about it in the lounge. It felt cosy enough, with pictures by local artists on the walls and a couple of shelves of books on either side of the chimney breast.

  Fran followed Anna through to the kitchen and sat at the little round table, pushed up against the back window with a view out over the fields. It was almost six months since Fran had moved to Cornwall and she wasn’t really settled yet. It was hard when you lived in such a rural place. Hard to make friends when you weren’t a local and couldn’t tell anyone the truth about who you really were and why you were there.

  Today was different though. Today, she’d decided, she was going to tell Anna the whole story because she really needed some advice.

  ‘Traffic was a nightmare,’ Anna said as she poured boiling water into the teapot and got the ch
ina cups and saucers out of the cupboard.

  It always made Fran smile, the old-fashioned touches that Anna was a stickler for. She would never serve tea in a mug. And there was always a little milk jug and a bowl for the sugar. It was obviously how she’d been brought up, and it was so far from Fran’s own upbringing that she often wondered at the fact they were friends. But they were. Anna was so kind and helpful, always interested in Martha, testing out her stories with her. She also had a fun side to her, and the stories she wrote were lovely to illustrate, full of dragons and monsters and mythical lands, always with a moral at their heart, which Fran knew reflected Anna’s own beliefs.

  Fran did have reservations about her new living arrangements though. She was lonely, felt isolated, and Martha was finding it a struggle to settle at school, in tears half the time because she was teased about her Yorkshire accent. Fran was wondering if she’d made a mistake. Wondering if she should have worked out a different solution to her problem instead of jumping at Anna’s suggestion so quickly. But then I was scared, she reminded herself. And you make rash decisions when you’re scared.

  At the moment, Fran was dependent on Anna and she’d decided she didn’t like it, but because her income was low, and she wouldn’t be able to afford to rent a house on what she was earning, she was stuck. In one way, Anna’s rent-free house was a godsend but in another it was a curse.

  Fran watched Anna as she chattered about her journey and how people in big posh cars thought they owned the road. She dithered, as she listened, wondering if Anna was the right person to confide in, but as she was the only friend she had right now, if she wanted advice, then she had no choice.

  Anna stopped talking, put her cup down and frowned. ‘You’re very quiet. Is everything all right?’

  Fran shook her head and pulled the letter out of her pocket. ‘I’ve got a bit of a problem.’ She considered for a moment what she was about to say, but reminded herself that Anna knew half the story already. ‘I haven’t been completely honest with you. I’m sorry, I should have told you the whole story. You know about Greg being beaten up and me being so scared, obviously…’