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

by Rona Halsall

  She jumped from her stool and ran through the lounge, out of the house, the door slamming behind her.

  Thirty-Seven

  Fran

  Now

  Fran heard the door slam. She listened, heard steps running up the stairs and turned, expecting to see Martha, but it was her sister, who came into the room, her eyes filled with a fury that made Fran shiver.

  ‘Beth. I was expecting… I thought you were Martha. Where is she?’ Panic landed on her chest again, a heavy weight that pressed on her lungs while her heart seemed to be skipping beats like a misfiring engine. She hadn’t been alone with her sister since Beth was fourteen. The night she’d gone into labour.

  ‘I told you, it’s Izzy. Don’t call me Beth.’

  There was something in Izzy’s voice that made Fran shrink back into her pillows, told her not to argue. She nodded, keen not to anger her any more than she had already. ‘Izzy, yes.’ She gave a pathetic excuse for a laugh. ‘I’ll try and remember.’

  ‘I think it’s about time we had a little chat, Fran. We need to clear the air and we’ve so much to talk about, haven’t we?’ Izzy picked up a chair from behind the door and pulled it next to the bed.

  ‘How did you get out?’ Fran tried to sound authoritative. ‘Do they know where you are? I’ll call them. I’ll call the police.’ Fran knew this wasn’t possible because her handbag was downstairs, but Izzy didn’t know that.

  Izzy gave a slow shake of the head. ‘You’re way behind the times, Fran. I was released, as you call it, twelve years ago. Nobody is looking for me. I’m a free agent, a normal citizen of Britain, just like you.’

  Fran would have to admit that she did look normal. But it’s what was going on inside that head of hers that mattered. She’d always been a strange one, always unpredictable, prone to sudden bursts of emotion.

  Izzy smiled at Fran, reached into her back pocket and pulled out a phone. Fran’s breath stuck in her throat. She recognised the cover. It was hers. She watched as Izzy put it on the floor and stomped on it until the glass shattered and the innards tumbled out.

  ‘There. Nobody is phoning anyone. This is important. We have to get all the crap from our past out in the open.’ She pulled the chair a little closer, leant forwards, elbows on her knees, her face inches away from Fran’s. ‘I need to know exactly what happened after Martha was taken away from me.’ She stared at Fran, her eyes seeming to pierce through her skull, searching for her memories.

  Fran nodded, her whole body trembling now. She wondered where Martha had gone, how long she’d be. I can’t tell Izzy the truth, can I? It was hard enough being honest with herself about it.

  The silence stretched between them. Fran tried to sit up, but Izzy pushed her back. ‘I prefer you lying down,’ she said, firmly. ‘You stay there.’

  Fran lay as still as she could, her eyes darting round the room, wondering what she could use as a weapon to defend herself if Izzy turned nasty. Because that was the most likely outcome here. Izzy hadn’t come to play happy families. She hadn’t come for a reunion. She frowned. Where’s all my stuff? The place was practically empty. All her knick-knacks, collected on day trips with Martha, little memories of happy times, presents Martha had bought her over the years, they’d all been in her bedroom. Her sanctuary. But it had been cleared away and now it looked like… a hospital room. Just the bare basics.

  Izzy studied her nails for a long while, and when she spoke, she sounded distraught, like it had all happened yesterday, not twenty-four years earlier. ‘You took my daughter. My baby. Nobody asked me what I wanted, did they? You and Mum just made up your minds and that was it. Nothing I could say to change anything. You disappeared, Mum died. I had nobody.’ She swallowed, her eyes gleaming, jaw clenched. ‘You ruined my life. It was you who did that.’

  Fran could see the fury in Izzy’s eyes, could hear the dangerous tinge to her voice that always came before an explosion of trouble. She was shaking so much she thought her bladder might betray her, and squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I need to go to the toilet,’ she said, as calm as she could. ‘Can I just go and then we can have a proper chat? I can’t think when I need a pee.’

  Izzy gave an impatient snort. ‘You’re not going anywhere. I’ve waited twenty-four years for this chat. I’m sure you can hang on until we’ve finished.’

  Fran bit her lip and shook her head, and then… then it was too late. A gush of warm liquid spurted down her legs, stinging her flesh, the air filling with the sour stench of urine, and she started to sob.

  Izzy’s lips curled. ‘You disgusting woman. No wonder Martha was hoping you’d die.’

  Fran’s eyes widened. It’s not true. It’s not. Martha would never say that.

  Izzy nodded, satisfaction in her eyes. ‘Oh, yes. I can see you don’t believe me, but you’ve pushed her to the edge with your self-destructive behaviour.’ Her lips disappeared into the thinnest of lines before she heaved out a sigh. ‘But no such luck, you had to bloody live, didn’t you? Now she’s stuck here as your carer, and you know what?’ Izzy leant even closer, her face so near to Fran’s she could feel the spray of spittle on her cheek. ‘She despises you. Thinks you’ve let her down as a mother. Just like Greg let her down as a father. The two of you. Pathetic, hopeless, useless parents.’

  Izzy flung herself back in the chair.

  ‘It’s not my fault.’ Fran’s voice shook with fear. She could see that Izzy was getting really worked up now, her cheeks coloured with two angry spots of red, her eyes taking on a manic gleam. She wondered if she was still taking her medication, because if she wasn’t… ‘It was Mum’s idea.’ This was the truth, and even though Fran had been thinking the same thing herself, she would never have acted without her mum’s blessing. ‘When the judge said we had to move away, Mum didn’t want to go. She’d been born and bred in Leeds and didn’t want to move and she wanted you to finish school, wanted the least disruption. She knew I loved children, wanted to start a family with Greg. We thought it was for the best.’ Her eyes pleaded with Izzy. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing.’

  Izzy’s gaze remained steely and Fran noticed her hands curl into fists on her lap.

  Oh God, how do I convince her?

  ‘You were a child, you couldn’t have looked after a baby properly.’ Desperate tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘I was going to let you be involved in her life. Honestly, I was. But you got locked away and then—’

  Izzy jerked forwards. ‘Why couldn’t you make your own bloody baby? Why did you have to take mine?’ She lashed out, punching Fran on the shoulder.

  Fran whimpered, frightened about how this was going to end. Come back, Martha. Please come back. She shuffled across the bed a little, out of the wet patch, to put more distance between them.

  Izzy’s eyes followed her, and Fran knew that she was at a major disadvantage. Izzy was prepared to use violence, but all Fran had was words. She started to gabble the rest of her defence.

  ‘Mum thought it would be best for the child and for you.’ Fran searched for the right thing to say, words that wouldn’t anger her sister further. ‘You weren’t well after Martha was born; you know that. It was such a shock and you weren’t coping.’

  Izzy’s eyes sparked, her hands clenching and unclenching. Fran inched further away.

  ‘I would have learnt how to cope if you’d just given me a bit of time.’ Izzy’s voice was getting louder as her anger rose like lava out of a volcano.

  Fran trembled, shook her head. ‘It was Mum’s idea. It was, she persuaded me. She wanted you to have a childhood, not become a mother at fourteen. The thought of it broke her heart.’ Fran was despairing now, as it was clear by the look on Izzy’s face that her words weren’t working. Instead of placating her sister, they seemed to be getting her more and more incensed. ‘I did it for Mum and for Martha… and for you. It seemed like the best solution at the time. The only solution.’

  ‘You took my baby!’ Izzy erupted, her anger forcing her to her feet, the tendons st
anding out on her neck as she screamed at Fran. ‘Nobody asked me what I wanted. Nobody.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘There are no buts!’ Izzy yelled, her body rigid with fury. ‘She wasn’t yours to take. She wasn’t yours to keep and she isn’t yours now. She hates you.’

  Fran felt like she’d been hit, her heart jumping in her chest. ‘Hates me? No, she doesn’t. Look how she’s been to hospital to visit nearly every day, how she’s sorted the house out so I could come home. She loves me. Because I’m her mum.’

  Izzy scoffed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Have you seen yourself lately?’ She leant forwards, hands on her hips, a sneer on her lips. ‘Let me tell you what she told me. This is me as a friend. Someone she’s been chatting to for the past year. She’s told me you’re an alcoholic. You don’t look after yourself. You stink. You’re lazy. You don’t care about her. She looks after you and she’s sick of the responsibility. That’s why she wants you dead.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ Fran’s voice was shaking as much as her body. ‘She doesn’t want me dead, don’t be ridiculous. Those are your words, not hers.’

  ‘We’ll ask her when she comes back. I can tell you she was pretty pissed off that your self-neglect has come to this.’ Izzy gave a snort of derision. ‘You’re just a wreck of a person. Nobody would care if you died; in fact, Martha would be relieved. Then she can get on with her life.’ Izzy jabbed a finger as she spoke. ‘Because you’ve been holding her back, stopping her from achieving her ambitions. You’re not fit to call yourself a mother.’

  She gave Fran a wicked smile. ‘You took my life away from me when you took Martha and abandoned me in that institution, so I get to take yours away from you.’ She laughed. ‘Martha’s coming to live with me, we’re going travelling. She doesn’t want to be with you any more. Let’s see how you like it.’

  Something clicked in Fran’s brain then, some primitive self-preservation instinct, and she heaved herself up to a sitting position, sliding her legs over the other side of the bed. Once there was a mattress between her and Izzy, she felt a lot happier, less threatened. She got to her feet, swaying and a little unsteady, but it felt way better than lying down. Her wet nightdress stuck to her legs, the smell of urine pungent in the air.

  ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that. My whole life is about Martha and keeping her safe. That’s why we live here. It’s hard, but it’s safe. And that’s what you should be concerned about. If you hadn’t slept with that boy, there wouldn’t have been a problem. Life would have been very different.’

  Izzy gasped. ‘I loved him. And he loved me. We had it all sorted out. I was going to live with Mum until I was eighteen. He’d have finished his degree by then and have a job. I’d go and join him. We’d be a family. That’s what was going to happen before you stuck your nose in and took my bloody child! You ruined everything and left me with nothing!’

  ‘You ruined your own life,’ Fran scoffed, unable to stop herself. ‘You were fourteen and he was twenty. It was never going to work out, was it? If you really think you were going to end up playing happy families with him, then you’re crazier than I thought.’

  Izzy stood for a second, her face contorting into a mask of hatred before she jumped onto the bed and launched herself at Fran, hands wrapping themselves round her neck, squeezing. Fran whimpered, trying to prise Izzy’s fingers away from her flesh. She struggled to breathe, and her vision started to fizz. She lost her balance as her legs weakened and she staggered backwards, using the last remainder of her energy to try and shake Izzy off. But Izzy was latched onto her neck like a leech, draining the life out of Fran as her hands squeezed tighter, her face screwed into a furious snarl.

  ‘You don’t deserve to be alive, you useless excuse for a mother.’ Furious tears streamed down Izzy’s face, snot bubbling from her nose and into her mouth, but she didn’t seem to care. It was the most frightening thing Fran had ever seen, and she knew that her sister was out of control, knew there was no reasoning with her.

  Fran struggled and swayed, desperately trying to work out what she could do, her hands round Izzy’s arms, trying to pull them off, but her strength was ebbing away, her efforts pathetic.

  ‘You’ve made me suffer all these years.’ Izzy’s hands squeezed tighter; Fran’s lungs tried in vain to draw in air.

  She understood she was on the edge of consciousness, her eyes frantically scanning the room for something she could use, to stop Izzy’s attack. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the chest of drawers behind Izzy. It was a tall, sturdy bit of furniture, about four feet high, with wooden knobs on the drawers. With her last bit of strength, she flung her weight forwards, catching Izzy unawares, sending her sprawling backwards. She slammed into the drawers with a loud thump, her hands slackening their grip, her eyes wide with shock.

  At that moment, Fran had no control over her body, and gravity continued her momentum. Her head smacked into Izzy’s ribcage with a crack and a snap, like the sound of twigs breaking. Izzy grunted and her hands released Fran’s neck, sending Fran sprawling to the floor, her face slapping against the floorboards with a force that stunned. Pain jarred through her body like a jackhammer. She lay on her side, gasping for air, heard a loud thump and a groan, and although she couldn’t look to see what had happened, she could sense Izzy was close. She needed to save herself, get away from her sister, but she couldn’t get her limbs to move and the world was spinning so fast she didn’t know which way was up. Her heart bounced and skipped in her chest in a way that was surely not normal, and her face burned with agony where it had hit the floor.

  Fran moaned, every breath, every movement causing shards of pain to stab through her head. There was nothing she could do, no muscles willing to cooperate, so she lay there, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

  She thought about Izzy and the tragedy of her life, telling herself that it wasn’t her fault. She’d been doing what was best for the child and best for her little sister. But however much she repeated it in her mind, she knew it was a lie. A story she told herself to justify her actions. As soon as she’d held Martha, she’d wanted her for herself.

  I didn’t take her. I didn’t. It was Mum’s idea. And that was the truth, but it was a situation she’d engineered with a careful word here and there.

  Fran’s heartbeat began to steady, everything quiet in the room except for a horrible rasping sound. Izzy’s breathing. And it didn’t sound good, not good at all.

  ‘Beth… Izzy? Izzy, are you okay?’ She had to speak through clenched teeth, every word sending new spikes of pain through her face, but she needed to know. The situation had got completely out of hand and she knew, in her heart, that it was all her fault. If she’d been in Izzy’s shoes, she would have surely felt the same, maybe even acted the same.

  ‘Izzy?’ Still there was no answer. Her muscles clenched, ears straining. Oh God, what have I done?

  Fran managed to inch her head off the floor, groaning as she flopped onto her back, managing to catch a glimpse of Izzy’s crumpled body, slumped against the chest of drawers. She closed her eyes for a moment, too dizzy to keep them open, appalled by what she’d seen. Have I killed her? That was a terrible thought, and even though Izzy had attacked her, she knew she wasn’t really trying to do her harm. She’d always had problems with surges of rage that she didn’t know what to do with, even as a little girl.

  ‘Fran.’ Izzy’s voice was a gurgling whisper.

  ‘Oh, thank God.’ Fran’s emotions grabbed at her throat, as though Izzy was still trying to strangle her. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, I didn’t. I just wanted you to stop.’

  Izzy coughed and spat, then her voice was a little clearer. ‘I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…’

  ‘Me too.’ Fran winced, not wanting to talk because of the terrible throbbing pain in her face but needing to, because if Martha didn’t come home soon, this could be it. These could be her last moments, and Izzy didn’t sound in any better shape.

 
‘I just… wanted to be with Martha.’

  Fran blinked and swallowed, sadness filling her heart. It doesn’t have to be like this.

  ‘It’s okay. I understand and… I was wrong to keep her from you.’

  Izzy’s breath became jerkier, the gurgling louder, and when she spoke it was a job to hear what she was saying. ‘She’s a lovely girl. And…’ Izzy coughed again and groaned. ‘She doesn’t hate you. In fact, she loves you very much. I wanted that. I want her to love me too.’

  Fran’s heart squeezed, sending pain round her chest like she was being wrapped in barbed wire. It hurt just to breathe, but she pressed on, needed to say what was on her mind, because there might not be another chance. ‘But she does love you, Izzy. She’s spoken about you so much, how happy she was to have found a friend.’

  Izzy spluttered and groaned. ‘I know I couldn’t have been a mother to her. I just wish it had been different. I’ve missed so much.’

  ‘We can work something out. It doesn’t have to be you or me in her life. It can be both of us.’ Fran hoped this was the case, hoped that help would come soon. She was too weak to call out, too weak now to move. She closed her eyes, tears trickling down her face as each breath brought fresh agony.

  She heard the front door open and footsteps thud up the stairs.

  ‘Martha,’ she gasped. ‘Thank God!’

  But it wasn’t Martha, it was Anna. She stood in the doorway, eyes as wide as a startled rabbit as she scanned the room.

  ‘What on earth has happened? I was in my bedroom and I heard shouting and banging.’ She hurried over and knelt on the floor by Fran’s side, her voice full of concern. ‘Are you okay? Can I help you get up?’

  Fran tried to speak, but there was a lump in her throat and she suddenly burst into tears, her body shaking with sobs which set a whole earthquake of pain shuddering through her body.