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

by Rona Halsall

  ‘What has she done to you?’ Anna smoothed her hair away from her face and grimaced. ‘Ooh, that’s looking nasty.’

  Fran could tell from Anna’s eyes that whatever had happened to her face was bad, but she didn’t really care. She just wanted the pain to stop. ‘I think we need an ambulance,’ Fran managed to gasp between sobs. ‘I think Beth… Izzy – my sister – is hurt. It sounds bad.’

  Anna turned her head for a moment to where Izzy lay. ‘Don’t you worry,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘I’ll go and call them. My phone’s next door. Is your landline working?’

  Fran nodded, groaning with the torment even that small movement created. She listened while Anna hurried back downstairs, and after a few moments, she heard the muffled rise and fall of her voice from the dining room, where the phone was fixed to the wall. Fran closed her eyes, muscles relaxing. It’s going to be okay, she reassured herself. Everything’s going to be fine.

  ‘It’s all in hand.’ Anna was suddenly by her side again and Fran realised she must have blacked out for a few moments. ‘Let’s get you sorted out. Can I help you up?’

  With a bit of pushing and shoving, Anna managed to get Fran into a sitting position. Then she bustled about, changing the urine-soaked bed before helping Fran into a clean set of nightclothes, all the while chattering away to herself like she was a mother putting a child to bed. Fran grasped her arm as she tucked her in.

  ‘When’s the ambulance going to be here? Did they say?’

  Anna removed her fingers, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze before laying it on top of the covers. ‘I’m sure they’ll be here as quick as they can.’

  Fran’s eyes slid over to where Izzy’s body lay still and pale on the floor. Oh God, please don’t die. Please. Fran’s chest heaved, her lungs not pulling enough air into her body, panic filling her up.

  ‘Now, Fran, you need to calm down. I’ll just get your medication, shall I? See if that helps.’ Anna disappeared out of the room and back downstairs, a bustle of calm efficiency that allayed some of Fran’s fears.

  Fran lay back on her pillows, exhausted and scared, but her breathing settled a little and she didn’t feel quite so light-headed.

  Now the room was quiet, she could hear the rattle of Izzy’s breath. Quite faint, but still there. She listened, hoping to hear the blare of sirens that would tell her the ambulance was almost with them.

  Where’s Martha? she wondered, wanting to see her more than anything. There was so much to put right between them, so much she needed to explain, especially now Martha knew Izzy’s side of the story.

  Her face was on fire, burning with a throbbing pain, the likes of which she’d never known. She didn’t dare touch it, thought that maybe she’d broken her cheekbone when she’d fallen. Nothing major, she reassured herself. She was moving and breathing and that was more than could be said for Izzy.

  Slowly, she turned her head again, gritting her teeth with the effort, and looked at the crumpled body of her sister, her head resting against the bottom drawer. Her body shape didn’t look quite right, a concave dent in Izzy’s ribcage where it should normally be convex. That must be where I headbutted her, she realised, guilt tightening like a band round her head. Broken ribs could be dangerous things, especially if they punctured organs. Like lungs.

  Please be okay. How would she live with herself if she died? Seeing her there, so vulnerable, brought back memories of her little sister as a sparky, funny girl who used to make Fran and her mum laugh and cry with her antics. She’d been so unpredictable, it had been hard to understand what she was thinking most of the time, and she’d always been a little bit delicate emotionally – couldn’t take any sort of criticism, got all worked up over nothing. She’d had a short fuse, prone to blow up in an instant, though her anger would evaporate just as quickly. Yes, it was clear where Martha got that personality trait from. But Beth had adored Fran, and the feeling had been mutual until Martha had arrived and this whole chaotic sequence of events had been set in motion, culminating here.

  The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs drew her eyes to the door and Anna appeared with a glass of water.

  ‘Did the ambulance say when they’d be here?’ Fran asked, like a ventriloquist, hardly moving her lips and face, to minimise the stabbing pains. ‘Beth… Izzy’s chest. It looks all wrong, doesn’t it?’

  ‘They’ll be here soon,’ Anna said, with a tight smile. ‘There’s nothing I can do, really, better to leave it to the experts.’ She sat on the bed next to Fran and handed her the glass of water. ‘I found your bag of medication from hospital and read the instructions. There’s quite a few, I’m afraid.’ She patted Fran’s leg. ‘But we need to get you better, don’t we?’

  Fran nodded, horrified at the number of tablets in Anna’s hand, all different shapes and sizes. With Anna’s encouragement, she swallowed them down, wincing against the pain, until they were all gone.

  ‘Well done,’ Anna said, taking the glass from her and putting it on the bedside table. ‘I think it’s time you had a rest now, don’t you?’

  Fran stared at her, a flip of panic in her chest as a woozy feeling engulfed her. The room started to spin and she collapsed back on her pillows, feeling like she was being sucked into a black hole where her vision filled with darkness.

  Thirty-Eight

  Martha

  Now

  Martha marched down the winding lanes, her mind on her conversation with Izzy.

  She’s really my mother?

  It was hard to comprehend, and it played in a loop in her mind until she arrived in the car park by the cliffs. The vast expanse of the sea stretched out in front of her, restless in the brisk wind, fields to either side, and she was glad to see there were only a couple of other cars today, both of them empty. She stared at the sea, could hear its relentless roar as the waves crashed against the cliffs. At least she’d be able to think here, with nobody bothering her. Nobody telling lies.

  She gritted her teeth and kicked at a stone as if it was to blame for the situation she found herself in. Over the past couple of weeks, ever since Pete had died, her life had fallen apart and everything that had seemed real had turned out to be false.

  The wind whipped her hair across her face, and she pulled up her hood, tucking her hands into her pockets as she crossed the small parking area and walked down the path a little way to a sheltered nook, where there was a memorial bench. It was one of her favourite places and somewhere she often came when she needed time alone.

  She stared at the waves, her ears filled with their constant ebb and flow, the crashes and booms as they thundered into the rocks below. Never had she felt so alone, so unattached to anyone or anything, and she was scared. For the first time in her life, she was frightened of what lay ahead and the decisions she had to make.

  Her mum was very poorly, had nearly died, and that was a difficult thing to deal with, as was her dependency on Martha for her care. She’s not your real mum, she reminded herself. She took you from her sister.

  She thought about that for a moment. Thought about what it must have been like for Izzy, a naïve child, having a child of her own and then having it taken away against her wishes. That would be enough to mess with anyone’s mind. It must have been an incredibly traumatic time for her. But what about the violent temper? That was more of a worry. Was it really all down to her medication or was it something in her personality that would always be there?

  You’ve got a temper of your own, she reminded herself and her lips twisted as she recognised her own weakness in her mother. Maybe it’s something that certain medications would exacerbate? Perhaps Izzy had been telling the truth about that?

  She sifted through her memories of Izzy and acknowledged that in the time she’d known her, she’d genuinely been a stabilising force in her life, like an older sister, ready with words of wisdom, helping her to work through her problems and see situations differently. For the last week or so, too, she’d been an invaluable support, and almost
nothing had been too much trouble for her. Like a proper mother. She’d been considerate and loving and done everything that Martha had needed. Still, there was a shimmer of unease at the back of her mind.

  She lied to me. That was the sticking point, wasn’t it? How much of what she told me was the truth? Martha sighed, admitting to herself that the caring side of Izzy could have been an act, a manipulation to wheedle her way into her affections and put herself in a position to damage Martha’s relationship with Fran. There was just no knowing, but it was clear that her mum was scared of her sister. Or was Fran just scared that Izzy would take Martha away? That she’d come back to claim her child?

  The more Martha thought about it, the more this seemed the most likely reason for Izzy wanting to bring her back to Cornwall. It wasn’t about helping Martha, it was about Izzy finding her sister. Another thought hit her, making her sit up, eyes wide. Is this about revenge? Look how enthusiastic Izzy had been to throw all her mum’s possessions away in the name of tidying up. It was all malicious, she realised now, all about punishing her.

  What else does she have in mind for her? she wondered. Her heart started to race, and her hands flew to her mouth.

  Oh God, I’ve left them alone together.

  She jumped up and hurried back along the path to the car park. She had to get home. However angry she was with both of them for lying and using her for their own ends, she had to keep them apart until she decided what she wanted to do. Stay with Mum or go travelling with Izzy. She couldn’t think of Izzy as her mum. Maybe she would in time, with a bit of practice. She was definitely easier to be around than Fran; of that there was no doubt. But then she knew her as a friend, not a mother.

  Izzy wasn’t the one who’d been frightened for Martha’s wellbeing for all these years, who’d moved to the other end of the country to keep her safe. Izzy hadn’t been the one to march up to her headmistress and demand the school bully be expelled after he’d left Martha with a bleeding lip. Or the one who’d pandered to her brief demand to be vegetarian at fourteen, even though she didn’t really like vegetables. Or the person who’d danced around the kitchen with her to Elton John songs the day she got her GCSE results. And she hadn’t been the one who’d had to tell her no when she’d wanted to foster a litter of puppies and they could hardly afford to feed themselves, let alone eight collies.

  Fran’s my mum. Even though she hadn’t given birth to her, she’d been her mother, and whatever wrongs she may have done, she’d done them for the right reasons. Fran’s life had been about Martha, and now Martha had brought Izzy to their home and… Oh my God! She started to run.

  It seemed a long way home, and by the time she got back to the house, she was breathless and frantic.

  ‘Mum! Izzy!’ she called as soon as she burst through the front door, but there was no response. She ran through the downstairs rooms but found them empty and dread sat in her belly like a lump of lead. She ran up the stairs and into her mum’s bedroom, coming to a halt when she saw the scene: her mother asleep in the bed, Izzy’s body slumped against the chest of drawers and Anna sitting in the armchair in the corner.

  ‘Anna! What the hell’s happened?’ Without waiting for a response, Martha dashed over to Izzy, panicking for a moment until her first-aid training kicked in. She ran her eyes up and down Izzy’s body, put an ear to her mouth, listening, testing to see if she could feel a breath on her face.

  ‘She’s breathing.’ But only just. Martha looked at her body, saw the dent in her chest and understood how serious her injuries might be.

  ‘The ambulance is on its way,’ Anna said, looking out of the window. ‘I was in my bedroom, heard this banging and shouting, and when I got up here, Izzy was there.’ She pointed. ‘And your mum was lying over there. I think they’d been fighting. Couldn’t get a word of sense out of your mum. She was having a panic attack, so I got her into bed.’ She glanced over at Fran. ‘Thankfully, I calmed her down and she’s gone to sleep now.’

  Anna got up, walked round the bed and looked down at Fran before picking up the empty glass from the bedside table. There was no urgency, no concern, just a calm detachment. But then, Martha realised, Izzy was nothing to her.

  ‘Can you check when the ambulance will be here?’ Martha turned to Anna while she crouched next to Izzy. ‘I really don’t like the sound of her breathing and I don’t want to move her in case she’s damaged her spine.’ She put her fingers against Izzy’s neck. ‘Her pulse is very faint.’

  Anna nodded, walked past her and went downstairs. Martha heard her walk into the kitchen. ‘Quickly, Anna!’ she shouted.

  ‘I’ve rung them again,’ Anna said a few moments later when she came back upstairs. ‘They’re on their way.’ Her face looked pinched and drawn and Martha realised she could be in shock. She was seventy years old, after all.

  ‘Sit down, will you,’ Martha said. ‘We’ll ask them to check you over as well.’ She puffed out a breath, not sure what she could do now. ‘Thanks for looking after Mum.’

  Anna lowered herself slowly into the armchair, her eyes focused outside, her expression quite vacant. Martha had never seen her like this. She was the one who always knew what to do, someone you’d rely on in an emergency, but it looked like this had all been too much for her. At least she was sitting down now. She was safe. Martha turned her attention back to Izzy.

  ‘Hang on,’ Martha whispered, stroking her face. ‘I’m here. You’re going to be fine. Honestly. Just hang on. You can’t leave me. Not now.’ A tear dripped off her nose onto her hand, then another.

  A trickle of blood oozed out of Izzy’s mouth, and her chest was hardly moving. Punctured lung? she thought. She’d seen it in animals. But it didn’t have to be fatal. If the emergency services arrived soon, there was a chance.

  She turned to Anna, her voice shaking and shrill, heart racing. ‘How long did they say they’d be? We need them here now.’

  Anna looked at her and frowned as if she didn’t know what she was saying. Martha shook her head in frustration and pulled her phone out of her pocket, rang the emergency services herself, pacing up and down as she explained Izzy’s condition, pleaded with them to hurry. The operator said they’d send the helicopter and Martha sank back on her heels, teeth biting her lip to stop herself from succumbing to the hopeless fear that heaved in her chest. Calm down, calm down, she told herself, they’re on their way now.

  ‘Ten minutes, Izzy. They’ll be here in ten minutes.’ She held Izzy’s hand, unsure how to make her more comfortable or increase her chances of survival. There was no response, no squeeze back, no sign that she wasn’t sinking into death with every passing breath.

  There was nothing she could do, and she lay Izzy’s hand gently on the floor while she stood, checking out of the window for any sign of the helicopter, even though it had only been a few minutes since she’d called.

  Anna still had that vacant stare about her, which was a bit worrying, and her mum… She couldn’t leave her on her own while she went to hospital with Izzy. ‘Anna, would you be able to keep an eye on Mum while I go with the helicopter?’ Anna didn’t respond, didn’t seem to hear, and a fresh surge of panic made Martha’s heart gallop. She’s definitely in shock, and could well be going to hospital along with Izzy.

  If her mum was awake, she’d feel better about leaving her. But what if something happens while I’m in hospital with Izzy? She’d never forgive herself. She looked between the two women, torn by her loyalties. Something caught her eye now she was looking at Fran from a different angle, and she frowned, looked again and noticed her mum’s face, the large swelling on her cheek, purple and blue.

  She hurried over to the bed and saw the ring of bruises round her mum’s neck, proof that Anna’s theory was true. There had obviously been a fight, but she couldn’t understand how the situation had unfolded. How Izzy could be so badly injured, and Fran just bruised? Perhaps Izzy had been defending herself? Her mum was so much bigger than her sister in every way, and even though Fran had
been poorly, Izzy was so slight she’d be no match for her.

  She gently shook Fran’s shoulder. ‘Mum, Mum. I need you to wake up.’

  There was no response, her body floppy.

  That’s when she understood. She wasn’t asleep. She was unconscious.

  Thirty-Nine

  Martha

  Now

  Martha heard the whirr of rotor blades and adrenaline pumped round her body as she dashed down the stairs and out into the front garden, looking up at the sky. She could see that the helicopter was going to land in the field next to the road, and she ran over, ready to guide the paramedics to the house.

  From a safe distance, she watched as two figures in red overalls jumped out, a man and a woman, and she beckoned to them, giving them an update on the situation as they jogged towards the house. The paramedics ran up the stairs while Martha followed, so frightened that they might be too late she was shaking from head to toe.

  She stood in the doorway and watched as the paramedics did their assessments, hands fidgeting, wanting to help but not wanting to get in the way either. That’s when she noticed Anna had gone but decided it was the least of her worries; she could catch up with her later. What mattered was getting Fran and Izzy the medical attention they needed.

  ‘Mum’s just come out of hospital today.’ Both the paramedics turned at Martha’s voice.

  ‘Which one’s your mum?’ the woman said.

  Martha’s chin started to wobble. ‘They both are.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s complicated.’ She pointed to the bed. ‘Fran had a major heart attack a week ago. She’s diabetic. My neighbour gave her something to calm her down, but I can’t get her to wake up. I wasn’t here and I have no idea what she’s given her.’