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

by Rona Halsall

  She pulled her phone from her pocket and googled Anna Betts. It was something she’d never considered doing before – she’d always taken her at face value, never curious to find out any more than she’d been willing to share. There was an entry on Wikipedia and Martha’s eyes widened at the first sentence: ‘Anna Betts is a pen name used by a successful children’s author.’ A pen name? She’d had no idea, and it shook her, like a small earthquake, sending cracks through her world. Fancy knowing someone all that time and thinking their pen name was their real name. Is she even called Anna? She scanned the rest of the entry but it was not very informative, just a list of her books and estimates of sales and information on a couple of prizes she’d won. She was born in Leeds, married with two children, and that was all the personal information available – nothing new there.

  She went back to her search and checked other entries, but there was nothing she didn’t already know, just publicity about the last new releases a couple of years ago. She puffed out her cheeks and went on Amazon, found Anna’s books and clicked through the titles. It was something she’d never done as there were always printed copies of the books in their house, and she read some of the reviews, smiling at the compliments about the illustrations. Mum’s got a lot to be proud of, she realised, glancing at Fran on the bed in front of her, the sight of her battered face making her shudder. All the unnecessary suffering and for what? That was the million-dollar question. And she was determined to find out.

  She returned to her phone, scrolled back up the page and spotted a photo of Anna with an author’s bio next to it.

  ‘Anna always enjoyed making up stories for her two sons, but only started writing children’s books when they had left home and she didn’t have to spend her time clearing up after them. She loves Cornwall and being by the sea, finding the wild weather perfect for stirring her imagination.’

  Martha left the site and checked the Google search to see if there was anything else that might tell her more about who Anna really was.

  She was about to give up when her phone buzzed. A message from Neil.

  How’s everything? Do you want company/a lift home?

  She hesitated for a moment. It was late now. She was tired and grief-stricken and confused and angry. She wanted to talk, she wanted to sleep, she wanted to work out what was niggling at her. She typed her reply.

  Not good. Could do with a friend. Police want to talk to me. Ward 7.

  His reply was quick.

  On my way.

  She sat back in her chair, waiting. The events of the last few days buzzing round her head, her eyes on Fran but not seeing her as she tried to find the elusive connection that her mind had made. The curtain flicked open, startling her out of her thoughts, and a nurse poked her head into the cubicle to tell her there was someone at the desk asking for her.

  She rose, expecting to see Neil, but it wasn’t him. It was a slight, harried-looking man with grey hair and an unkempt beard, and a younger, taller man with a red complexion and acne scars.

  The older man gave her a quick smile. ‘Hello, I’m Detective Sergeant Chris Penhalligan, and this is Detective Constable Sam Cleeves.’

  Her heart clenched. What do I tell them?

  Her head told her to hold back, to wait until she’d pieced it all together, but her heart knew that the time for lies and half-truths was over. She had to be brave, to face up to what she’d done when she’d visited Greg, as well as tell them everything she knew about the incident with Fran and Izzy. Everything, all the background story, as well as her suspicions about Anna trying to make sure they both died. She had to bundle it all up and give it to them in the hope they could work it out, because although she’d tried, she’d come to a dead end and she was too exhausted to worry any more. She wanted it to be over. Then maybe she could start again, her life a fresh, blank page, with all the lies behind her.

  Forty-One

  Martha

  Now

  Her eyes slid between the two men, palms greasy with sweat.

  ‘I’m sure it’s been a very stressful time for you,’ DS Penhalligan said, a strong Cornish accent curling his vowels. ‘But we need a statement. Your version of events, while it’s still fresh in your mind.’

  She nodded, couldn’t trust herself to speak, because now she was face to face with the police officers, the idea of ploughing through everything that had happened, trying to explain how it all tied together, the cause and effect, was quite horrifying.

  His hand pointed down the corridor. ‘Perhaps we could go into the visitors’ lounge, where it’s more private?’

  Her voice refused to work and she felt so vulnerable she might as well have been standing there naked. Could they see her fear? Sense her indecision about how much to tell them? Spot it in her body language? Her legs started to shake.

  ‘I’m not… I can’t…’ she stammered as the faces of the two policemen swayed in front of her. She grabbed at the reception desk to stop herself from falling, and the nurse who was manning it glanced up from the computer screen. The nurse’s eyes studied her face for a moment.

  ‘Let’s get you sitting down, shall we?’ He hurried away and came back with a chair, which Martha gratefully slumped into, clinging onto the seat as the floor continued to move as if it had a life of its own. A few minutes later, a plastic cup of water was pushed into her hand. ‘Here you go, have a drink.’ The nurse crouched in front of her, his eyes scanning her face.

  The water helped, but she still felt light-headed and realised she hadn’t eaten much all day. A quick snack at lunchtime, and that was ten hours ago now. She hadn’t drunk much either. She finished the water and stared at the floor, nausea swirling in her stomach.

  The nurse looked at the detectives. ‘Does this have to be done now? Can it wait until morning?’

  Martha held her breath as the nurse hustled the detectives to one side and had a muttered conversation. There was lots of nodding. Please go away. Please.

  The nurse walked away, down the corridor, and DS Penhalligan walked back to where she was sitting. ‘We’ll just run through the basics with you tonight and then we can go through it in more detail tomorrow. Fifteen minutes, do you think you’re up to that?’

  Do I have any choice? She didn’t think so. Martha swallowed and nodded and followed them to the visitors’ lounge, which was simply furnished with a row of chairs round the edge of the room and a round Formica-topped table in the corner, more chairs pushed up against it. The DS pulled out a chair for her, and the nurse came into the room with a cup of tea, which he put in front of her. ‘Here you go, see if that helps. I’ve put plenty of sugar in for the shock.’ He looked at the police officers. ‘If you could make it as brief as possible tonight. She’s had a terrible time of it today.’

  Martha gave him a feeble smile. She fished a tissue out of her pocket and wiped at her face. ‘Thank you.’

  DS Penhalligan settled himself opposite, his constable beside him, ready with notebook and pen. ‘Like I said, we just need to run through the basics of what you know and then we can go through everything in more detail tomorrow.’

  Martha sipped at her tea, the milky sweetness sliding down her throat, warming her stomach. She took another sip. It was exactly what she needed. Her hand was shaking, threatening to spill her drink, and she put the cup on the table, ready as she was ever going to be.

  ‘You need to find my neighbour, Anna Betts. Talk to her. She was there. She’s the one who knows what happened.’ She looked down at her hands, linked her fingers together to quell the shaking. ‘We all had a row – me, Mum and Izzy – and I stormed out, went down to the beach to clear my head and have a think. When I came back’ – she shook her head – ‘I don’t know how long I was gone. At least an hour. Could have been more.’ She heaved in a breath as she visualised the scene. ‘Anyway, Mum and Izzy were both unconscious in the bedroom.’ She looked up at the officers, blinked a couple of times. ‘I honestly don’t know what happened. But Anna said she heard t
hem having a fight and came round to see what was going on.’

  ‘And Anna was still there when you arrived?’

  Martha nodded. ‘She was sitting in an armchair, looking completely out of it. My neighbour’s gone to check on her.’

  DS Penhalligan glanced at his colleague. ‘Okay, well that’s the bones of it. We’ll find out where Anna is and get her side of the story, and hopefully we’ll be able to talk to your mum tomorrow.’

  He asked for contact details, and when that was all written down he summarised what they’d pieced together from speaking to the medical staff and outlined how the investigation would progress. They’d had the forensics team at the house already, gathering evidence. She sipped at her tea as she listened, shocked to the core by their summary, but glad that she’d spoken to them now.

  ‘What are your plans?’ he said as they stood, ready to leave. ‘Are you going home tonight or are you staying here?’

  ‘I… I’m waiting for my lift.’ I just want to go home, she thought, hoping they’d let her. She was only just keeping her emotions in check, and after going through what had happened, she could feel herself on the verge of dissolving into a blubbering mess.

  He delved into a pocket and brought out a card, passed it to her. ‘We can go through everything in more detail at your house in the morning. SOCO will be finished in a couple of hours, I expect, so it’ll be okay to go back tonight if you want to.’

  Martha nodded, managed a whispered, ‘Thank you.’ Then they were gone.

  She studied the card before tucking it in her pocket, finished her tea, let her mind absorb everything the police had told her.

  Some time later, the door opened and Neil walked in. He had a McDonald’s bag in his hand and a carton with hot drinks, the unmistakable aroma of coffee floating through the door with him. Despite herself, she managed a smile.

  ‘I thought you might need something to eat,’ he said, holding up the bag.

  ‘Oh, Neil,’ was all she managed to say before hot tears rolled down her cheeks and she was crying again. It was such a kind thought, he’d caught her off-guard.

  ‘Hey, it’s okay,’ he said, crouching next to her, an arm round her shoulders. Her head rested on his chest and he seemed happy to stay like that until she managed to stop sniffling.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I’m such a mess.’

  ‘Hey, it’s okay. It’s natural to feel all over the place. I was just like that when my dad died last year. You let it all out, don’t mind me.’

  She dabbed at her eyes, her stomach growling. ‘That smells good,’ she said, with an embarrassed attempt at a laugh.

  He pulled out a chair and sat opposite her before unloading the bag. They ate burgers and chips in silence, Martha stuffing food in her mouth like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. By the time she’d finished, her energy levels had risen, the coffee had cleared her head and she’d made a decision.

  ‘Can I tell you what happened? I don’t know everything because I wasn’t there for all of it. But there are things that are… well, they’re worrying me, and I want to get it all clear before I have to talk to the police again tomorrow.’ She knew she wouldn’t sleep with her thoughts playing hide-and-seek in her head, and decided talking it through might help her work out the last piece of the puzzle. Who is Anna and why might she want Fran and Izzy dead?

  He leant back in his chair and wiped his mouth with a napkin. ‘Sure thing. Whatever’s going to help. And if you want me to be there when you talk to the police, I can be.’

  Martha’s body sagged with relief. ‘Would you? I’d feel so much better with a bit of support.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s a long story.’

  He took a sip of coffee, cradled his cup in his hands. ‘We’ve got all night.’

  She finished off her own drink and started talking, telling him everything that she knew – not just the aftermath of the fight between Fran and Izzy, but everything that had happened before, right back to when she was born. She even told him about Greg and how she’d hurt him.

  When she finally finished, Neil blew out a breath. ‘Wow. That’s quite a tale.’

  She noticed the dark rings under his eyes, the weariness pulling at his face, and felt a rush of guilt for throwing all her troubles into his lap. Having talked for the best part of an hour, with Neil nudging her narrative with the odd question here and there, she was too tired to really think about it any more. Instead of clearing her thoughts, as she’d hoped, laying out the whole story had exhausted her. A headache pulsed in her forehead and she rubbed at her eyes, which were sore from crying.

  Neil was gazing at the far wall, deep in thought. ‘You know what?’ she said. ‘Let’s go home. It’s a lot to take in and it might be clearer once I’ve slept on it. Why don’t we talk tomorrow before the police come round? Come for breakfast and we can go through it.’

  He gave her a weary smile. ‘Sounds like a plan. I’m up early with the animals anyway, so I can call round after I’ve checked and fed them all.’

  The nurse popped his head round the door then came into the room. He studied her face for a moment. ‘Oh, you look much better. The colour’s back in your cheeks now. You were awful pale.’

  Martha smiled. ‘Thanks for the tea and for looking after me. We’re going to head off home.’

  The nurse nodded. ‘Good idea. You’ll feel better for a good night’s sleep. As will your mum, who’s doing fine now, by the way. I’ve just done the OBS and everything’s stable. We’ll see you tomorrow, then?’

  They said their goodbyes and left, neither of them speaking until Truro was a few miles behind them.

  ‘I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it until tomorrow,’ Neil said, not taking his eyes off the road, ‘but I just need to get this straight. So I know I’ve understood it properly.’

  ‘Okay,’ Martha said, a sigh in her voice. It was the last thing she wanted to do, sleep tugging at her eyelids. Perhaps he’ll see things differently, she thought. It’s worth a try.

  ‘So, basically, Izzy is your mum. Your biological father was a law student?’ He glanced at her and she nodded. ‘And his parents – one of whom was a judge – thought their reputations would be destroyed because their son had fathered a baby with a fourteen-year-old?’

  ‘That’s right. Then Greg, who I thought was my father, decided to blackmail the judge’s family.’

  ‘Okay, then the judge sent someone to give him a warning and it scared Fran so she ran away to Cornwall.’

  Martha nodded. ‘That’s about it.’

  ‘I’m clear about all that.’ He frowned. ‘It’s just the next bit that’s confusing me. You think Anna basically caused Izzy to die by not getting help soon enough and then tried to kill your mum with an overdose?’

  The baldness of the statement hit Martha like a slap. Is that what I think? She wasn’t sure now. She scrunched her eyes closed, trying to visualise the scene when she’d got back to the house: Anna sitting in the armchair, a vacant expression on her face while Izzy and Fran lay dying. What other conclusion could be drawn?

  She pulled a face, unsure now. ‘It sounds a bit unlikely, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Thing is, I’ve known Anna a long time – decades – and she’s never lost her temper, not even once, whatever disaster she was having to cope with. And there’ve been a few; in fact, you might remember some of them. A storm that ripped half the roof off. My cows escaping and trashing her garden. Even when she drove off the road and crashed through the gate to one of my fields, she just took it in her stride.’ He glanced at Martha. ‘I see a lot of people in my line of work and I just wouldn’t have her down as someone capable of… wilfully killing someone.’

  Martha gazed out of the window, trying to think of a different scenario to explain the facts, but she kept coming back to the same conclusion.

  ‘You know Izzy died from a ruptured spleen, don’t you?’

  He glanced at her and she realised she probably hadn’t told him the full implications.

/>   ‘Well, the police told me the doctor thinks she was stamped on.’

  ‘What?’ Neil’s hands tightened round the steering wheel, the car veering towards the middle of the road while he looked at Martha, before he turned his attention back to driving and swerved back onto the right side of the road again.

  ‘Sorry, I forgot to mention that.’ Martha put a hand to her forehead. ‘It just came to me, because you don’t stomp on someone by accident. That’s a wilful act. And it was either Fran or Anna who did it.’ She swallowed. ‘Apparently, there’s a footprint.’

  Neil whistled through his teeth. ‘There’ll be a post-mortem, so maybe that’ll make things clearer. They’ll take shoes to see whose foot fits and then we’ll know for definite.’ Neil sighed. ‘I’m being devil’s advocate here, okay, but Anna might just have been in shock when she gave your mum all those pills. Perhaps it wasn’t intentional.’

  Martha huffed. ‘Yeah.’ She looked out of the window, rubbing at her forehead to ease her headache, struggling with the logic.

  ‘The thing is, Martha, why would Anna do that? What was her motivation? To me, it looks like your mum and Izzy had a fight and they hurt each other. The overdose was a mistake made by a traumatised old lady who came across a horrible scene and did her best to help.’

  ‘But why did she say she’d rung the ambulance – twice – when it turns out she hadn’t? That’s not a mistake, is it?’ Annoyance sharpened Martha’s words and she folded her arms across her chest, too tired to argue her case. If he didn’t want to listen, then she was wasting her time anyway. Her mind was made up now: Anna had tried to kill Fran and Izzy. However dramatic and shocking that may sound, it’s what had happened and she felt sure the police would find that Anna’s feet were exactly the same size as the footprint on Izzy’s body. The question of why she’d want to do it could be sorted out later; what mattered now was that Anna was out there somewhere.