The Accusation: An addictive psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist

by Victoria Jenkins

  I had been so proud of Lily’s results, but I hadn’t shown it. Instead, when she’d got home later that day, I’d asked her what she thought she was playing at getting her face on TV, to which she and Damien had looked at me as though I had lost my mind. Lily’s eyes had filled with tears and she had stormed from the room, dropping her results envelope on the floor as she left, and I was taken back to all those years earlier, to my own exam results day, and the disappointment I had felt at my parents’ dismissive attitude towards everything I had tried to do, most of it for them.

  ‘What the hell was that about?’ Damien had asked me, but of course I couldn’t tell him, so I had just made some excuse.

  I was still staring at Lily’s face when I heard the front door. I turned the TV off and hurried out into the hallway. Lily was bending over, removing her shoes, her mobile clutched in her left hand.

  ‘You’ve got the bloody thing with you then, I see.’

  She narrowed her eyes and followed my gaze to her phone. ‘Battery died,’ she said, looking at me as though I’d grown a second head. ‘What’s happened now?’

  I stepped forward and put my arms around her, holding her close, tightening my hold as though I could keep her there forever.

  ‘Mum,’ she said, trying to free herself from my grip. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Just for a walk. I wanted to be on my own, that’s all.’ She sighed and I felt her head relax against my shoulder, a gesture that told me she didn’t hate me. ‘I’m sorry about earlier. I know Damien was just trying to protect me. I just don’t think it was the best way.’

  Neither did I, though I wasn’t going to tell Lily that. I wanted her to love Damien as she always had, without Charlotte Copeland ruining the relationship that had formed between them over the years. He had acted stupidly, impulsively, but we had all been pushed into behaving in ways we never would under normal circumstances.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said, holding her at arm’s length so I could look at her beautiful face, her dark eyes with their long lashes. ‘I love you, that’s all. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘You’re acting weird.’

  I smiled, faking cheeriness through the gloom hanging over me. ‘So what’s new? Tell me you know.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘That I love you. That no matter what happens, I’ve always loved you.’

  She pulled a face, disconcerted by my behaviour. ‘Yeah, I know,’ she said, though I was sure the words were uttered just to get away from me and the awkwardness of the exchange. ‘I love you too.’

  I closed my eyes at the sound of those words, letting them smother me with something other than the sense of despair that had become my default emotion. We were still a family, fragmented but not broken. Whatever Charlotte Copeland’s plans, she hadn’t succeeded yet. As I looked at my beautiful daughter, I vowed to do whatever it took to keep her safe.

  I closed my eyes, the smile that Lily had flashed for the television camera lighting up the darkness behind my lids. The image of her face was as clear as though a younger Lily stood before me now, yet within moments it had faded, blurring into something else. Someone else. Rebecca Lanza stared back at me, her face unsmiling and lifeless; so like Lily’s and yet so different.

  I saw for the first time then something I should have seen before; something I maybe had seen but had refused to allow myself to acknowledge. In the hard edges of Rebecca’s face there was another woman, a woman so similar it could only be her sister. Lily’s aunt had tried to ruin my life. I couldn’t let her ruin Lily’s.

  Thirty-Seven

  I waited all the following day for Charlotte to find me. I was sure she would come to the house – that she had been watching me and knew I was there – but she never arrived, and her absence did little to reassure me. I had prepared myself for meeting her face to face, this time knowing who she was; understanding the intended purpose of our being there. I might have forced myself into a false sense of security, convincing myself everything was over, that she had done what she had set out to do by intimidating me and ruining my marriage, but I knew that that was far from true. She wouldn’t stop until she’d finished what she’d started. She might have withdrawn the statement she’d made to the police, but only to protect herself. What I’d learned of her was enough to confirm my suspicions that once she had decided upon something, nothing would stop her from achieving it. Perhaps she had reverted to her original plan of trying to kill me.

  I waited until Amelia would be back from school before heading over to Nancy’s. Expecting Damien to be there, I had prepared myself for whatever atmosphere might await me, wondering whether Nancy knew my secret yet. She lived in an end-of-terrace house with a narrow garden – little more than a yard – that was accessible from the side street on which Damien’s car was parked. When I got there, Amelia was outside, crouched near the fence.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

  She stood and held out a handful of leaves that had blown from the trees that edged the field behind the back lane. ‘I need these for my autumn project,’ she explained. She pointed to the pencils resting on top of her sketchbook on the low wall that lined Nancy’s narrow flower bed. There was a collection of oranges, browns and reds. ‘I could do with something really red,’ she mused as she studied the colours.

  ‘We could go to the park tomorrow after school,’ I suggested. ‘It’s a bit late now – it’ll be dark before long.’

  Amelia sighed and muttered a reluctant ‘okay’, disappointed at being restricted by the small garden and the October nights that were drawing in increasingly early.

  ‘Do you fancy a pizza?’ I asked brightly, offering something I knew would distract her from thoughts of the park. ‘I could order one in for us, what do you reckon? Thursday evening treat?’

  Her face lit up.

  ‘I’ll go and tell Granny before she puts something on for you.’

  I went into the kitchen, where Nancy was standing at the sink, her back to me. ‘I told Amelia I’d get us all a pizza,’ I said, removing my coat and hanging it from one of the hooks by the back door. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

  Nancy said nothing, and it was a moment before she turned to acknowledge me. When she did, she couldn’t hide the fact that she had been crying.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked. ‘Has something happened?’

  She pressed her fingertips to her eyes as though trying to push the tears back. It was uncomfortable for us both; I couldn’t remember ever having seen her cry before, and it was something she didn’t appreciate being reduced to in front of me.

  ‘It’s Damien,’ she said at last. ‘I’ve never seen him like this. Out drinking all the time, coming back in such a state he can’t get up the stairs by himself. I’m just grateful Amelia was in bed by the time he got home last night.’

  The word ‘home’ stung, though I realised how petty it was of me to focus on it. This wasn’t his home – it wasn’t Amelia’s home – though Nancy already seemed to have accepted their residence here as permanent.

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Still in bed. He’s been up there all day.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Nancy. It shouldn’t be you looking after Amelia. I’ll take her out after school tomorrow; it’ll give you a break.’

  ‘I don’t need a break. I just hate seeing him like this. He loves you and he loves the girls, but these past couple of weeks seem to have broken him. What’s going on, Jenna? I don’t understand why the charge hasn’t been dropped. I know that woman has withdrawn her statement, so why are you still being persecuted?’

  For the first time in as long as I could recall, it felt as though Nancy was on my side. She almost sounded sympathetic. She deserved the truth, but it was something I just couldn’t give her.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  We stood in silence, both trapped by our own thoughts. Though I couldn’t blame Damie
n, I wanted to shake him for being so irresponsible. It wasn’t like him to react to problems in this way, even in a situation that was far from normal.

  ‘Mum! Mummy! No!’

  My blood turned cold at the sound of Amelia’s piercing screams. I shot through the back door; the side gate opposite it was open and my daughter was being carried across the road, her arms and legs flailing wildly as the woman holding her struggled to keep her grip.

  ‘Call the police,’ I screamed at Nancy, who had followed me out.

  I ran across the road, reaching for Charlotte’s hair and yanking her head back as she pushed Amelia into the back seat of a car. She cried out in pain, yet she managed to twist free and her closed fist caught me in the side of the head. I heard Amelia crying and calling for me as Charlotte kicked me in the shin, taking my legs from beneath me. I staggered back and fell to the tarmac.

  She got into the driver’s seat and started the engine as I pulled myself up, tasting blood in my mouth. I yanked open the car door, where Amelia was cowering on the back seat, her face red and stained with terrified tears.

  ‘Mum,’ she said, her voice pitiful, but as I reached in to grab her, I felt the car move. ‘Mum!’

  She clung on to my arms as my body fell forward with the movement of the car. Charlotte accelerated, the back door still open, my legs hanging out. I managed to pull myself inside, and fell on top of Amelia, grasping her tightly for a moment before reaching back to close the door.

  ‘Everything’s going to be okay,’ I said, desperately trying to reassure her.

  Charlotte pressed the door lock, and I tried the handle to find the car was fitted with child-safety locks, keeping us trapped inside. Amelia was still sobbing, her eyes searching mine pleadingly, wondering why I was doing nothing to stop what was happening. The truth was that for a moment I was paralysed. I had been here before, at another time, in another life – a little girl entirely dependent on me, and on what I did next.

  I looked through the back window to see Nancy standing in the street, her phone in her hand, watching helplessly as the car disappeared with a screech of tyres around the corner.

  I looked at Amelia. ‘Put your seat belt on,’ I told her, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible. Then, to Charlotte, ‘I know who you are, Charlotte. I know why you’re doing this.’

  Thirty-Eight

  I didn’t have my mobile phone with me; it was in the pocket of my coat, which I had taken off in Nancy’s kitchen. I had never felt so helpless, and I was acutely, painfully aware of Amelia at my side, sobbing quietly.

  ‘You don’t need to do this,’ I said, desperately clinging to the possibility that Charlotte might be reasoned with. ‘None of this has anything to do with Amelia – none of it is her fault. It’s me you’re angry with, not her. Please… let her go. You can do what you want to me, but she’s just a little girl. Please.’

  I could see her faltering, and wondered for a moment whether, despite everything she was guilty of, Charlotte was capable of empathy. I knew nothing about her – I hadn’t even known her name. I tried to remember whether Nikolas had ever mentioned it, but I was sure that if he had, I would have remembered. Surely there had to be some glimmer of compassion amid the revenge she was intent upon. Amelia was no relation to her, but the two of them were linked by Lily, and I hoped this would be enough to persuade Charlotte not to hurt her.

  Her hands were shaking on the steering wheel, her resolve clearly weakened by my plea. ‘You knew what he’d done, didn’t you?’ she said, the words escaping through clenched teeth. ‘You knew what he’d done to her and you said nothing. You did nothing. You’re no better than he was.’

  I glanced at Amelia, who was huddled against me, her little body curled in on itself, her pale face streaked with tears that shone in the darkness. I offered her a look that I hoped might calm her fear, but as she gazed back at me, I saw that nothing I could fake would reassure her. She was only eight, but she was old enough to recognise the threat that sat in the car with us, knowing as well as I did just how dangerous this woman might be.

  ‘I will tell you everything, I swear to you, but not in front of Amelia, please. Let me call her father and get him to take her away from this. Just you and me. What do you think?’

  ‘Shut up!’

  The car veered into the middle of the road as Charlotte leaned across the passenger seat and fumbled for something in the glove box. We were already leaving Caerphilly, heading in the direction of the A470, which would take us either south to Cardiff or north towards Merthyr Tydfil and Brecon.

  In the darkness, the glint of the knife flashed like torchlight. Charlotte held it clutched in her left hand, raised for me to see, her eyes meeting mine in the rear-view mirror. ‘You know I’ll use it, don’t you? So just stop talking.’

  Seeing the knife, Amelia broke out into another fit of sobs. ‘It’s okay,’ I whispered, my face pressed to her head, my words breathed into her hair. ‘Everything is going to be okay. No one’s going to hurt you.’

  My thoughts had been so focused on my elder daughter that I had neglected to worry about the younger. I had assumed that Amelia was safe – none of this was anything to do with her – yet it made some sick kind of sense that Charlotte should exact her revenge in this way.

  The car veered off the bypass and stopped at the side of the road. ‘Get out.’

  I thought she was talking to me, but when she leaned between the seats and pushed the knife towards my face, I realised she was giving Amelia an opportunity to leave. We were near Treforest, just a short walk from the university. Amelia was staring at me, wide-eyed, too terrified by the sight of the knife to do anything but sit there, frozen with fear.

  ‘You can’t make her get out here,’ I said, trying to keep my voice calm. The blade was inches from my mouth, and I had no doubt that Charlotte would use it.

  ‘She gets out here or she comes with us. Your choice.’

  ‘Amelia,’ I said, keeping my eyes fixed on the knife. ‘See over there?’ I raised my arm and pointed in the direction of the bridge. ‘There’s a shop just there. I need you to go in and give them your dad’s number. You remember it, don’t you?’

  From a young age, Damien and I had made sure Amelia knew our full names, so that if she was ever separated from us, she would be able to get help. When she was a little older, we repeated our mobile numbers like a mantra, never believing she would ever have to use them.

  ‘Amelia,’ I urged when she didn’t respond.

  ‘I don’t want to leave you,’ she sobbed.

  I could see Charlotte’s impatience growing, her grip around the knife tightening.

  ‘You need to do this for me, sweetheart, please. Your dad will come and get you, okay?’

  The thought of her going out alone into the night made me sick with dread, but I knew that if she was to stay in the car, whatever Charlotte had planned for me might prove much worse. Amelia was a smart girl, but she was just a child, and I could only pray that the next adult she encountered would be someone who would take care of her and make sure she got home safely. At that moment, she was better off with a stranger than she was with me.

  Charlotte unlocked the doors and I nodded to Amelia. ‘I’ll be fine,’ I reassured her, lying yet again.

  Her sobs as she stepped out of the car broke my heart, but her feet were barely on the concrete before Charlotte turned back to the wheel and accelerated onto the roundabout.

  ‘You bitch,’ I said, a blast of cold night air rushing at me through the still open door. ‘She’s just a little girl.’

  Through the back window, I could see Amelia’s rapidly shrinking figure. She hadn’t moved. Why wasn’t she doing what I had told her? She was alone on a busy road. Anything might happen.

  ‘Close the door.’

  I thought about throwing myself out of the car, but it had gained speed quickly, and if I didn’t end up killing myself in my attempt to flee, I knew Charlotte would return to do the job for me.

&nbs
p; ‘Maria was just a little girl,’ she said, meeting my eye again in the mirror. ‘That didn’t stop you from stealing her, did it?’

  ‘I didn’t steal her. I was the only family she had.’

  ‘I was her family!’

  ‘She didn’t know you,’ I argued. ‘I was the only mother she’d ever known. Hadn’t her life been ripped apart enough already?’

  ‘You knew I had more rights to her than you ever did – that’s why you ran. You kidnapped her.’

  She was wrong, but I couldn’t tell her so, not without revealing a truth I had never told anyone. There were other reasons why I had chosen to hide, all of them to keep Lily safe.

  ‘I did what was best for Lily,’ I said quietly.

  ‘You did what was best for yourself,’ Charlotte accused. ‘Were you in on it?’

  ‘In on what?’ My words were strangled by the insinuation.

  ‘Did you help him kill her?’ she screamed.

  I shook my head, feeling tears wet my cheeks. ‘I didn’t even know him then, you know I didn’t. I am so sorry about what happened to Rebecca, I swear to you I am. I know the police didn’t believe you, but I do. I know what Nikolas was.’

  Charlotte was silent for a moment. ‘She didn’t fall from that balcony.’

  I closed my eyes and tried to suppress everything I had managed to push to the back of my mind. I kept a locked box there, filled with the things I knew would drive me to some sort of breakdown if I allowed them loose to sabotage the attempts I had made at a normal life.

  How did you meet Rebecca?

  I had asked Nikolas the question early on; he’d never kept her death a secret from me.

  She was on holiday with her sister, he told me. The summer of 2000. They came into the bar where I was working, we got chatting, they came back every evening after that.

  I knew what Rebecca had fallen for when she had met Nikolas, for I had been drawn to those same things. It had taken hindsight to realise the mistake I had made in trusting him. It was then that I began to question his version of the events that had led to Rebecca’s death.