The Other Mother

by J. A. Baker

  ‘And by the time they all descend on your house, and by God they will descend, I will be gone and you’ll both be here, ready for them.’ She lets go of my hair and I freeze as I feel her fingers begin to stroke it strand by strand, untangling the knots and smoothing it down. ‘But, of course, I can’t guarantee what sort of a state you’ll both be in by then. Or whether you’ll even be well enough to tell them what happened.’ She continues stroking and straightening, my head flopping backwards and forwards as she tugs at the tangles, freeing them up. ‘Not that it matters, anyway. Even if you’re well enough to name me, do you really think any court in the land is going to care what I did to you both? I doubt they’ll even believe you. You’re not exactly an upstanding member of the community, are you? Or a model citizen? No,’ she continues, ‘I can do whatever I want to you and nobody, my dear, will give a shit.’

  I close my eyes. She is right. I know that, which is why I must find the strength to fight her off, to get her away from me and go and find Rosie. That’s just how it is. I’ve always known I would be on my own in this world; that there would be so few people willing to help me if things turned sour.

  ‘I mean, last time,’ she says, her voice suddenly soft and non-threatening, ‘it was quite rewarding. Knowing the only real friend you’d had since getting out of prison believed me when I followed her home and told her about you. But this,’ she says with a sudden hiss, ‘this is beyond anything I’ve ever dreamed of. It’s just so fucking brilliant.’

  I gasp and another sob escapes as I try to take it all in. ‘It was you,’ is all I can say. I feel momentarily winded, all the oxygen sucked out of my system, my lungs empty and deflated.

  ‘Of course, it was me!’ she shouts pulling my arm back again. ‘But all that resulted in was you being left on your own. So what? There’s plenty of lonely people out there! Hardly a fitting punishment for a crime as terrible as yours, is it?’

  She begins to sing softly, a tuneless dirge that fills me with revulsion.

  I can barely breathe. The room spins. It was her. All this time and it was her. I swallow hard and take a few stilted breaths. She is going to kill me. I can see that now. I think, deep down, I’ve always known it.

  I trail my gritty eyes over the kitchen and try to think of all the positives. For one, I know this house better than she does. I have the keys. I also know all the hiding places. And I know exactly where I keep all the sharp knives. Trying to still my breathing, I shift slightly under her touch. I want her to think I’m relaxed, that she is controlling me. I also want to clear the fog in my brain. I need to stay alert, have my wits about me, and fear will only clutter my thinking. If I can free myself, get my arm back in place, I’ll be able to make a run for it, lock her in the house while I grab Rosie and escape.

  I am rapidly trying to go through all the possible ways of freeing myself from her clutches when I hear it, the crunch of footsteps coming up the drive. My heart leaps into my throat as I listen. More than one set of feet marching up towards the front door. Rosie? And Rupert? Just as I fear my head will burst with the tension, Beverley stops. She has heard it too.

  ‘Looks like your daughter has decided to join us,’ she croons, as her grip on my arm tightens and she leans down so that her face is next to mine. I feel her warm breath as it wafts around my face. ‘Fasten your seatbelts,’ she says in a sickly voice that makes me want to retch. ‘The real fun is just about to begin.’

  Erica

  I cry out loud and drop my phone into the sink. It spins around on the porcelain before coming to a standstill, rocking against the surface with a clatter. I grapple with it, dropping it again as I try to pick it up with trembling fingers and rapidly failing dexterity. Tears blind me as I finally manage to scoop it up and dry it off on my sweater.

  Slumping down on to a nearby stool, I stare again at the screen, at the hideous image that is jumping out at me. Two faces, one sneering, lips curled and twisted with a contrived smile that is more of a grimace and the other, terrified, her face wet with tears, eyes bulging, her mouth gaping with fear. My hands shake violently as I drag my fingers over the screen to enlarge it. The image is even worse close up. A victim and her attacker here on my phone. I quickly close it and wipe my eyes with my sleeve, my arm shaking, my entire body gripped with panic. Shutting my eyes tight against it all, I take a shuddering breath while I try to think what to do. I knew Beverley was angry, unhinged even, but I had no inkling she would actually go through with something like this. My face burns with humiliation and fear. I am associated with all this. I’m a part of it whether I want to be or not. Terror and an unshakeable sense of accountability eats at my brain. I helped to create this monster, this unstoppable situation that is unfolding right in front of my eyes, and I now have no idea how to bring an end to it or what I should do next.

  ‘Everything OK?’ Arthur’s voice behind me makes my head buzz.

  I missed his entry into the room. I’m normally acutely alert to his movements but this time he has caught me unawares. My mind was elsewhere and now he has snuck up on me and I’m not sure I am in the right frame of mind to cover up my tracks. I’m not sure I even want to. It’s been truly exhausting keeping all of this to myself for so long. And isn’t this what we both wanted? Complete honesty and transparency with everything we do? It can’t have been easy for Arthur, having to admit to losing such a powerful and highly paid job. But he did it, and yet here I am still clinging on to secrets that could be far more damaging than any redundancy or financial repercussions brought about by a job loss. I need to do this. I have to find the courage to own up to what I have done. I have helped to cause this trauma and now I have to try to bring an end to it.

  ‘Well,’ I reply, my voice threatening to fail me, ‘I’m not sure, really.’

  I watch his eyes widen, see a pulse begin to build in his temple as he tries to assess me, work out where this is all going.

  ‘The hospital?’ he says quickly. I register the look of panic in his eyes and quickly shake my head to reassure him.

  ‘No, it’s nothing to do with the hospital,’ I say softly, my head dipped as I try to hide the shame I feel at what I am about to tell him.

  ‘Then what?’

  I scrutinise his face, trying to freeze frame his expression and stance; the way his shoulders drop ever so slightly when he’s concentrating on something important, the azure of his eyes as he watches me, the slight tilt of his head as he waits for me to speak. These are all the things I want to remember about him before I change everything with what I am about to say; before I shatter his illusion of me when he finds out this terrible, terrible thing that I have done and what sort of a monster I really am.

  I let out a deep breath, my body almost convulsing with the effort of it, and push my phone towards him, hoping the picture will somehow be enough for him, that it will explain everything to him without me having to admit to any wrongdoing in all of this. I blink away tears. It won’t, I know that. Of course, I do. He will open the picture and be confronted with a horrific image of two people he has never met before, one of them sneering at the camera and the other with such an expression of fear and grief on her face that it will take his breath away. He will want to know why such a grotesque photo is on my phone, who sent it to me and what it has to do with me. And then I will have to tell him.

  I watch his face as he opens the picture and his brow knits together. I swallow hard and hold my breath …

  Beverley

  It is so near perfect, so much better than I ever imagined it could be, I almost cry. I don’t, however. Tears are for the weaklings of this world; all the hopeless victims and people who enjoy sitting about wringing their hands and telling anyone who will listen their tales of woe. The ones who get crushed underfoot, they are the ones who sit about weeping. But not me. I am growing in strength, day by day, gathering muscle as I plough through with my plans, no longer an impotent bystander while the scales of justice decide to reward the criminals and punish the inn
ocent.

  I pull her arm harder and higher up her back and watch as she squirms and sobs beneath me. She deserves to be in pain and I have earned the right to watch.

  I glance around the kitchen for anything I can use to hurt her even more, to show her who is in charge here, but practically every surface is bare. She is a minimalist. A place for everything and everything in its place. And I thought I liked things neat and tidy.

  I am guessing all the sharp implements are hidden away somewhere and I’m in the process of mentally working out where they can be when I hear it; footsteps outside. I wonder if that’s why she has a gravel drive? So nobody can creep up on her and catch her unawares? It wouldn’t surprise me one little bit. She has every reason to feel scared and be constantly looking over her shoulder.

  I tremble with excitement. She can’t have gotten far, her daughter. No police around these parts. No need, is there? What on earth could happen in a sleepy hamlet such as this one? I’ll bet Oakhill has the lowest crime rate in the whole of the country. Until now, that is.

  I lean down and whisper in her ear about how excited I am at what’s going to happen next. Truth be told, I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen, but if that next-door neighbour of hers is as furious at her as I am, then I think I have very possibly found myself the perfect accomplice.

  The air is thick with anticipation as the footsteps grow closer, crunching over the gravel and pieces of shattered glass, tramping through the house. More than one set of feet, and they are heading our way.

  My breath becomes slightly laboured as I prepare myself for whatever it is I am about to be faced with. I wanted excitement and vengeance and it doesn’t get much better than this. Adrenalin fizzes through me while I wait, Lissy’s hand in mine as I keep it tucked tightly up her back, giving it a good yank every so often to remind her of her predicament.

  There is a second’s silence, an exquisite moment of the unknown; the calm before the storm. I lower my head slightly, let out one long shuddering breath and then look up to see them standing there in front of me.

  ∞∞∞∞

  ‘WHAT?’ is all I can say before my voice leaves me. For what feels like an eternity, I am speechless, my body locked rigid with alarm. All I can feel is the rapid pulse of Lissy’s blood as it hurtles round her body. My own heartbeat thrashes around my ears, a thick whooshing noise as it forces itself through my veins. Even my voice sounds distorted as I try to make sense of what it is I’m seeing, this sight before me. It isn’t possible. The whole thing is like a warped version of reality. It defies all logic; a completely parallel universe.

  ‘Not expecting me, then?’

  I shake my head and look down to see Lissy screwing her eyes up, trying to work out who this person is that is standing in front of us, holding her daughter fast with his big, strong arms. The daughter is pale and is held in front of him. Her eyes are brimming with tears and I can’t be absolutely certain, but it looks like a bruise is beginning to develop across her left cheekbone, a bloom of sepia slowly spreading over her flawless skin.

  ‘Come on, MOVE!’ he shouts to the girl as he pushes the back of her legs with his knee.

  They stumble forward, and it’s only then that I see she has her hands held tightly behind her back with his large fingers, while he is holding a fistful of her clothes with his other hand to push her along.

  I’m not sure whether I should feel terrified or elated by his appearance. It’s certainly unexpected.

  ‘Sit!’ he barks at her and she slumps awkwardly in a chair opposite her mother. Their eyes meet and the girl’s chin trembles as her mother gives a weak smile and raises her free hand to reach across to touch her.

  ‘Oh no,’ I say with a smile, ‘no touching. Not today.’ I pull her back, lifting her arm up her back again. Just a slight push, that’s all it takes to stop her in her tracks, to make her take a deep gasp and think twice before she tries to do anything stupid.

  A deathly hush fills the room until he looks over to me and smiles. ‘Bet you weren’t expecting to see me again, were you, eh?’

  I shake my head silently. I don’t want to speak just yet. His appearance has left me slightly stunned and rather edgy, so I want to take some time to think about what it is I’m actually going to say.

  ‘Please,’ the young girl cries in such a pleading voice it makes my toes curl. ‘Please, just let us go and we promise we won’t tell a soul, will we, Mum?’

  They both shake their heads vigorously, their eyes glassy and wide as saucers. I watch, mesmerised as a stream of tears cascade down their faces. Too late for tears. It’s all far too late for all that emotion, all that fucking nonsense.

  ‘You’ve had decades to do your crying,’ I say, in a voice that sounds as if it is coming from somebody else.

  ‘Are we not going to do any introductions, then?’ Daryl asks, his solid belly swaying from side to side as he speaks.

  I ignore him, my mind working overtime as I try to work out what to do next.

  ‘Mum, he’s hurt Rupert!’ Rosie’s voice rings out across the kitchen, but before the girl can say anything else, Daryl’s hand comes down and swipes hard across the side of her face with a resounding thwack.

  I feel her mother flinch and drag her arm higher before she can do or say anything. Daryl is such a fucking idiot. Doing something like that is bound to freak her out and she will possibly try to make a run for it. That’s the last thing I want. I’ve waited far too long for this moment. She is staying here as I long as I decide to keep her.

  A sobbing sound emanates from Rosie and I watch as she lifts her head, blood trickling down from her nose. There is a scarlet handprint covering the side of her face and her neck is flushed bright red.

  ‘Leave her alone!’ Lissy’s voice is a squeak as I apply more pressure on her shoulder.

  ‘Shut up,’ I hiss, my patience waning rapidly. ‘The more you talk, the worse things will be for the both of you.’ She nods and more tears flow down her pale, skinny face. Good enough for her.

  ‘So, what’s the plan then, eh?’ Daryl asks, an orb of sweat visible under his armpits, his shirt darkened with the moisture. He is smiling and for some reason this sickens me. He shouldn’t be here. This is my moment, not his.

  ‘Why were you following me, Daryl?’ I bark at him and it takes a second for my question to sink in. He looks bewildered and then starts to smile.

  ‘Follow?’ He laughs loudly. ‘I haven’t been following you! What makes you think that?’

  I try to mask my confusion. He’s lying. He has to be. I have no idea why he has done it and I refuse to play games with him. He wants me to ask why he’s here but I’m not going to. I won’t stoop to such levels. I’m better than that.

  I shake my head and turn away. A few minutes to gather my thoughts; that’s all I need.

  ‘I saw her a few weeks ago. That’s how I ended up here,’ Daryl says, and now I am all ears. ‘Just a stroke of luck, really.’ He leans over and stares at Lissy, his stomach pressing into the back of the chair, folds of fat protruding around and through the edges of the wooden slats. I exhale loudly and look away. ‘Unfortunately for you, I saw you when I was dropping your neighbour off after I picked him up at the station,’ he croons at her, ‘you really should be more careful, you know. Standing in your front garden like that, letting everyone know where you live. Out there, watering plants like lady of the fucking manor. The likes of you should be hiding away, not flaunting yourself to the public. And you’ve never changed. Still a skinny little runt.’

  I see Lissy’s shoulders drop ever so slightly and hear a small moan escape from the back of her throat.

  ‘He hit him, Mum. This man hit our neighbour and he’s unconscious in th—’

  ‘I’ve already told you to SHUT THE FUCK UP!’

  I watch as both of them shrink away, fearing another beating, and I don’t know if I want to laugh or feel sorry for them.

  ‘Shut up!’ I cry, furious at them all. This is my
moment; my piece of utopia and they are all ruining it. I pull Lissy to her feet. ‘Come on you, UP!’ and nod to Daryl to do the same with the girl. He complies with a crooked smile, hoisting her upright with a rough jerk of his hand. He is only too happy to assist me; like a puppy, so eager to please, so desperate to be wanted.

  ‘In the garage,’ I say after some thought. ‘We can tie them up in there.’

  He grunts slightly as we drag them along, their feet slipping and twisting underneath them. I can see the girl’s head as it swivels from side to side. She thinks we’re going to kill them. I catch sight of her eye and wink. Let’s just see how events turn out shall we? That’s where the buzz lies; not knowing what’s going to happen next. The unknown. It’s all part of the fun.

  Erica

  I watch Arthur’s face, looking to see if I repulse him. I should. I repulse myself. He would have every right to leave me. I’ve done a terrible thing; a dreadful thing and now people’s lives are at risk. If anything happens to Lissy and her daughter it will all be my fault. The blame will lie squarely at my door.

  I drop my gaze, no longer able to watch him, to see the look in his eyes as he works out what to do next. The faint hum of the fridge in the corner of the room takes over everything, a distorted groaning sound that bellows in my head, a roaring reminder of this awful act that I have initiated.

  ‘Is she mentally ill?’ he says and I snap back into focus.

  ‘I-I didn’t think so, but now, well now …’

  ‘You don’t think so?’ he says, a deep furrow appearing in his forehead just above the bridge of his nose. ‘She has done this and you’re saying you’re not sure? Dear God, Erica, what were you thinking of, getting involved with somebody like this?’ His voice is growing in crescendo and I don’t think I can stand to see the look of horror and disappointment on his face as he glowers at me.