The Good Mother: Gripping psychological suspense, with a shocking twist that will leave you reeling

by Karen Osman

  Pleased at having been so decisive, and her mind now able to focus once more, Alison wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck and headed back to the sanctuary of her room. It was only once she was back in the warmth that she realised it was the first lecture she had attended where her first thoughts hadn’t been how difficult the subject was and how much work she had to do.

  *

  Alison didn’t have too much time to dwell on the situation. As the week progressed, she was busy getting back into university life. There were classes to attend, study sessions to prepare for, and books to read. In between, she caught up with Laura and occasionally went to the student bar in the evening. Unlike Alison, whose highlight had been a night on the town on Christmas Eve, Laura had spent her Christmas holiday skiing in the Alps. Her whole family had gone for a fortnight and with days spent on the sunny slopes, afternoons in front of the fire drinking hot chocolate, and evenings with a glass of champagne over dinner, it sounded incredibly glamorous to Alison’s ears.

  ‘You will have to come with me next year! I told my family all about you and they’re desperate to meet you,’ exclaimed Laura, as they walked to the library together.

  ‘Thanks, I would love to,’ replied Alison, wondering what her parents would say and how she would even afford it. Her family was a long way from being poor, but she doubted they would want to splash out on a skiing trip and all the gear when they had other payments to make, such as her accommodation and living expenses. Besides, who knew who she would be celebrating Christmas with next year?

  ‘You can borrow all my old skiing gear,’ continued Laura, as if reading her mind. ‘I got new stuff this year, anyway.’

  Alison smiled her thanks at the offer, and thought not for the first time how different their childhoods had been.

  ‘So what did you get up to over the holidays?’ asked Laura, changing the subject. ‘Let me guess – you studied!’

  Alison made a wry face at the thought. Laura was always on at her for studying too much and not enjoying the more social side of university life, but if last term’s test results were anything to go by, she clearly needed to study more, not less. When she had eventually confessed to Laura how disappointed she was at the end of the first term, Laura had dismissed the results with a wave of her hand and the confident announcement that the results didn’t go towards your final degree anyway so what was the point of worrying about it? Not for the first time, Alison wished she had Laura’s laid-back attitude – it certainly made life easier. Strangely, Alison had felt comforted by her words and even though she was still working long hours, the panic had subsided a little, at least enough to actually take in and remember what she was reading.

  ‘Not much,’ Alison responded. ‘Spent time with my family, saw my school friends, went out for drinks on Christmas Eve… you know, the usual stuff.’

  Alison wondered whether to tell her about bumping into The Professor over the holidays and quickly decided against it.

  *

  It was that coming Friday that Alison eventually plucked up the courage to go to The Professor’s office. Going through the same hair, clothes and make-up rigmarole to get ready, she hoped this time it would be worth it. She had attended her morning lectures and was planning to casually pass by during the lunch hour, knowing it would be unlikely he would have any appointments or classes. As she walked through the law building to his office, her palms became sweaty and she could feel her heart racing. Arriving at his door, she noticed it was slightly ajar. She took a deep breath and was just about to knock, when through the crack she noticed a woman with her legs crossed, perched on the edge of his desk. Trying not to notice how shapely her legs were, Alison heard soft laughter, and was just about to retreat, when her heavy book bag slipped off her shoulder and banged against the office door, moving it open. The unknown woman, whom Alison now recognised as a post-graduate student – and a very pretty one at that – and The Professor both turned to her in surprise.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Alison stammered, realising that it looked as if she had been eavesdropping. ‘I was just about to knock when my bag fell …’ She trailed off, aware how feeble she sounded. ‘I’ll come back at another time…’

  ‘No problem,’ the post-grad announced. ‘I think we were finished here anyway, weren’t we, Doc?’ And with a suggestive smile and a wink at The Professor, she hopped off the desk, flicked her hair behind her, and in seconds she was out of the door, leaving both Alison and The Professor with the lingering scent of her perfume.

  Chapter 12

  Kate

  Kate was brushing her hair when her husband came up behind her. ‘I haven’t seen you with your hair down for a long time,’ he said.

  Glancing at him in the mirror, Kate looked up in surprise. ‘Really?’

  ‘You should wear it down more often, it looks nice,’ he commented.

  Kate didn’t have time to respond before he left the room, but the exchange left her feeling slightly peculiar, perhaps because it was so rare these days for them to talk, never mind compliment each other. Their marriage had changed a lot over the last couple of years. There were small things at first: saying goodbye without a kiss, the daily lunch-time phone call becoming once every few days and then becoming extinct, her birthday being marked by just a card rather than a thoughtful gift, although that was more likely due to lack of funds than anything else. Kate tried to think when they had started taking each other for granted. She couldn’t remember, although she did remember when things started to go really wrong. Her husband’s job loss two years into their marriage had made a huge dent in their relationship and she still wasn’t sure if they would ever recover. For six months, she had tried to support him, to be motivating and encouraging. She bought the newspaper every day and circled potential opportunities for him to apply for, and in the first few weeks he also seemed optimistic. He even said it was the motivation he needed to get into a job he really enjoyed. But as time went on, it was clear it wasn’t going to be easy. Job vacancies – when there were any – were being given to more qualified candidates. It didn’t seem to matter about experience, of which her husband had a decent amount, it was all about qualifications. Without a degree, it was difficult to get even a foot in the door.

  As their meagre savings started to dwindle, he became more and more withdrawn. He stopped applying and spent his days at home watching senseless daytime television. In what had been terrible timing, Kate was pregnant again and was exhausted looking after an active toddler. With her husband always at home, it felt like she had another child to look after and her patience was in short supply. The final straw came when she was balancing the cheque book and discovered they wouldn’t be able to pay next month’s rent. When she told him this and how worried she was, he barely acknowledged her. In fact, he brushed it off and simply told her not to panic and he would handle it. How could she not worry? What would happen to them if they couldn’t pay the rent? She didn’t want to have her worries dismissed, she wanted a plan. In the end, she felt she had no choice but to go to her parents and ask for help. They loaned her the money to pay the rent for another three months, as well as some extra for food and bills. When her husband had found out, he had lost his temper. She had never seen him so angry and, what was worse, the anger was directed at her because she had gone to someone else rather than letting him deal with the problem. But he wasn’t dealing with it, was he, she remembered shouting back. He just sat on the couch twiddling his thumbs, that’s what he was doing. The argument was one of the worst they had ever had, and to this day she still shuddered at the thought of it. Resentment had erupted from both sides like a series of explosions and the silence that followed was eerie and haunted, respectful of the destruction it had caused. Communication was already difficult and the argument had made things even worse. When Kate’s father had then found her husband a job, and he had turned it down as, according to him, his pride wouldn’t allow him to take any more handouts from his father-in-law, Kate was dumbfou
nded with shock. She could no longer speak to her husband as her throat physically constricted. She had taken part-time work where she could, but with a child to care for, one on the way, and little work experience, she struggled to find something with even minimum wage. In the end, her husband had found a job by himself, even if it was two hours away. But Kate had never really forgiven him and she had never forgotten the time she had to ask the cashier to put some items back at the supermarket because there wasn’t enough money in her purse. Her face still burnt at the memory. But she was also angry that her husband had insisted on doing things his way, leaving her to pick up the pieces. She was the one who had kept going, kept looking for solutions. Her children were her life and she would have done anything for them, pride be damned. Yet, he didn’t see it that way and his stubbornness, which she felt had put them all in danger, was a difficult pill to swallow.

  Knowing that the memories had the power to take over her mind, Kate pushed them away and zipped up her jacket against the cold as she went to meet Jan, a friend she had made at the writing class. One of the retirees, cheerful, optimistic and always looking for a new hobby, Jan freely admitted she had only attended the writing course because the pottery class was fully booked. She had recently finished her administration job at the local hospital after thirty-five years, and it was easy to see why she had been so popular. Jan was a talker and loved to make jokes. She didn’t take anything too seriously and was the life and soul of any gathering. Kate suspected that Jan found the quietness of the writing class difficult to cope with at times but for Kate it was two hours of pure bliss. She could let her thoughts wander and she found the process of brainstorming different topic ideas relaxing and therapeutic. Mr Barnes – soon to be Dr Barnes, he had told the class, as he was finishing up his Ph.D. – had arranged for flasks of hot water so they could make themselves tea and coffee, and Irene, who had joined the class in an effort to meet new people after the death of her husband last year, always brought a tin of home-made goodies.

  Kate had also started reading again after Mr Barnes had told them that the best writers were also the most avid readers, and now she was working her way through some of her favourite classics. Little Women was currently on her bedside table. It brought back so many memories of her childhood, snuggled up in bed, listening to the wind howling outside, enjoying the pleasure of pure escapism. Why in the world did I stop reading? Kate thought. What else have I stopped doing that I used to love?

  ‘Hello, stranger! Remember me!’ said a familiar voice, interrupting her thoughts.

  ‘Sorry, Jan. I was lost in my own world for a moment. How are you? Did you do the homework?’

  ‘What do you think?’ giggled Jan. ‘I was going to do it last night – no, really I was,’ she insisted at the look of doubt that crossed Kate’s face, ‘but then my Trevor said, “Let’s go out for a drink,” and I said, “Well, just the one then,” and before I know it, it’s midnight, and of course, I have to sleep, you know how I am when I don’t have my eight hours, and then today I had the grandkids over because I promised Melissa I would take care of them, and then at six o’clock, when I’m giving them their tea, Trevor says to me, “Weren’t you supposed to be writing something?” So what with one thing and another, I forgot and now I’m going to have to come up with an excuse!’

  Kate laughed. It wasn’t the first time Jan hadn’t done the homework and her excuses were so outrageous that no one in the class, including Mr Barnes, took them very seriously. The class was free to attend, after all. Besides, Jan made it easy for everyone to get to know each other and her funny quips and unique take on life meant she was well liked.

  ‘So,’ inhaled Jan, pulling on her cigarette and linking her arm through Kate’s. ‘What was the homework again, pet?’

  ‘Basically, we had to come up with a character and write a character profile,’ explained Kate.

  ‘What! What does that even mean? It would have taken me ages!’

  ‘I know,’ replied Kate. ‘It took me a while but once I got into it, it wasn’t too bad.’

  ‘So who was your character?’

  ‘Ah, that would be telling. You’ll have to wait until we get inside.’

  ‘Ooh, I’m curious now,’ said Jan. ‘Anyway, it’s bound to be good. Barnsie loves all of your work.’ Kate laughed at the nickname; only Jan would be able to get away with something like that.

  ‘Not all of it,’ replied Kate in protest, although secretly she was pleased at the praise. And it was true – Mr Barnes had said she had promise.

  ‘I bet you were a right swot in school, weren’t you?’ joked Jan. ‘Were you the teacher’s pet, Kate?’ she asked with a twinkle.

  ‘I suppose I was in some classes,’ chuckled Kate. ‘Especially English and languages. One teacher wanted me to go to university to study literature,’ she recalled. ‘If I was the swot, though, let me think … hmm, I bet you were the class clown!’

  ‘Oh Gawd – how did you guess? It was all such a long time ago. I was saying to my Trevor just the other day, back then you couldn’t get away with as much as you can today but I do remember pulling a few pranks. The secret was not to get found out otherwise the nuns would be after you!’

  Changing the subject abruptly, Jan asked, ‘So, what happened?’

  ‘What happened?’ echoed Kate.

  ‘To university?’

  ‘Oh, that. A man happened,’ replied Kate, disguising the scorn in her voice with good humour.

  ‘Men!’ announced Jan. ‘They ruin everything! Although I have to say, I am rather fond of my Trevor. He couldn’t cook his own tea to save his life, though.’

  Laughing, the two arrived arm in arm to the class where they found Mr Barnes already there, preparing.

  ‘Ladies! How are you this evening?’ he said, warmly greeting them.

  ‘Very good, thank you,’ replied Jan, her beseeching tone already present to Mr Barnes’ well-versed ears. ‘But unfortunately—’

  ‘Let me guess, Jan. You didn’t manage to do the homework?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘What happened this time? Your dog ate it? You put it in the washing machine? Tell me, I’m intrigued,’ said Mr Barnes, a smile playing on his lips.

  ‘Ah, Barnsie, no need to be like that. I really do try, I promise! It’s just with looking after my Trevor and the grandkids, and don’t even get me started on my Melissa – a grown woman, she is, Mr Barnes, I tell you, and she still comes home with her washing—’

  ‘And you do a great job, Jan,’ he said quickly, interrupting what was about to become a full diatribe of her life. ‘Don’t worry, I’m just joking,’ he added with a wink. ‘You can listen to the others as they outline their characters. I’m sure you’ll get some inspiration.’

  ‘Aw, thanks, Mr Barnes.’

  ‘How about you, Kate? Did you find some time?’

  ‘Yes, I did. It took me longer than I thought but hopefully I’ve come up with someone credible.’

  ‘Great! I’m sure it’s going to be amazing.’

  With a conspiratorial wink, Jan dragged Kate to their seats at the back.

  ‘Told you so! Swot,’ whispered Jan.

  ‘Troublemaker,’ whispered back Kate.

  Stifling their giggles like two school children, they collapsed into their seats as they waited for the others to arrive.

  Chapter 13

  Catherine

  10 October 2010

  Dear Catherine,

  I’m sorry it’s taken me a little longer than last time to write back – it’s not like I have an excuse that I’ve been busy! (Sorry – jail humour – you become immune to it eventually!) Your letter was so newsy and interesting, I wanted to take the time to try and match it. There’s not a lot to write about in terms of daily life here but I guess to someone who has never been inside, it could be intriguing. As a Category B prison, our routine is fairly restricted although not as restricted as Frankland (Category A) where I was initially placed. Here, we’re allowed thirt
y minutes outside each day but the majority of time is spent in our cells. We’re confined for ten to eleven hours a day. Every Sunday, a priest comes to the prison and we’re allowed to pray with him. It’s ironic that it’s now become one of the highlights of my week. A lot of prisoners turn to prayer and religion inside – most probably because there’s not much to do and it’s another opportunity to interact with someone from outside.

  I also spend some of my time in the prison library. My nickname inside is Brains because I’m able to read – you’d be amazed how many prisoners are illiterate. I once read somewhere 60 per cent of inmates in the UK are below the literacy threshold. I’m lucky in that way, as reading has always been a great outlet for me and it gives me a bit of respite from this world and entry into another.

  I’m not sure I would call the inmates here ‘friends’ but you certainly build up some type of relationship, if only for protection. The people locked up in here are really insane – serial killers, for example. As long as I’ve been here, there have always been various incidents between inmates, but you learn quickly. It’s definitely been one of my most difficult lessons in life, and the fear never really goes away – it’s hard to trust people.

  Thank you for the offer by the way – books, newspapers and stamps are always well received. Your last letter was great and I enjoyed reading it. I hope in this letter I have answered your questions.

  Michael

  Catherine sat back in her chair, holding the letter between her thumb and forefinger. She tried to imagine being locked up in a small cell for so many hours and felt a flicker of claustrophobic panic at the thought. She imagined being stripped of her clothes, searched, and given a prison uniform and an identification number. She imagined being shown to her tiny cell, the thick, steel door slamming behind her and the key turning in the lock with an almost unendurable click. She imagined sitting on the thin mattress, nowhere to look except the four grey walls. What would you think about if you had so much time, Catherine wondered. Would you think about your crime? Would you think about survival? Would you think about the people who had gone before you in the same room? Possibly. She knew what she would think about, though. She would think about whether the crime committed had been worth it or not.