In My Mother's Name: A totally addictive and emotional psychological thriller

by Laura Elliot

She was dressed and waiting for him when he came home. Their marriage had come undone so suddenly, so rapidly, that he seemed like a stranger who had blundered into her life. And yet… and yet… she hungered for what they had before, for what she had imagined was to come. How uncomplicated love had seemed then. What must it be like to build that love on a lie? To push back the dark side of memory every day? Had there been an interim of freedom, the relief of amnesia, between the events of that terrible night and the appearance of Adele Foyle, whose mind was set on discovering her beginnings?

  ‘What is it, Rachel?’ His smile faded when he saw her expression. ‘Has something happened in work—?’

  ‘Bob, sit down. I need to talk to you.’

  ‘My God, you’re shaking. Come here… tell me what’s wrong.’

  ‘Adele Foyle is Marianne Mooney’s daughter.’

  He was silent as he listened to her. His features had sharpened, as if this information had slashed his mouth into a rictus.

  ‘When did you discover this?’ he asked.

  ‘I knew from the beginning.’

  ‘You never told me.’

  ‘I saw no reason to do so. She came to me in confidence and told me she was investigating her mother’s past. She was determined to find the man who had fathered her.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this now?’

  Did he know what was coming? Could he feel it in the air, like a canary in a mine shaft, a rat on a ship, adrift?

  ‘Your DNA proves you are her biological father.’

  Her words folded his body in two. She heard him swallow, his breath sharply expelled. ‘You tested…’ He was silenced by the enormity of what she had done.

  ‘Hair follicles,’ she said. ‘Yours and hers. This is the result.’

  His hand trembled as he took the report from her. As she let it go, she knew she was sundering their marriage. No explanation, no apology or plea would ever be able to fix it.

  ‘You did this behind my back?’ He made no effort to read it. ‘Without my permission?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How could you…?’ As if realising the ineffectiveness of what he was about to say, he stopped and coughed, dryly. ‘You loved me yet you believed I was responsible for such a vicious crime?’

  Was he aware that he was speaking in the past tense?

  ‘Read the report,’ she said. ‘Then we can talk.’

  She saw the strength go from his neck as he scanned the sheet of paper before laying it carefully down on the coffee table.

  ‘You could have asked me,’ he said. ‘You could have been upfront with me instead on trampling over my rights and doing this behind my back.’

  ‘On the night of Christy’s funeral, I tried. You fobbed me off with a lie about drugs―’

  ‘That wasn’t a lie.’

  ‘Yes, it was. Oh, I’ve no doubt there was a trumped-up charge that was conveniently dropped to put pressure on you to leave, but why? The “why” was what I kept asking myself. Skin in the game, that was what Jack Bale said. He believed it would silence me. Stop me asking questions. Christy Lewis, too. Both of them believed I would release that statement to protect you and undermine Adele’s blog. I couldn’t do that, Bob… I couldn’t bear…’

  For the first time since confronting him her composure cracked. Seemingly unable to bear her anguish, he read the report again, more slowly this time, then let it fall to the floor.

  ‘You were the weak link, that’s what Christy called you. He was right. Your conscience would have dragged the other two down with you had you remained here. In New York it was possible for you to forget and build a new life.’

  ‘Forget?’ Was he angry or in agony as he crashed his fists off his knees? ‘You believe it’s possible to forget something like that?’

  If it was anger, it was a puny thing and she must ignore it. His agony, also, could not affect her. Stay in control, she warned herself… but of what? Her marriage was shattering as they spoke. She willed his voice to strengthen, to boom a denial that would batter her into believing him.

  ‘Adele is your daughter,’ she repeated. ‘You can demand a retest but the result will still be the same. I see you in her. Your cheeks and eyes, the way she holds her head when she laughs, even your teeth, that same side tooth out of alignment. Once I mapped her face, you were all I could see. The real you, the man I fell in love with, began to disappear and I could only imagine that young girl crushed on the floor. I knew I would go mad unless I discovered the truth.’ She was crying now, recoiling from him when he tried to hold her.

  ‘I don’t remember any of it.’ He was barely audible. ‘My mind is a blank about that night. That’s what kept me sane all those years. But the nightmares, it’s there, all of it, jumbled and chaotic but I know what I did… what we did to her.’ His voice trailed away, a lost sound, thick with grief. No fear, not yet. He was still absorbing the shock of his discovery.

  ‘Did you suspect the child in the diary could be yours?’

  ‘I wondered. But I never made the connection with Adele. I should have guessed. She was so driven… so angry.’

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ she said. ‘Tell me everything that you, Keith and Liam did that night.’

  He showed no reaction to the other names. They were a perfect fit. Three blind mice… see how they run… Would hating him make this any easier, she wondered as he began to speak?

  ‘She reported Keith for bullying. She saw him in action. He enjoyed throwing his weight around and there was this shy kid, he was a bit of a geek, into computers and maths. The perfect target for Keith. He beat him up one day on his way home from school. When he discovered Marianne had reported him to the school principal, he made a bet with myself and Liam that he’d…’ He shook his head. ‘You don’t need to know.’

  ‘That he’d fuck her.’ She hurled the word at him. ‘I know how these things work.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what he planned to do. Then he’d spread the word that she was a good lay… or wasn’t.’ His hands hung desolately between his knees and she was forced to lean forward to hear him. ‘Keith hadn’t a chance with her. She was a slight little thing but plucky. And she was in love with Shane Reagan.’ He shook his head. ‘That night… I’m not using drugs as an excuse―’

  ‘Then don’t,’ she snapped.

  ‘We’d been drinking, too. Partying in Liam’s den when his mother was away on one of her tours. I swear to you, we just meant to scare them… well, that’s what I believed. We thought they’d be together but Shane was late going to her.’

  She imagined them high as kites, all restraint gone as they were swept along on the high of their collective savagery. He began to cry, such a harsh, ugly sound.

  ‘How did you get away with it?’ she asked. She could guess the scenario, the call from Jack Bale to Christy Lewis, the youths, now terrified and sobering fast, confessing. ‘Your father and Gloria Thornton must have been involved,’ she said. ‘How convenient it was to have a ready-made mother and baby home to hide her away.’

  ‘You have it all figured out,’ he said. ‘What more do you want me to add?’

  ‘Everything,’ she wailed. ‘What was said? What excuses were made to explain what you’d done? Did you make any attempt to tell the truth? Did you suffer shame… disgust… remorse?’ Her voice was unrecognisable, her throat strained with grief. ‘Or were you so intent on your own self-survival that all you felt was relief that the grown-ups could take care of everything?’

  ‘We were only eighteen―’

  ‘Don’t.’ She rocked forward and held her hands over her ears. ‘She was fifteen and you destroyed her.’

  ‘Please hear me out, Rachel.’ He waited until she was still again and able to listen. ‘I destroyed myself that night. For years after I left here, I was filled with self-hatred. I sought help, counselling, tablets, I even self-harmed. Nothing helped. I knew the only solution was to make recompense to the person I’d harmed but she was dead and there was nothing, not even a grav
e to mark her presence. I finally found a shrink who helped me find some peace of mind. That’s when I started writing for the Webster Journal. The only reason I came back here was because my father was dying. He couldn’t look at me on his deathbed, nor I at him. Shame, it’s corrosive, no matter how hard you try to suppress it. We only spoke once about that night. That was shortly before he died. I saw the same shame in him. But talking about it released something that had been trapped inside me all those years. It opened me up to the possibility of love―’

  ‘I can’t bear to hear this.’

  ‘My father died believing I’d return to New York. The Review was to be sold and he accepted that I’d crack up again if I remained here. But I’d met you… do you remember our first meeting at―’

  ‘Stop it… stop it.’

  ‘I fell in love with you. It was as simple and as sudden as that. So much time had passed and I thought I deserved to be happy. I took that chance, Rachel. Has our marriage any hope of surviving this?’

  ‘No.’ She was exhausted, drained emotionally and also physically, aware that her body was undergoing changes that had nothing and everything to do with the turmoil she was suffering. ‘I’m leaving you and moving from Reedstown. I’ll submit my letter of resignation to the force tomorrow. All I want from you is your signature on our divorce papers when they come through.’

  ‘It can’t be as final as that? Rachel, please—’

  ‘Do you honestly expect it to be otherwise?’

  ‘‘That person… that monstrous person I was that night… that’s not me. It never was. Don’t run away from me when I need you most. We can deal with this together―’

  ‘How? That child was forced to sign a statement blaming Shane Reagan and she is not around to refute it. Your daughter believes she was murdered. Technically, she’s wrong but if you follow her logic, then yes, you have her mother’s blood on your hands.’

  ‘If you’ll support me, I’ll make my own confession…’ His lips continued to move, his eyes implored her, but she was beyond hearing him, seeing him.

  ‘As if you have any chance of bringing Liam Thornton and Keith Lewis to justice.’ Twilight had fallen outside and his face was in shadow. He must see her in the same blurred silhouette. She had no desire to turn on the light and confront his ravaged features. He must look like death, she thought. Like the young man who moved to New York, a cadaver who had to learn how to live again.

  ‘I have one last question for you,’ she said. ‘You had a meeting with the others—’

  ‘Jack was warning us to stay united… I didn’t want to know. I was sickened—’

  ‘Had you anything to do with the attack on Adele that took place in Brooklime?’

  He shook his head, not in denial but puzzled as he tried to grasp what she meant. ‘What attack?’

  ‘She’s too terrified to tell me what was done to her. But I know that Grad Wheeler and two others carried it out. They were wearing masks. Three blind mice… no mistaking the symbolism there but they were just the hired help. It was organised by others who are determined to silence her.’

  ‘I swear to you I’d nothing to do with it. Nor did I know anything about it. Was she hurt… what did they do to her?’

  ‘How do you define rape, Bob?’

  ‘Please, Rachel…’ Unable to continue, he pressed his hands to his eyes.

  ‘The penis is not always the weapon of choice when committing such a crime.’ She was speaking too fast, her anger on the verge of hysteria as she described what a chastened Haylee had confessed to her. ‘A gun, for instance, that’s a mighty weapon when someone is helpless on a bed. I know what happened to Adele that night. Not a first-hand account, unfortunately. She’s too frightened to confide in me but I have a reliable report of what took place in Brooklime when those thugs broke in.’

  ‘As God is my judge, I’d nothing to do with this.’ He was on his feet, his face averted as he turned from her and headed towards the living-room door.

  ‘Don’t walk away from me, Bob.’

  ‘I’ll never walk away from you, Rachel. You’re the one who has made that decision.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ She followed him up the hall.

  ‘Does it matter?’ About to open the front door, he turned back to her, his expression unreadable. Only the tears drying on his cheeks indicated that everything they both held dear had been irrevocably snatched from them.

  40 Adele

  Adele tidied the kitchen and checked that all the doors and windows were locked. This was the most difficult time of the day; with nothing left to distract her, she was unable to stop thinking about Daniel. Not that she was particularly successful at banishing him from her thoughts at any time. Songs, voices, laughter, couples holding hands, strangers with profiles similar to his… she walked through a world that evoked him at every turn. He invaded her dreams, awakening her on the cusp of pleasure, a sensation so intense that she was unable to separate it from pain.

  The doorbell sounded and the outside light switched on automatically. She could see a figure through the glass panels on the front door. She froze as the letter box rattled and opened. A voice, male and familiar, called her name.

  ‘Adele, it’s Bob Molloy. I need to talk to you.’ She had not seen him since the row in Katie’s Kasket when he had drawn the attention of her tormentors from her to him. Unable to understand why he would call so late at night she stood aside for him to enter the house.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. ‘Has something happened to Sergeant Darcy?’

  ‘Rachel is okay,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

  ‘I’m not frightened. Just surprised to see you.’ Only one reason could bring him here. He must have information that related to her blog. Perhaps, he intended giving her space in the Review to pursue her search. Too late, Bob, she thought as he stood awkwardly in the living room, his eyes fixed on her with such concentration that she looked away, embarrassed by the hunger of his gaze.

  ‘Sit down, Bob.’ She gestured towards a chair. ‘Can I get you a drink? I’ve some beer in the fridge.’

  ‘No… no.’ He ignored the armchair and remained standing. ‘You closed your blog down very suddenly.’

  ‘It was causing a lot of aggravation.’

  ‘Rachel told me you were attacked over it.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Yes. She said you were afraid to make an official complaint. They frightened you, these intruders.’

  ‘Yes, they frightened me.’

  ‘One of them had a gun, she said.’

  ‘Bob, why are you discussing this with me? Are you going to write something about it in the Review? If so, I won’t allow it—’

  ‘I’m not… don’t be upset. Were they the trio who were bothering you in the Kasket?’

  ‘If you’re not going to write about it, what does it matter to you?’

  ‘I figured it had to be them.’ He nodded distractedly. ‘They’ll never bother you again. I can assure you of that.’

  Increasingly puzzled by his distress, she remained standing and waited for him to continue.

  ‘That night your mother was attacked—’

  ‘Gang-raped.’ How did he know her true identity?

  ‘Gang-raped…’ His cheeks had furrows she had never noticed until now. ‘Adele, I don’t know how to confess this to you.’

  ‘Confess?’ The anger he had shown in the café that afternoon had been replaced by desolation. That was the only word that came to mind. Desolation in the slope of his shoulders and the aging of his features. Manifest in his gaze as he stared at her.

  ‘You were one of them,’ she whispered. As she spoke she was convinced the floor had shifted like a swing bridge, the sudden sway causing her stomach to pitch, her legs to wobble.

  What an effort it took to hold his gaze. To search his tormented features for shades of herself. She thought of Shane, who could have been her father, how she would have loved that, and her mother, stolen from
her by childbirth complications, and the harsh expression on her grandmother’s face when Adele had asked about the parents who conceived her… and when she screamed at him, this brute who could be her father … screamed at him to get out of her sight… her voice, shrill with the suppressed fury of her young life… her only intention was to inflict pain on him. To reject his apologies, his pleas, his pathetic excuses that came twenty-four years too late for her.

  He stretched out as if to touch her, then, when she recoiled, let his hands hang limply in front of him. He reminded her of a marionette whose strings had been cut and he, as if aware of her thoughts, her growing fury, straightened his shoulders and stared pleadingly at her. She recognised him then. He was the one. Finally, her father had a name, a face. Knowing the blood that flowed between them, and hating it, she flung open the hall door. Get out… get out… get out… Her hand reached out into the darkness and directed him from her life, forever.

  41 Rachel

  When an hour had passed and he had not returned or made contact with her, Rachel rang him. His phone went immediately to message. Her thoughts turned darker after another hour had passed and she had still not heard from him. Unable to wait any longer, she drove through the village and out along Loyvalley Road towards the river.

  She parked in the car park and continued on foot. A mist had settled over the river. Wispy and as ephemeral as a wraith, it flitted between the trees. The whispery rustle of the reeds was muted, as if they were trapped in the vaporous stillness. The riverbank was deserted. No youths hanging about tonight, no bonfires blazing, no secret deals. She beamed her torch over the shrouded river. A swan rose upwards in an ungainly flap of wings and flew low above the water. Ducks and water hens emerged briefly from the haze and swam in zigzags, as if they had lost their way. Uncertain of her footing on the rutted path, Rachel walked cautiously, knowing there were unseen holes ahead that could twist her ankle. Feathery plumes brushed across her hands when she strayed too close to the reeds. Bubbles erupted under her feet and burst into stinking splatters of mud as she searched for a sign that suggested the night had been disturbed by a tortured mind. She stumbled back to the path, aware that each step she took must be tested.