by Rona Halsall
Twenty-One
Martha
Now
After a few moments, Izzy’s tears turned to embarrassed laughter. She pulled away and wiped her eyes. ‘I think I’m a bit overtired after all that driving.’ She sniffed, looking sheepish. ‘Sorry, I’ve made a right idiot of myself.’
Martha rubbed Izzy’s arm, wanting to reassure her. ‘Hey, no worries. I’m just happy that you want to stay for a while. I can’t tell you what a relief it is. I’ll have an antidote to Mum.’ She gasped and put a hand over her mouth. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I mean Mum’s lovely… when she’s sober. It’s just when…’ She flapped a hand. ‘Oh, you’ll think I’m being mean.’ She sighed and leant against the car as her mind filled with memories from her childhood. ‘I suppose I am. It can’t be easy being a single mum and she’s had to do it all herself, no support network. To be fair, we spent a lot of time doing things for me when I was younger. Whatever phase I was going through, and if I’m being honest, I was a faddy kid, always starting some new hobby with a passion before dropping it again. And she didn’t mind, always encouraged me. “Do what feels right in your heart. Be you, not who you think other people want you to be.”’ She nodded, wistful. ‘Yeah, she’s been pretty good like that.’
Martha would have to admit that her feelings about Fran were a confused mess after everything that had happened and the lies she’d uncovered. One minute she was beside herself with worry that Fran was going to die, then a burst of anger would rip through her, furious that Fran had let her health slide to such an extent, and that she’d misled Martha all her life. Then she’d be left with a hollowness that filled itself with worry about what the future may hold. She seemed to be locked in a perpetual cycle, moving inexorably from one emotion to the next.
Izzy didn’t respond, her attention fixed on the cottage, snugly attached to its neighbour, the properties surrounded by nothing but fields. ‘It makes you wonder why she chose to live in a place like this, really. She would have been better in a town somewhere.’
Martha threw up her hands. ‘I tried. So many times, I tried to get her to move, but she said she felt claustrophobic living next to loads of people. Likes the open spaces, she said, lots of inspiration, good for creativity.’ She shrugged. ‘And there’s Anna next door. She and Mum are good friends as well as working together, so that was handy. And I think Anna lets Mum have the house on a cheap rent because it’s a bit tatty.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m not exactly sure how all the finances work, but I’ve heard them talking about it.’
‘Well, she didn’t make life easy for herself.’ Izzy unloaded their bags. ‘I mean, Cornwall? Why would she come to Cornwall if she didn’t know anyone here? It seems so random.’
‘But she did know someone. She knew Anna.’
‘So, she came to be close to Anna?’
Martha shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think that was it. Anna lives up your way, near Leeds somewhere, I think. Or she used to before she retired to Spain. Mum got to know her when we lived in Bingley. She writes children’s books – well, Anna writes the stories and Mum does the illustrations. They’ve been collaborating on them for as long as I can remember. Although since Anna’s husband retired, they’re overseas a lot and the writing seems to have fizzled out. I think this book they’ve just finished is going to be the last one.’ She followed Izzy’s gaze towards the houses. ‘This has only ever been a holiday home and a bit of a writing retreat for her. Now she’s hardly ever here.’
Izzy frowned at Martha. ‘Well, if she’s not been here, then she wasn’t much of a support for your mum, was she?’
Martha had no immediate answer to that one but knew Anna had dipped in and out of their lives quite often when Martha was a child. She had memories of going down to the beach with Anna, to give her mum a bit of space to work in the holidays, and Anna was always making up stories with her. Testing out new storylines for her books. She even let Martha invent characters for some of them. And the financial support was there too, not only in the low rent but the income from the books.
‘I think you’re wrong there, actually. I think Anna’s been a great support in lots of ways.’ She looked at the cottage. ‘Mum will probably have no choice but to move now. What with her feet being bad. We’ll probably have to rent a ground-floor flat or a bungalow somewhere, so that’ll be more expensive.’ Martha grimaced, another concern adding itself to her list. ‘I’ll have to wait and see what they say when they come and assess the place.’
‘Hmm,’ Izzy said as she picked up her bag and handed Martha hers, giving her a questioning look. ‘Are we going to stay out here, or can we go in?’
Martha smiled and dug her keys out of her bag. ‘Come on, then. Welcome to your holiday home!’
Having been away for a few days, Martha saw the house with a fresh pair of eyes. She noticed that all three rooms on the ground floor were on different levels – a step down into the lounge, a step up into the dining room and another step up into the kitchen. If her mum was in a wheelchair, that would be impossible. Even if she was using a walker thing, it would be tricky. She also noticed that the place was stuffed to the gills with furniture and possessions and what could only be described as crap. Creative detritus was scattered over almost every surface, stuffed behind chairs, on top of cupboards. Piles of paperwork covered the table and floor and obviously hadn’t been sorted out or filed into any order for years.
‘Bit of a mess, isn’t it?’ Martha’s cheeks burned, an extra weight pushing on her shoulders when she realised what a task it was going to be sorting out the house before the assessor came. She turned her back on the mess and walked into the hall. ‘It’s better upstairs.’
She led Izzy up to a narrow landing with four doors leading off, the bathroom being straight ahead at the back of the house, two bedrooms to the side and a box room at the front.
‘This can be your room,’ Martha said, opening the door of the box room. It was a bit of a struggle for the two of them to fit in amongst the stacks of boxes and bin bags full of clothes and goodness knew what else. ‘We can clear it out.’ She laughed, trying to sound jolly. ‘There’s a bed under that pile of stuff, believe it or not.’
Martha caught a flash of horror on Izzy’s face before she smoothed it into a smile. ‘Lovely,’ she said, pushing past Martha, back out into the hallway. She looked a bit flustered and Martha thought maybe she was disappointed.
‘Are you sure it’s okay? You could always have my room, if you like.’
Izzy gave her a quick hug. ‘Oh, Martha, you’re so sweet, but this’ll be fine.’ She looked away, but Martha noticed her expression didn’t fit her words. ‘Absolutely fine.’ She sounded like she was trying to convince herself.
Martha started gabbling, trying to make amends. ‘We’ll sort your bedroom first, shall we? Honestly, it’s bigger than it looks. Once we get all that rubbish out, I’m sure—’
‘It’s fine,’ Izzy snapped, holding up her hands to halt Martha’s words. ‘I’ve said it’s fine.’
Martha bit her lip, a little shocked at the sudden sting of Izzy’s tone. She swallowed and changed tack, moving past Izzy to get to the stairs. ‘I’ll um… I’ll make a start in the dining room then, see if I can sort out Mum’s mess. She won’t let me near it when she’s here, so it’s the only chance I’ll get to have a proper clear-out.’
Izzy started hauling bin bags out of the bedroom, dropping them in the hallway. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a cup of tea, is there?’ An eyebrow raised in question. ‘I’m really parched.’
Martha blushed, realising what a terrible hostess she was being. ‘God, yes. I’m so sorry.’ She beckoned for Izzy to follow her. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where everything is.’
Before they could get downstairs, a knock at the door made them both jump. Izzy looked at Martha, frowning. ‘Expecting anyone?’
Martha shook her head. ‘No. I’ve no idea who that could be.’ She walked back down the landing and into the little bed
room, peering out of the window to see who was at the door. She turned, eyes wide, hand over her mouth. ‘It’s the police,’ she hissed. ‘It’s the bloody police.’
Were we followed? Has Izzy’s number plate come up somewhere?
Martha clung to Izzy’s arm. ‘What if they’ve come to arrest me?’ Her voice was getting higher, faster as she started to panic. ‘What if they think I killed Greg?’ Panic gripped her throat, raising her voice another octave. ‘What am I going to do?’
Izzy shuffled over to the window and took a cautious peek. ‘Uniformed officers,’ she whispered, as if that should mean something.
Martha could feel her heart pounding, certain they’d come to take her away. Sweat gathered under her arms, slick on her palms.
Izzy stepped back from the window. ‘Look, they know we’re here,’ she whispered, her mouth next to Martha’s ear, the warmth of her breath tickling Martha’s face and making her shiver. ‘My car’s outside. Let’s just have a quick think, get our stories straight, okay?’
Martha was relieved that Izzy had taken control because she herself was in no shape to talk to the police. No shape whatsoever, her mind numb with fear. Izzy was quiet for a moment and Martha huddled closer, hoping she wasn’t waiting for her thoughts on what they should do because she didn’t have any.
Izzy turned to her. ‘Right. They’ve no evidence that you’ve been away anywhere, have they?’
Martha shook her head. She’d bought the train tickets with some of the cash that Gemma had given her, and Anna had thought she was going to Truro, not Wales. Izzy peeled Martha’s fingers from her arm, where they’d latched on, like a limpet seeking somewhere secure to anchor. ‘Look, I’ll go. I’ll say you’re out, okay?’
The police knocked again.
Martha nodded, and Izzy pushed her down the landing and into the bathroom. ‘You stay in here and don’t make a sound.’ Martha nodded again and sat on the edge of the bath, hands rammed between her thighs while Izzy shut the door and ran down the stairs.
The silence pressed against Martha’s head and she couldn’t bear it, couldn’t cope with not knowing what was happening. She crept to the door and opened it a crack so she could listen. It would be easy enough to push it shut if she heard them come inside, she decided. The sound of the front door opening made her hold her breath.
‘Oh hello,’ she heard Izzy say, all chirpy like there wasn’t a problem.
‘Frances Taylor?’ A man’s voice. Local Cornish accent.
Martha’s heart leapt with relief. It’s not about Greg. She wondered what her mum had done now to bring the police to the door.
‘No, I’m sorry, she’s in hospital,’ Izzy told him. ‘She just had a heart attack. I popped in to check the house for her.’
‘And you are?’ A woman’s voice, with a different accent. Not local, but she couldn’t quite place it. South-east maybe?
‘Just a friend. Fran’s in intensive care in Truro, if that helps.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ the local officer said. ‘I wonder, do you know if she’s been in contact with a Mr Greg MacKay at all? Is the name familiar?’
Martha’s eyes grew wide. Oh my God, it is about Greg. But why would they be coming to talk to Mum about him? The she remembered the messages on her mum’s phone. They’d be on Greg’s phone too. Did that mean Greg had their address in Cornwall as well? Martha opened the door a little wider so she could hear better.
‘I really wouldn’t know,’ Izzy said as if that were true. ‘Her contacts will be on her phone and I know that’s with her, so I suppose you’d need to check on there.’
Martha had to admit, Izzy was a very convincing liar. The thought ruffled through her mind, leaving a fleeting sense of unease.
‘That’s all I can tell you, really,’ Izzy said. ‘So sorry I can’t be of more help.’
‘Okay, well, thank you. We’ll give Ms Taylor a visit in hospital, then.’
‘She’s unconscious at the moment.’ Izzy’s voice wavered, as though she was upset. ‘But they’re hopeful she’ll pull through. You might have to wait a couple of days to talk to her.’ There was silence for a moment, a couple of sniffs as though Izzy was fighting back tears. ‘Don’t want you to have a wasted journey, going all that way.’
‘Okay, thanks again for your help,’ the local officer said.
It went quiet for a few seconds.
‘Oh, wait a minute,’ Izzy said, and Martha held her breath again, wondering what she was doing. The police were about to go, so why on earth would she call them back? ‘I’ve just had a thought. Greg, you say?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I just remembered something. Her ex was called Greg. Could it be him, do you think?’
‘It’s possible. How long have they been separated?’
‘Oh now, I can’t be precise, you know, but it’s… maybe, I don’t know, could be fifteen, sixteen years?’
‘Thank you,’ the woman said. ‘That could be very helpful.’
‘No problem. I’ve only just got back from the hospital, and to be honest I’m still in shock I think.’ She sighed again. ‘Poor Fran’s in a bad way. She’s diabetic, you know. They found her in a coma, took her in to hospital and then she had a heart attack. One thing after another.’
‘Thanks again,’ the local officer said.
Martha waited. She heard the door shut and let out the breath she’d been holding for what seemed like an hour, her whole body shaking. She opened the door and peered down the stairs. Izzy was leaning against the front door, eyes closed, clearly thankful the encounter was over.
Martha would have to say Izzy had sounded completely genuine, and by giving them the information about Greg’s name, she’d been helpful but unhelpful at the same time. The onus was on Fran now, and she wouldn’t be talking to anyone for a while.
Phew. She decided she was going to leave thoughts about Greg at the back of her mind and not bother them any more because she wouldn’t be any wiser until she’d spoken to her mum, and there were plenty of other things to think about in the meantime. One of which was Izzy, who’d put herself in a very difficult situation in order to protect her.
When have I ever had a friend who would put herself on the line for me?
Not once was the answer. School had been a difficult experience and she’d never had close friends, but instead had hung on to the edge of groups, sometimes included in what was going on, but more often excluded. In the end, she’d decided it was better to be on her own than face the hurt of rejection. At least it meant she’d had plenty of time to study for her exams, nothing to distract her, and she’d done well, got excellent grades. If she was being honest with herself, apart from Pete, Izzy was the first proper friend she’d had since they’d moved down here. One she could confide in. One she could trust to have her back.
She ran downstairs, her legs wobbling like a newborn giraffe’s, dizzy with relief. She swayed as she reached the bottom of the stairs and sank onto a step, her back leaning against the wall. ‘I had the door open a crack so I could listen. You were brilliant, Izzy. Absolutely brilliant.’
Izzy came and sat next to her, a satisfied smile quickly dropping into a worried frown. ‘I really didn’t know what to make of it. Do you think your mum’s listed as his next of kin somewhere? Could that be what it’s about? Telling her that he’s died?’
‘It’s possible, isn’t it? Oh God, I hope so. I hope that’s all it is.’
Martha thought about the missed call from Greg on her mum’s phone, the messages going back a few years. Her mum had always told her she had no idea where he was, but she’d had his address all along. So, did Greg have their address on his phone? Had he known where they were all this time? Or had the police been able to track them from Fran’s name and number?
She puffed out a breath. It was all such a muddle in her mind, but maybe she needed to think about things differently. Her thoughts went back fifteen years to the night Greg had been beaten up. That was when everythi
ng had changed, because they’d come down here not long after. ‘Perhaps Mum was scared that she’d get beaten up like Greg.’ She frowned at Izzy. ‘I told you the story, didn’t I?’
Izzy shook her head, so Martha gave her the quick version.
‘Well that makes sense,’ she said when Martha had finished. ‘I was wondering if this was a bolthole for your mum. Especially when you look at the place. And she’s been so protective of you, hasn’t she? Not letting you get away from her side. I think she’s scared.’
Martha thought it through. Her mum and Greg had still been connected. He’d done something fifteen years ago that had got him beaten up and made him do a runner. And her mum was so frightened she’d run away to hide down here. It made sense. And what if whoever they were running from had finally caught up with Greg? Her eyes widened. That made sense too. Could they now know where Martha and her mum lived? Could they have seen me?
Now Martha was scared too.
Her mind went back to the last time she saw Greg. He was twitchy, nervous, looking out of the window. As if he was expecting someone? He’d said she couldn’t be there. Had she misunderstood? Maybe he wasn’t rejecting her, maybe he was protecting her from somebody he was expecting to arrive any minute. Sending her away from danger.
But she hadn’t listened. Instead she’d hurt him, made him vulnerable to whoever may have come to his house after her. The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Her body started to shake. Is Greg’s death the end of it? Or just the beginning?
Twenty-Two
Martha
Now
‘I’ll make us a cup of tea, shall I?’ Izzy’s voice broke into Martha’s thoughts and she shook her worries away as she watched Izzy stand and disappear into the kitchen. You’re being ridiculous, she told herself as she stood, clasping the wooden banister. But what if I’m not? She shuddered, unwilling to follow that train of thought to its logical conclusion. She took a deep breath. The police are involved now, that should stop any trouble. She was pleased rather than worried that the officers were going to interview her mother. Maybe her mum would tell them the truth now Greg was dead. Maybe the whole thing had just come to its conclusion.