by Rona Halsall
Fran couldn’t reply, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even think that one of her deepest secrets may have come to light.
‘He told me he wasn’t my father. All these years, you’ve both lied to me.’ Martha’s hands bunched, her knuckles white dots. ‘So excuse me for not believing this latest instalment.’ Martha stood and slung her handbag over her shoulder. ‘I can’t even look at you at the moment. Honestly, you…’ She clamped her jaw shut.
Fran stared at her, chest heaving as she finally drew in a breath. She was losing her, she could feel it. And without Martha, she was nothing.
What can I do to bring her back?
‘I was raped.’ The words came out in a rush, unintelligible, blurred by tears, but they made Martha turn.
‘What?’ The anger turned to concern and Martha rushed back to the bedside, took her hand.
Fran nodded as fat tears of relief trickled down her face. ‘I was raped, love.’ She swallowed and carried on, hesitant at first, not sure how much detail Martha would need to be convinced. ‘Greg was working away. I was out with friends and we got separated and I met this young man who said he’d give me a lift home and…’ She glanced at Martha, who sat back down, clearly shocked. ‘I don’t need to go into details, do I?’
Martha shook her head, Fran looked away. It wasn’t even close to the truth, but it would have to do for now. ‘Greg didn’t know for years, not until we didn’t have more children, then we found out he was sterile. So I had to tell him, and it all got out of hand with his silly idea to get “compensation”, as he called it. The rapist was this judge’s son, you see, and you know what it’s like. Who would believe me against someone like that?’
‘Oh, Mum.’ Martha looked pale and a bit shaken, and Fran’s juddering breaths began to settle. She believes me.
‘I’m sorry, love. I didn’t want to tell you. Who’d want to be the child of a rapist? But I loved you the minute I held you, and everything I’ve done, the move to Cornwall, living a quiet life, has been for you, poppet – to keep you out of harm’s way. It didn’t matter to me who your father was, I loved you regardless and so did Greg.’ She gazed at the child who had given her life meaning, who she’d treasured like a priceless jewel. ‘We split up to protect you and it hasn’t been easy. But we did it for you. And I kept it to myself because… well, I didn’t think I needed to burden you with the truth. And to all intents and purposes, Greg was the only father you ever had.’
Martha closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, there was a new sadness in her gaze.
Fran’s heart rate started to slow. She’d clawed her way back from the brink.
Thirty
Martha
Now
The drive home went very quickly, mainly because Martha’s mind was elsewhere. So much that she hadn’t known about her life and now this bombshell.
Izzy was in the kitchen when she got back, chopping onions. She turned when Martha entered the room. ‘Hey, how’s your mum?’
Martha leant against the worktop, wiped her hands over her face as if that could scrub her worries away. ‘She’s out of intensive care. They’ve put her on the cardiac ward to sort out her medication, then as soon as that’s done, and the home assessment gives the all-clear, she can come home. All the other tests they were doing are looking positive, and she’s responding to antibiotics, so they’re not as worried about gangrene any more.’
Izzy turned back to what she was doing, scraping the onions into a pan on the hob and giving them a stir. ‘Beef casserole okay?’ she asked, not turning. ‘I found some meat in the freezer, and to be honest, I couldn’t think of anything else.’
Martha flicked the kettle on, got two mugs out of the cupboard and started making tea.
‘You okay?’ Izzy turned and frowned. ‘You’re a bit pale. Why don’t you go and sit down while I do the tea? You look whacked.’
Martha did as she was told, a wave of exhaustion threatening to knock her over. There had been so many shocks, and now today, this new information. She sat and cradled her head in her hands. When’s it going to end?
Izzy brought over a cup of tea and gave her shoulder a gentle rub.
‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ She sat opposite. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
Martha let her hands drop from her face and caught the concern in Izzy’s eyes.
‘Mum told me some things today.’ She cradled her mug of tea, not wanting to catch Izzy’s eye. ‘She’s been lying to me for all my life. My dad…’ She stopped herself. ‘Greg was blackmailing someone. It seems Mum was raped and I’m…’ She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she carried on. ‘I’m the child of a rapist.’
What a terrible thing to have to say, to admit to. The product of a horrible crime. Izzy was quiet, so Martha carried on and told her the rest of the story, only able to look at her when she’d finished.
‘Wow,’ Izzy said, her face ashen.
‘I know. But the worst of it is, she thinks this guy’s father – who is a judge apparently – had something to do with Greg’s death. And she thinks we might be in danger now, because Mum knows the truth and I’m… I’m evidence.’
‘Bloody hell.’ Izzy puffed out her cheeks. ‘So, she’s told the police?’
Martha sighed. ‘I don’t know.’ She wiped her hands over her face. ‘I don’t know what to believe.’
Izzy shook her head, clearly lost for words.
‘They lied to me. Both of them. I hate her.’ Martha thumped her fist on the table. ‘I really hate her.’
Izzy leant over and rubbed her arm. ‘Don’t worry. I think she’s jumping to conclusions. Adding two and two and making five. The police are on to it now. I found an update online and I’m pretty sure they’ve taken a couple of men in for questioning.’
Martha’s heart bounced in her chest. ‘Oh my God, that’s a relief.’
Izzy picked up her tea, took a sip. ‘I’ll find it for you in a bit.’ She was quiet for a moment. ‘The thing is, the debt collector man came again. Said you’d promised him some money today?’
Martha chewed at her lip. ‘I rang him after I’d spoken to the Citizens Advice Bureau. I have to admit I panicked, thought if I could pay a little bit, then the company would be willing to wait while a proper deal was sorted.’ She rubbed at her temples, wondering what to do for the best. ‘I haven’t really got anything to give him though. Christ, what was I thinking? I’ll have to ring Gemma, see what’s happening with my redundancy money.’
‘I thought you said that was all going to be delayed with his estate? Realistically, I don’t think anything will have been sorted out yet.’ Izzy gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry though. I brought some cash with me, for emergencies.’
Martha gasped. ‘No, Izzy, I can’t let you do that.’
Izzy beamed at her. ‘Too late. I’ve done it. I only gave him a hundred quid, but he was happy with that. Said you needed to contact the office, though, to sort out a repayment schedule within the next week, or he’d be back again.’
Martha stared at her, open-mouthed, her brain devoid of words for a minute. ‘Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re here. Honestly, it’s too much, all of this happening at once.’ She pressed her lips together, as a wave of emotion surged through her. When she spoke, her voice wavered. ‘I don’t think I can cope.’
Izzy reached for her hand, covered it with her own. ‘Stop it. You’re coping brilliantly. Anyone would be thrown. Especially with your mum’s last revelation. Just know that you’re loved.’ She looked into Martha’s eyes and she knew that it was true. Izzy loved her like no friend had before and that sudden knowledge brought a lump to her throat.
‘I’d like to just go,’ Martha said. ‘As soon as possible, I want us to go travelling together. Just have a blowout, some fun. Can we do that?’
Izzy’s eyes glistened and she nodded before getting to her feet and walking over to the hob, stirring the onions before putting the meat in the pan. �
�I’ll soon have this finished.’ Izzy turned the meat as it browned. ‘Jeez, these onions are strong.’ She swiped at her face with the back of her hands. ‘Tomorrow we’ll sit down and sort out money, okay? Then you won’t be worrying.’
Tomorrow. Something else was happening tomorrow, Martha was sure of it. Then she remembered, slapped a hand to her forehead. ‘It’s the assessment tomorrow. Oh my God, I forgot.’
Izzy smiled over her shoulder before turning back to her cooking. ‘Everything’s ready. Don’t you worry. Have a look round, you’ll see. All spick and span.’
And it was.
Martha was amazed at the transformation. All the floors were clean and cleared of the piles of junk, shelves were tidy, windows were transparent again. The place had never looked so bright or smelt so fresh. It actually looked like a home that Martha might want to live in. Initially, she was appalled at the radical nature of Izzy’s cleaning spree, and the complete absence of clutter, thinking, Mum’s going to go mental. But then, she remembered the conversation she’d had with Izzy the day before.
‘Okay, Martha, here’s the thing,’ Izzy said when Martha questioned her methods. ‘If your mum wants to come back home, it needs to be somewhere that’s safe for her, not full of dust and stuff she can trip over and knock onto the floor. I told you I was a nurse, didn’t I?’ Izzy looked away. ‘Well, I looked after a lot of chronically ill people in their homes and this is what we had to do. Make the place clean, hygienic, as sterile as possible to minimise the germs. Your mum will be very susceptible to infection, so we don’t want that, do we?’ Her voice had hardened, hands on her hips, a defiant gleam in her eye. ‘The choice is her crap or her life. You decide. If you think she’d prefer her crap, well, it’s in bags in the garage and you can put it back.’
Now, Martha didn’t let herself think about where everything had gone, the main point being that the house was as ready as it would ever be for the home assessment. She sat on her bed, noticing a posy of daffodils in a little vase on top of her bedside cabinet. Her bed had been tidied up, her clothes put away, the floor hoovered. And on top of her desk, all the books her mother had produced with Anna were neatly lined up together. Fran had always had copies strewn around the house, but Martha had never seen them displayed as a collection like this before. It was pretty impressive, really, and she pulled out a copy of the first book, flicked through the pages, admiring the quality of her mum’s illustrations. Such talent and Martha’s heart softened as she thought of the hours of work that had gone into each picture. Her fingers traced the outline of the witch on the cover. Out of all the books, this first one was still her favourite. She slotted it back into place.
How kind Izzy was, how caring. She hugged that thought to her heart while she lay on her bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling while her brain worked its way through the events of the day. Mum’s on the mend, so she didn’t have to worry about her any more. A couple of days, the doctor had said, then she’d be able to come home. The house was ready for the assessment. Izzy had sorted out the debt collector. Maybe they could ring the utility company tomorrow and explain her mum was in hospital and would be in touch when she was out? So that was a lot of her worries out of the way. But then, once she’d tidied that lot into the dustbin in her mind, the thing that was really bothering her had plenty of room to roam around.
I’m the child of a rapist.
That explained so much about her relationship with her mother. The distance between them at times.
She resents me. That’s what it is. I’m a burden, an obligation, a child who should never have existed. Her fists clenched by her sides. Izzy was right, she should think of herself now. Never mind what her mother wanted. And with that thought in mind, she heaved herself off the bed and went back downstairs.
The next day, a tidy little woman with a bouncy brown bob of a haircut came to do the home assessment, and it was going well until a discussion about the stairs.
‘They’re awfully steep, aren’t they?’ the woman said.
‘We can have another handrail attached to the side wall if that would help?’ Izzy suggested.
Martha nodded, sure that Anna wouldn’t mind. ‘Yes, that’s not a problem. We can have that done pretty quickly.’ She wondered if Neil would help. As their neighbour, he was the one she’d normally turn to for assistance. Even though he was a solicitor, he ran a small farm and was a practical man with a whole armoury of equipment for DIY tasks.
‘Hmm, it would be better if we could get a stairlift installed.’ The woman turned to Martha. ‘Unfortunately, your stairs are too narrow, I think. We can provide the rail but there’s a bit of a wait.’
It looked like it might be a major sticking point and Martha was racking her brains for something to say to allay the woman’s concerns when Izzy piped up.
‘While she recovers, Fran can pretty much live upstairs if we put an armchair and her desk in her bedroom. She wouldn’t need to use the stairs at all, would she?’ She winked at Martha. ‘There will always be someone at home to look after her,’ Izzy promised. ‘We’ll make sure of that, won’t we, Martha? Twenty-four-hour care, not a problem.’
‘Izzy’s a trained nurse,’ Martha added, and she saw a blush creep into Izzy’s cheeks, like she’d said she’d won a gold medal at the Olympics.
The lady looked relieved. ‘Well, that sounds perfect. Your mum’s a lucky lady, having two of you to look after her.’ She sighed. ‘I was worrying she’d have to stay in hospital because we’ve nothing else suitable at the moment. Except a possible place at a nursing home, and she’s a bit young to find herself there, isn’t she? Much better to be at home if we can make sure it’s safe.’
‘I’ll get the handrail sorted out,’ Martha said, wondering if there was a grant for such things. Or maybe a charity that would help with the costs.
‘Well, that’s fine, then,’ the woman said. ‘The hospital will be so pleased. There’s quite a backlog of patients waiting to be discharged at the moment and they’ve had to cancel operations, so at least I’ll be the bearer of good news this time.’ She smiled at them both. ‘I’m sure they’ll get your mum home as quick as they can.’
Martha gave her a tight smile, thinking that maybe she’d played this all wrong. Why didn’t I see that? If she’d made an issue out of the stairs, then her mum couldn’t have come home, and she wouldn’t have been her problem any more. Guilt ripped her heart in two and she scolded herself for even thinking such a thing. She bit her lip, angry with herself for being so mean, as she stood on the doorstep and watched the opportunity to rid herself of responsibility walk down the path, get into her car and drive away.
Thirty-One
Martha
Now
‘Well, that went well,’ Izzy said as Martha came back inside. ‘It was a master stroke mentioning I was a nurse. I really hadn’t thought about that. And it only occurred to me when she was here that the upstairs could be like a little flat for your mum. No need to come downstairs at all really.’
Martha pushed past her into the kitchen, banging the cupboard doors as she searched for something to eat.
Izzy followed her, obviously confused. ‘What’s up?’
Martha wouldn’t look at her but slammed a tin of beans onto the worktop, banged a pan onto the hob and clattered about in the utensil drawer for a wooden spoon. Her chest felt like it was going to burst with all the pent-up anger. How had her life had become a demolition site of lies, death and responsibilities?
‘We got it wrong,’ she said, tipping the beans into the pan. ‘We got it really wrong.’
‘What do you mean?’ Izzy leant against the worktop, arms folded across her chest, watching her.
‘You heard the woman. If this place wasn’t suitable, they would have had to put Mum in a residential home.’ Martha turned and looked at Izzy. ‘Don’t you think that would have been better?’
Izzy frowned, clearly confused. ‘But I thought you wanted her here?’
Martha shook her
head, on the verge of tears. ‘Not after what she told me yesterday.’ She heaved in a deep breath and her thoughts came tumbling out in a rush of words. ‘I’ve always been a burden to her. An unwanted baby. Always there reminding her of what happened. I’m the product of a rape, Izzy. A rape. How can she possibly love me, when I must remind her of that all the time?’
Izzy looked stunned. ‘I think that’s you making assumptions.’ Her eyes glazed, her mind obviously somewhere else for a moment. ‘You don’t know what it’s like, the love you feel for your baby, whoever the father is.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Martha’s hands went to her hips, scorn in her voice. She was getting tired of people telling her what to think. ‘And how would you know?’
Izzy stared at her for a long moment then went to sit at the breakfast bar, elbows on the worktop, her head hanging between her shoulders. Martha knew she’d upset her friend, cursed her temper and went to sit opposite. ‘Sorry, Izzy, I’m really sorry. I’m just full of… I don’t know. I feel like an emotional time-bomb that’s about to explode any bloody minute.’ She sighed, weighed down by life. ‘I love Mum, don’t get me wrong, but she’s lied to me about so many things I think I need some time away from her, just to get everything sorted in my head. And perhaps this is the right time for me and Mum to live apart.’
Izzy didn’t respond and Martha realised she was crying, her shoulders shaking as she sniffed back tears. She reached across the table and rubbed Izzy’s arm, at a loss to know how to comfort her.
It was a little while before Izzy spoke, her head still bowed, eyes on the table.
‘I had a baby. But I was very young, only fourteen, and I didn’t even know I was pregnant until I went into labour. It was a massive shock and I had no idea how to look after a baby. I was still a child myself.’ Izzy’s body shuddered and Martha found her hand, held it tight. ‘My mother decided it would be better for me if the baby was adopted.’ Izzy took a deep breath. ‘Nobody told me that’s what was going to happen. And I can tell you that I’ve missed my baby every single day since.’