by Rona Halsall
‘Hello, Fran,’ the woman said with a slow smile. ‘Remember me?’
Thirty-Five
Martha
Now
Martha stared at her mother, then at Izzy. They do know each other. She tensed, uncertain what to do, her initial shock at Izzy walking into the room tempered with a need to see how this meeting was going to pan out. The hairs prickled on the back of her neck.
‘Beth?’ her mum whispered, as though she could hardly bear to say the name.
Izzy’s smile widened. She sat on the other end of the settee and Fran leant away from her, as though she was contagious, her face deathly pale.
‘You do remember!’ Izzy’s voice was full of a forced merriment that didn’t match the coldness in her eyes. ‘So good to see you after all this time.’
‘Beth?’ Martha frowned and stared at Izzy.
She looked at the two women, who were eyeing each other up like predator and prey. Her mum was scared. She was sure of it, could see it in her face, in the way her chest was rising and falling in rapid, jerky movements. Now she was a bit scared herself, because she had no idea what Izzy’s agenda could be, and it was clear from her mum’s reaction there was a bad feeling between the two women.
Martha’s eyes flicked from face to face, comparing and contrasting, and she could see the similarity now, round the eyes and the nose. Izzy could have been telling the truth. She’d always heard her mum’s sister referred to as Elizabeth on the rare occasions she’d been mentioned. But why had her mum said she was dead? And where had she really been for all these years?
It wasn’t a coincidence we met. And it isn’t a coincidence that she’s ended up here in our house. Martha’s heart raced, her pulse whooshing in her ears as she realised it was all part of a plan, a hidden agenda. This is too weird. Way too weird.
She eyed the doorway into the hall, her instincts telling her to run, get out of the house before her temper exploded. Her hands grabbed the arms of the chair, but her legs refused to obey, and she sat in appalled silence, paralysed by conflicting thoughts. She wanted to go, but she wanted to know the truth as well. Had to know the truth. There’s no point running away, she told herself, hands grasping the chair tighter.
‘Get her out of my house,’ Fran said, eyes wide as she turned to Martha. ‘She can’t be here. She’s not safe.’
Izzy laughed but there was no mirth in the sound. ‘That’s right, nutty Beth. Let’s lock her up and throw away the key.’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ Fran said, her voice firm.
Martha looked from one to the other, her body shaking with rage. ‘I have no idea what’s going on here. Izzy, what’s happening?’
Fran sneered at her sister. ‘Izzy? Is that what you’re calling yourself now?’ She smacked a hand to her forehead as she suddenly understood. ‘Oh I get it, you’re Martha’s friend. You’re that Izzy?’
Izzy nodded and leant closer. ‘I’m a new person, Fran. I stopped being poor little Beth when I moved out of the unit.’ She smiled at her sister, but her voice had an edge to it. ‘Remember the unit? You know, that place where you left me on my own when Mum died? Just forgot about me.’ She nodded. ‘Anyway, once I was finally out of that place, once I was free, I thought I should have a new name for a new start. I picked up some qualifications, got myself a job and managed to keep everything going.’ She ran her tongue round dry lips, a sudden frown creasing her forehead. ‘But I couldn’t forget Martha.’ She caught Martha’s eye and she recognised that look, realised it was love, motherly love. ‘I wanted to see her, spend time with her, be part of her life. And over the years, that feeling grew until it was all I could think about.
‘When I started the psychology degree, it sorted out a few things in my head, made me see that until I reconnected with my daughter, until I got to ask you a few questions about what really happened…’ She stared at Fran, her jaw working from side to side as she battled with her emotions. Her voice wavered, each word edged with hurt. ‘Why you abandoned me when I was so vulnerable and alone and desperately needed support.’ She took a breath, closed her eyes for a moment as she calmed herself. ‘I had to find you, get everything that’s been going round my head out in the open. Therapy wasn’t the answer. We had to meet, to talk. Otherwise I knew I would never move on and it would eat away at me like a cancer, until it killed me.’
Fran’s hand grabbed at her chest and Martha noticed that her lips had a bluish hue to them. She looked like she was having problems breathing.
‘Oh God, Mum. Are you okay?’ Martha dashed to her side, a hand on her shoulder as she studied her face.
Fran shook her head. ‘I feel…’ She was having problems speaking, her voice all breathy. ‘I feel awful.’
A chill ran through Martha’s body. She wasn’t sure she could cope with another medical emergency. ‘Look, let’s get you upstairs, shall we? Then you can have a lie down while Izzy…’ She frowned, unsure. ‘I mean, Beth… tells me what’s going on.’ She gave Izzy a pointed look.
‘It’s Izzy.’ Her voice was tinged with annoyance. ‘Beth no longer exists. I’m Izzy now.’
Martha held her mum’s arm and helped her to her feet. It was quite an effort, her mum being unsteady and leaning her considerable weight on Martha as they slowly negotiated the stairs, step by step. By the time they reached the landing, Martha was sweating and exhausted. Slowly, they shuffled into the bedroom and Martha eased her mum onto the bed. She closed the curtains, hoping her mum wouldn’t realise that the room was bare, her stuff consigned to the tip. She felt bad about it, wondered how she’d allowed herself to get wrapped up in the throwing-out spree. But then, she hadn’t really had a choice as Izzy had done most of the clearing out by herself. Now she knew it was all part of a spiteful agenda: revenge.
Fran sat on the bed, gasping for breath, while Martha sat beside her and tried to calm her down.
‘What’s she doing here? How did she find us?’ Her mum’s breathing was getting faster.
‘Calm down, Mum. Please, just take some nice, deep breaths and then I’ll tell you, okay?’
‘She can’t be here. She can’t. It’s not safe.’ Her mum had a hand on her chest and Martha prayed her heart wasn’t going to give up on her. ‘Make her go,’ Fran gasped. ‘Get her out of my house.’
Martha jumped when she heard the door open and Izzy came into the room. She leant against the wall, a determined look on her face. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I think it’s time Martha knew the truth, don’t you?’
Martha’s body tensed, her, jaw set. Can’t she see Mum’s in no fit state to talk about anything? This was the last thing Fran needed after so recently suffering a heart attack.
‘Later, Izzy. I’ve got to get her calmed down first. Mum’s had a bit of a shock, you being here.’
Izzy didn’t move. Her mum’s breathing rasped faster, and Martha was getting really worried. Oh God, is it happening again?
‘Please.’ There was a tremor in Martha’s voice, panic swelling inside her. ‘We’ve got plenty of time to talk about things, but Mum needs to calm down first, okay?’
Izzy stared at her for a moment, her mouth a grim, determined line. ‘Whatever.’ She turned and left the room, her feet thumping down the stairs.
When she was gone, Martha closed the door and went back to her mum, holding her hand and muttering meaningless reassurances, while her mind ping-ponged between the lies. What the hell am I supposed to believe? Well, she could believe that her mum and Izzy were sisters, that much was clear. But the atmosphere was so strained, she wondered if more lies lay hidden.
She turned her attention to Fran, told her that Izzy had gone, even though she could hear her banging things around in the kitchen, but Fran was unaware of her surroundings as she fought to breathe.
It took a little while, but finally she started to calm down and Martha’s body sagged in relief.
‘You okay now, Mum?’ she asked, peering at Fran’s face. She looked a more normal colour and she’d l
ost that frantic expression in her eyes.
‘You can’t let her be here.’ She grasped Martha’s hand and held it tight. ‘She’s trouble. Severe mental health problems. They declared her criminally insane. That’s what my own mum told me.’ There was fear in Fran’s eyes. ‘And she’s violent. That’s why she was in a special secure unit. She almost strangled one of her care workers.’
Martha prised her hand away from her mother’s claw-like grip and scrutinised her face. Is this the truth, or is she making it up? Embellishing. All she could see was fear.
How well do I really know Izzy? And the answer to that was not at all. Yes, she’d been kind, a massive help over the last week. But has she just been manipulating me to get at Mum? Or is Mum manipulating me to keep Izzy out of my life?
Two stories, one event – which one was true? Who’s my real mother?
The only thing she did know for sure was that the two women clearly hated each other.
‘I don’t know what to believe, Mum.’ Martha could feel the pressure building in her head, throbbing behind her eyes.
Fran slowly keeled over until she was lying on the bed, clearly exhausted. She closed her eyes, her speech coming in breathy whispers. ‘I can’t talk about it now. Just get her out of my house, and if she won’t go, tell her I’ll call the police.’
‘I’m going to let you have a rest,’ Martha said as she stood up and walked towards the door, her hands clenched by her sides. She marched downstairs and into the kitchen, determined to quiz Izzy and get to the truth.
Thirty-Six
Martha
Now
Izzy was sitting at the breakfast bar when Martha came down, two mugs of tea in front of her, gently steaming. She smiled at Martha as though nothing had changed, as though she was still her dog-loving friend from Leeds, who was on an adventure and had dropped her off at home. Just helping her out for a little while.
Martha’s thoughts were ripping apart with confusion and doubts. Would she even believe anything Izzy told her? Or her mum for that matter? How am I ever going to know what to believe?
‘Come and sit down, let me tell you the whole story. I should have told you a long time ago.’ There was a tremor in Izzy’s voice and Martha realised she was nervous, not as sure of herself as she’d assumed.
She hesitated and leant against the wall, studying Izzy. Or should that be Beth? Her stomach churned and she didn’t know whether to stay where she was or go and sit with Izzy.
‘This isn’t easy for me.’ Izzy caught Martha’s eye. ‘I know it’s not easy for you either, but just let me talk, will you?’
‘I’m not stopping you.’ Martha’s heart thumped a drumbeat of caution. She shuffled her feet, adjusted her position, hands folded across her chest.
Izzy took a deep breath and began. ‘You really are my daughter. But they wouldn’t let me be your mother.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Fran took you from me. And our mother helped her.’
Martha swallowed. She’d heard this already and wasn’t yet convinced, not after her mum’s version of events. But now she knew for sure that Izzy was her mum’s sister, she listened carefully, because her mum’s story had holes in it and Izzy’s story… well, she’d let her speak and then decide.
‘It’s the God’s honest truth,’ Izzy said, her eyes pleading with Martha, desperate for her to believe what she was saying. ‘Now wouldn’t that be enough to push anyone over the edge? To have a baby and have her be taken, and know that nobody was going to let you have her back? How do you think it feels to have your family betray you like that?’
Martha didn’t respond, her resolve fraying round the edges.
Izzy’s jaw tightened and they stared at each other for a long moment before she continued, her words taught with anger. ‘Imagine if the mother you loved with all your heart and your older sister who you idolised worked together to take away the most precious, most wonderful thing that had ever happened to you? Fran was the only person I told your father’s name to. And she betrayed me.’ Tears rolled down Izzy’s cheeks. ‘She told Mum, who insisted the father’s family should be told and then it was all their decisions, because I was so young and had no say.’
Martha was almost swayed, then she reminded herself that she’d seen Izzy tell convincing lies. Fran had said she was mentally unstable. Izzy herself had admitted as much. Was this a delusion she was acting out? Was there some other grudge between the two sisters and Martha was the pawn in the middle?
‘Why should I believe you over Mum, when you’ve done nothing but tell me a whole bunch of lies since I first met you?’
Izzy threw up her hands. ‘What more can I tell you?’ She sounded desperate. ‘You’ve got to believe me. Martha, please.’
Martha pushed away from the wall, pointing at Izzy. ‘Even if it’s true, you’re just as bad as the rest of them. Thinking lying to me is okay. We’ve been talking for a year and you didn’t tell me the truth, let me think you were my friend.’
‘But you wouldn’t have believed me.’ Izzy’s face contorted, her pain palpable. ‘And you are my friend. My best friend. I love you, Martha, please believe me when I say that. I’d do anything for you, anything.’
Martha felt torn apart by doubts, Fran’s alternative version of reality gripping her like quicksand.
‘So why should I believe you now? What’s different?’
‘What’s different is Fran is back to corroborate my story. Then you’ll know it’s the truth.’ Izzy was pleading, hands pressed together as if in prayer. ‘Look, I’m really sorry I wasn’t completely honest with you. I am. But it was the only way I could get to see you. I meant to tell you sooner.’ She gazed at Martha, tears welling in her eyes again. ‘There’s no way Fran was ever going to let me get to know you.’ Her chin wobbled. ‘Please sit down. Let me tell you everything.’
Martha hesitated for a moment before walking over and perching on a stool. ‘The truth now.’ She leant forwards, tapping the worktop with a finger. ‘If I think for one minute that you’re lying, then that’s it. You’ve got to go.’ She sat back, arms clasped around her body, hands clutching her clothes as if she’d fall apart if she let herself relax for even a moment.
Izzy looked down at her hands, which rested on the table in front of her now, fingers entwined. Her voice was hesitant when she started to speak, flinching as her story unfolded as if the words themselves were cutting her mouth.
‘After they took you away, I had a really hard time. Turns out I had postnatal depression and I began to self-harm, threatened suicide. Anyway, I was sectioned and hospitalised. But the doctors put me on some medication that made me psychotic and I was having hallucinations and it made me aggressive and…’ She hesitated and swallowed. ‘Okay, it’s hard to say this, but I attacked a care assistant. I thought she was the devil who’d come to…’
Martha’s eyes widened. Mum was telling the truth, then.
‘You don’t even need to know what I thought.’ Izzy’s leg bounced up and down. ‘It wasn’t the real me. I know it sounds bad, but once they changed the medication, I was fine.’ She sighed. ‘Eventually. We’re talking years here, because I was classed as criminally insane, which I wasn’t, but…’ She shook her head, glanced up at Martha before she continued.
‘Anyway, by that time, our mum had died, the house had been sold and I had nowhere to go. Fran had disappeared out of my life way before they let me out.’ She looked at Martha, a flush of anger on her face. ‘That’s right, she just went off and left me without a word. I’d been told she’d gone to live abroad with Greg, and I believed it because he was always working overseas, and it seemed logical that’s what they’d do.’ She took a sip of her tea, deep in thought, the kitchen so silent the air was thick with the lack of noise. Martha couldn’t move, mesmerised by the tale, wondering if she was finally hearing the truth.
Izzy put her mug down and carried on. ‘When they let me out, I was all on my own. I had no family, no home. I was in this rehabilitation programme for a bit, tr
ained as a home carer and that was okay for a while, but I couldn’t cope with losing you. Losing everything. When they took you away from me, they took my life, my future.’ She puffed out her cheeks, then paused for a moment before she carried on. ‘I tried to kill myself again.’ She shook her head, slowly. ‘I kept getting better, they’d let me out, I’d get a job, get stressed and end up back in hospital. I couldn’t seem to get out of the cycle. Until I got a new therapist and we really clicked, and I don’t know what it was, but I realised that I wasn’t stupid. I could learn new things, get qualifications. I could cope differently and… I could try and find you. Technology had come on, you see. The Internet, social media, it had all advanced over the years without me really noticing, and I wasn’t thinking straight enough to use my brain and work out where you might be.’ She smiled. ‘My therapist helped me, because she knew that finding you was the key to me getting better. And she was so right. It took us a while to work out that Fran might have changed her surname, but once we went down that track, it didn’t take long. Taylor was my mum’s maiden name, you see.’
Izzy reached across the table and grasped Martha’s hand. ‘Please say you believe me, please.’
The emotion that creased Izzy’s face and thickened her voice seemed so real, Martha couldn’t think that she was lying. But if Izzy was telling the truth, then her mother had been lying to her all her life and was still lying now. A headache pounded behind her eyes as she tried to decide what to do, the walls of the kitchen closing in, Izzy’s hand grasping hers tighter, Fran’s voice calling her name.
Her heart fluttered and she felt light-headed, the room starting to spin. She had to get out. Now. She had to get out of the house and put some distance between her and the lies and the pleading and the confusion. She had to find some space, somewhere calm and quiet where she could be on her own and breathe in some cool, fresh air. Then she might be able to think. Then she might be able to work out what to believe.