by Rona Halsall
She struggled to her feet and staggered to the top of the stone steps that led to a meandering path that zig-zagged down to the beach. The steps glistened with spray, the polished stone lethal when wet. The other shoe was lying on the second step.
Anna had taken Martha to the beach when she was a child and they’d spent many happy hours beach-combing and fishing in the rock pools when the tide was out. It was a place of happy memories, of things a grandmother would do with her grandchild. But now, it was the place where Anna had met her end.
Martha’s breath came in ragged gasps as she stared down the steps, hardly able to believe what had just happened. The beach was hidden from view by an overhanging bulge of rock. A flash of red in the water. Anna’s coat?
Fearing the worst, Martha staggered out of the car park and made her way back to the house as fast as she could. I’ve got to get help. She might still be alive. Her eyes were still not right, her balance off-kilter, and she had to stop a few times to steady herself. Finally she arrived and barged through the door, just as Neil was coming down the stairs.
‘She’s killed herself,’ she gasped, the reality of it making her slump to the floor. ‘Anna’s just killed herself.’
Neil took control as soon as he suspected she was concussed. Time passed in a blur as she witnessed everything from a distance, one step removed from reality. The emergency services were called, stitches put in the gash at the back of her head, and she was sent to bed to rest in the dark. Meanwhile, coastguards searched the beach, but there was no sign of Anna either dead or alive; there was a riptide on that stretch of water and a body would be pulled out to sea. Could be weeks before it showed up, they said, if at all.
Anna was dead.
They found a suicide note on her kitchen table, a short message apologising for all the hurt she’d caused, saying that she couldn’t live with what had happened.
It was hard to accept another senseless death, but it did bring everything to a conclusion, however unpalatable it might be. At last there was a chance to start again.
Now that Anna’s reign of control had ended, Martha’s life could begin.
Epilogue
Three years later
Martha sat cross-legged on the grass beside the grave, the posy of spring flowers looking bright against the granite headstone. She thought Izzy would like the view over the fields and across to the sea in the distance. It was peaceful here and Martha often came to chat with her. So many conversations they’d never had. So much they hadn’t known about each other, but surprisingly, now that Izzy was dead, she still felt like a big part of Martha’s life. Because, at the end of the day, you could tell a dead person all your secrets, have a good rant and a bitch and a moan, and it felt good to share. Sometimes, just telling Izzy about a problem helped her to see the solution.
‘It’s a funny old life, isn’t it, Izzy?’ She delved into the bag from the deli, pulling out a chicken salad sandwich and taking a bite. ‘I’ve just been to see Mum. You know this is a tricky day for both of us, so we always spend some time together, talking about you.’ She puffed out her cheeks. ‘I can’t believe how happy she is in the sheltered accommodation. She’s made all sorts of new friends and started cooking healthy food because they have a weekly cooking group. And even though her heart isn’t brilliant, she’s looking pretty well.’
She chewed and swallowed before carrying on.
‘Armchair aerobics. Can you imagine her doing that? And it’s better that she’s in Truro, close to the hospital. At least there’s a warden keeping an eye on her, and she’s best pals with her neighbour, so that takes the pressure off me a bit. Honestly, we get on so much better now we’ve both got a bit of space.’
She got her bottle of water out of her bag and took a swig, her eyes scanning the horizon. ‘I still blame her, Izzy. In my heart I think she’s got a lot to answer for and it’s taking me a while to forgive.’ She took another drink.
‘It’s funny how Anna came through in the end, isn’t it? If she hadn’t left Mum that money, she wouldn’t have been able to pay off her debts and afford her flat. And now she doesn’t have to worry about her future. It’s been such a massive help.’ She nodded to herself. ‘The money she left for me too – well, that’s given me my freedom. And choices. Not that I’ve spent much of it yet.’
She looked up at the sound of crying. ‘A certain little person is a bit of an attention-seeker, as you can hear.’ She stood and took her baby from the pushchair, cradling him in her arms as she swayed from side to side. ‘Hey, Georgie boy.’ He was almost six months old now and his face was changing, Neil’s features more noticeable now the child’s eyes were going brown. His face was wet with tears, his bottom lip still wobbling. She put him over her shoulder and rubbed his back, wondering whether she was going to go back to work or not. She loved her job as a veterinary nurse, but the travelling was tiring and she was really not sure about leaving George, even for a short while. Neil was happy for her to stay at home and develop the farm if that was what she wanted. She thought she might. The decision was hers; she just had to make it.
It was funny, but after all those years of wanting to leave Cornwall, she’d finally fallen in love with the place. It was a combination of factors, but having her own car made a difference, and obviously Neil was a big attraction. She kissed George’s head as the baby’s hiccups came to a halt, and she felt his little body relax against her own as he fell asleep again. After the complications of her own background, she wanted her son’s life to be simple. Fran was his grandma and Izzy… well, he’d know about Izzy when he was old enough to understand. Greg was another matter. George would never need to know that the man she’d thought of as her father was a criminal whose dodgy deals had caught up with him. Two men had been charged with his murder, and after that, Martha had drawn a line under her whole association with him, rubbed him out of her family story.
Charles had wanted to meet her after Anna died, but Martha couldn’t face it. She wanted nothing to do with him or his family, and she thought he was probably quite happy with that as an outcome. He’d sold the houses, and it was funny to think that it was this action that had pushed her relationship with Neil along a little faster than it would have naturally progressed. She was going to be homeless and Neil had offered to let her stay while she finished off her veterinary nurse qualifications. The rest, as they say, was history.
She lay George in his pushchair and said her goodbyes to Izzy. Neil was taking her out to dinner, a little celebration of Izzy that they’d started doing to keep her memory alive.
She smiled to herself as she drove home, knowing that Izzy had loved her and even though she was dead, she could still feel that love in her heart. It was eternal and something that Anna’s evil could never take from her. She parked next to the house, unstrapping George’s chair from the back seat.
When she opened the door, there was a parcel on the doormat, and she bent to pick it up. Plain brown paper, hand-delivered. Curious, she put George’s chair down and ripped the package open to find a book inside.
It was a children’s story, the cover all gold and silver, glistening in the light. A different style to Fran’s illustrations, but there were distinct similarities. The Witch’s Apology.
Her legs felt weak and she leant against the wall as she flicked through the story, desperate to know how it was going to end. The witch had spent her life putting spells on people and making them do what she wanted. Then the person she loved most in the world, who just happened to be a princess, found out and was so horrified, she wanted nothing to do with her any more. The witch was so ashamed, she cast a spell to make everyone think she was dead, then went into hiding while she started to put right all the wrongs she’d done as best she could. She even cast a love spell on a handsome prince, so the princess could find happiness. She sent them a baby as a token of her love and vowed to always keep the family safe with her magic, even though they couldn’t see her. Instead of an evil witch, she’d turned into
a fairy godmother.
Martha shut the book and scanned the cover again. Though the author’s name was unfamiliar, Martha realised she’d always known in her heart she might receive something like this one day. A sign. Some sort of message. They’d never found Anna’s body, after all. She’d never been able to believe in her heart that she was really dead. And she did always like to have the final word.
If you were gripped by Her Mother’s Lies, don’t miss Love You Gone, another unputdownable psychological thriller by Rona Halsall.
Love You Gone
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‘Hello? Police? My husband and our children… they’re gone.’
When Mel arrives at the holiday cottage in the Lake District, she expects to find the heating on and her husband Luke and the two children waiting for her. Maybe a bottle of wine open…
Instead, there is just a note on the side, saying they’ve gone out for a walk.
But they aren’t back several hours later, and Mel knows something is wrong. Really wrong. When a search doesn’t find them, she has to confess to the police that her marriage isn’t all that it seems.
Even if that risks her own secrets being revealed…
An absolutely incredible, page-turning psychological thriller with a twist you won’t see coming, for fans of Gone Girl, Behind Closed Doors and Ruth Ware.
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A Letter from Rona
I want to say a huge thank you for choosing to read Her Mother’s Lies. If you did enjoy it, and want to keep up to date with all my latest releases, just sign up at the following link. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
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The inspiration for this story came from my own background, growing up in a single-parent household, with my mum struggling to work and look after three children under the age of six, making all the decisions and trying to keep the finances together. It was really tough for her, but she always put us first, and as a child I wanted for nothing… except a father.
In my story, I wanted to look at how that fierce maternal love may be taken to extremes. Would you lie to keep your kids safe? I think you might. But a lie can spin off in unexpected directions, and once it’s been created, it has a life of its own and can come back to whip your feet out from under you.
Lies are never a good idea, are they? But who doesn’t try and shape their life with a secret here and there?
Here we have three mothers, all with secrets and lies making their lives spin out of control, and all for the sake of their child. Put yourself in their shoes – is this what their child would wish for? After reading the story, I’ll leave you to answer that question!
I hope you loved Her Mother’s Lies, and if you did, I would be very grateful if you could write a review. I’d love to hear what you think, and it makes such a difference helping new readers to discover one of my books for the first time.
I love hearing from my readers – you can get in touch on my Facebook page, and through Twitter, Instagram or Goodreads.
Many thanks,
Rona Halsall
Books by Rona Halsall
Keep You Safe
Love You Gone
The Honeymoon
Her Mother’s Lies
The Honeymoon
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‘I’m your husband, Chloe. We’re a partnership now and we do what’s best for us as a couple. Staying here is going to be the best option.’ He picked up his drink and took a sip. ‘It’s not open for discussion. We’re not going home.’
Chloe had the dream wedding. Dan is her perfect man. They haven’t known each other for long, but as she walked down the aisle and saw him standing by the altar, tears glistening in his eyes, she knew this was forever.
Later, as they relax on a beautiful island, settling in to their new married life together, they congratulate themselves on their lovely wedding day, and Dan jokes that he’d like them to stay there forever.
But as the honeymoon goes on, he becomes increasingly adamant. They shouldn’t leave. In fact, he won’t let her…
An utterly gripping psychological thriller for fans of Gillian Flynn, Clare Mackintosh, and The Wife Between Us.
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Keep You Safe
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I have to get my little boy back…
I’ll never forget the feeling of holding him in my arms. The softness of his skin. The sweetness of his smile.
But my husband took our son away. He said it was for the best.
He said he’d keep him safe.
And he was always a good father… even if he failed me when I needed him most.
I know I should trust him to protect our little boy… so why can’t I?
A totally gripping psychological thriller about the power of a mother’s love, and the lengths she will go to to protect her child – perfect for fans of Big Little Lies, The Girl on the Train and C.L. Taylor.
Available now.
Acknowledgements
Firstly, I would like to thank you, the reader, for choosing my book. I hope you have enjoyed the reading experience as much as I enjoyed the writing.
As always, I have to thank my wonderful agent, Hayley Steed of Madeleine Milburn Literary, TV and Film Agency, for her constant enthusiasm and support and her super speedy responses to all my stupid questions.
Massive thanks have to go to everyone at Bookouture who has had input on the book – and there are lots of you. In particular, my fantastic editor, Isobel Akenhead, for seeing the potential of the story when it was back to front and inside out and not very thrilling at all! Another fabulous joint effort, and I love the way it has shaped up. Amazing clarity, as always, and genius little plot tweaks! Also, thanks to everyone involved in cover design, copy edits, proofreading and putting it all together. And then there’s Noelle Holten and Kim Nash, who are Bookouture’s publicity magicians and seem to work wonders with only twenty-four hours in the day. Love you guys, for all your wizardry and motivational kicks up the bum. And Alex, thank you for the mysterious marketing jiggery-pokery!
I would like to thank Stuart Gibbon of GIB Consultancy for all his support and advice regarding police matters – so quick and thorough, he’s an absolute star and so lovely to work with. If you’re a budding crime writer, or just interested in the subject, he has written two fascinating books The Crime Writer’s Casebook and Being a Detective.
Talking about motivation and support, I’d be nowhere without the backup given by my fellow Bookouture authors – thanks for the pep talks, answers to research questions and the laughs; the author’s lounge has got to be my favourite place to procrastinate! And then there’s the Savvy Writers – what a generous, lovely bunch you are, and especially Tracy Buchanan, who set up the Snug, made it the best place to be and taught me so much about the nuts and bolts of being a published author. Quite an education!
Closer to home, I have to give a shout-out to my friend and first reader of early drafts, Kerry-Ann Mitchell, whose perceptive comments have helped to make this a better book. Also her mum, Gill Mitchell, and book club friend Sandra Henderson for reading and giving feedback on early drafts. In fact, I need to thank all my book club buddies – Clare, Sue, Christine, Voirrey, Gemma and Jenny (not forgetting our recently departed friend, Helen) – for their unfettered enthusiasm for my books and their joy at the fact I’m now a published author.
I need to thank my family for understanding that they should not try and talk to me on certain days and at certain times. And none of this would be possible without my husband, David, who has been ignored for long periods of time during the writing of this book, but has been unfailingly enthusiastic and tolerant.
Finally, there are the dogs, Freddie and Molly, who
drag me out when I don’t feel like it, take me for walks on beautiful beaches and gorgeous glens and give me space to think.
Published by Bookouture in 2019
An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
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Copyright © Rona Halsall, 2019
Rona Halsall has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.