The House Party

by Mary Grand

  ‘And none of it was true, he was a very proficient liar.’

  ‘He was. Kathleen said he had us all fooled.’

  ‘She was right about so much.’ Imogen clenched her fists, spoke slowly. ‘Did he have anything to do with her death?’

  ‘He did.’

  Beth explained what had happened. Imogen stared up into the sky. The moon was creeping out from behind a cloud. ‘I can’t imagine how a man who was capable of such kindness, who worked so hard for people, could so anything so wicked.’

  ‘Like the moon, he had a dark side none of us saw,’ said Beth.

  Imogen turned to her. ‘Do you know anything about the life of the real William; where he grew up, that kind of thing?’

  ‘William grew up in a run down, high-rise flat in the East End of London.’

  Imogen stared. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘He confirmed it earlier. I remembered when he talked to me about his visit to the East End of London, the smells, the sights; it was the real William. The trophies and scarves all felt fake, but when he talked about those high-rise flats, that was real.’

  Imogen grabbed her arm. ‘I see it now, I thought it was odd when he wanted to go off there when we stayed in London. It was so unlike him, when he came back, he was very emotional. I wondered then—’

  Imogen sat quietly; Beth gave her time for things to sink in.

  ‘So, all that talk about money tied up in land was a lie?’ said Imogen.

  ‘Yes, the only money he had, he’d made as a doctor and all of that went to his ex on his divorce, a woman I think he married for money but whose parents somehow saw through him.’

  Imogen sat, open mouthed. ‘And then he did the same to me. It really was all about money, well, I guess my parents’ money, pure and simple.’ She frowned. ‘But hang on, he was getting the money, my parents loved him. So why the need to kill me? Did he hate me so much he couldn’t bear to live with me any longer? I could see if he wanted the money, he couldn’t divorce me but, to hate me so much he wanted to kill me?’ Her hands shook as she covered her eyes.

  Beth felt desperately sorry for her. ‘To be honest I don’t think he exactly hated you, I am pretty sure he was more worried that you were going to alienate your parents. I think the point he decided he needed to kill you was last November when you threatened to cut off your parents after they bought Elsa the car.’

  ‘I was furious.’

  ‘He saw that and he knew it could happen again. it’s why he took you skiing, planned the accident, the addiction to the painkillers—’

  ‘I should have worked this out for myself. After the skiing holiday he kept telling me I’d forgotten things like turning off the shower when I was sure I’d done them. I can see now he was just eating away at my self-confidence. I knew the pills were making me a bit muddled but that wasn’t like me, so I kept a notebook with lists, ticking off when I did things.’

  Beth suddenly remembered seeing the journal in Imogen’s drawer.

  ‘I stopped though, it was too scary, and I wanted to be able to trust him. Instead I started to doubt myself, I guess that was the aim.’ Imogen scratched at the varnish on her thumbnail. ‘It was all so cruel. It did flash through my mind sometimes that he might be messing with my pills, but I was so desperate to think he loved me that I told myself he was doing it for my own good. I wanted the lies, the ones that he loved me, cared about me and Elsa.’

  ‘But you faced the truth in the end, that takes courage.’

  Imogen placed her hand on Beth’s. ‘You are so much braver than me.’

  Beth smiled. ‘Sometimes.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But you know, Imogen, I’m not that brave, I’ve been facing truths about you, William, everyone else who was at the house party but there is still one truth I am hiding and that is my own. I think it’s time I face that.’

  ‘And that is?’

  Beth shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you yet, the person who should hear this first is Sami.’

  Beth and Imogen were both taken to the police station where, after giving brief statements, both were allowed home. Beth had phoned Adam, avoided telling him too much, but asked him to take care of Layla until she got home.

  Both children were up waiting for her when she returned, and she explained as briefly as she could what had happened. When they’d finally gone to bed, Beth sat alone in the dark, quiet kitchen. Ollie looked up from his basket and wagged his tail. She knelt, cuddled him, and cried.

  ‘Oh God, Ollie. What a night. I thought I was going to die; I really did. But now it’s finished.’ She paused, ‘Well, almost: one more thing and then it will be over.’

  37

  Beth woke early, showered, and was dressing when she heard the front door opening. Panicking, she ran down but, to her relief, it was Sami.

  He held out his arms. ‘Layla rang me.’ Beth rushed into them. After a few moments, he led her to the sofa.

  ‘Tell me everything.’

  They ate breakfast together. Beth had to go back to the police station, but Sami went with her this time.

  When they were returning home, Beth said, ‘I know it’s odd, and I know I’m shattered, but I need to do this now. We need to go to Parkhurst Woods.’

  ‘The woods? Whatever for?’

  ‘Please, Sami. I need to take you somewhere. It’s time.’

  They parked, and Beth led Sami through the woods to the concrete wall: the wall that divided the woods from the prison grounds. At the base were the flowers she’d laid, and a fossil hidden by grass.

  Beth held Sami’s hand.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, frowning.

  And she was there, standing on the edge of the highest board, shaking. Would she, could she finally make the dive?

  ‘I’m sorry. I should have told you about this years ago, when I met you.’ Beth hesitated. She wanted to back away, but she knew she couldn’t. ‘And then I learned more at my aunt’s funeral—’

  ‘About what?’

  Beth clasped the fossil as if trying to gain strength from it. ‘It’s about my father—’

  ‘Did you learn more about why he left you and went to America?’

  ‘No. You see, my father never went to America. He wasn’t a lecturer. He was nothing like that.’

  ‘I don’t understand. You said—’

  ‘I lied. I’m so sorry, Sami.’ She pointed to the wall. ‘My father died in Parkhurst prison. He was sent there, when I was thirteen, for murder. He stabbed and killed a security guard when he was breaking into a distillery. My father killed an innocent man who was doing his job. He not only took away the man’s life but destroyed the life of that man’s wife and children.’

  Beth paused. There was no going back now.

  ‘Your father killed someone?’ Sami spoke the words slowly, utterly dumbfounded.

  ‘Yes. That’s the truth.’

  ‘But you never told me. All these years—’

  ‘I kept wanting to tell you, but never had the courage to go through with it.’

  ‘But when we met, you told me then about him being in America. Why did you lie?’

  ‘Because I’d learned that anyone who knew the truth wouldn’t want anything to do with me. When my father was arrested, me and Mum became outcasts in our village. We became pariahs, got notes through the door, graffiti on the house. Mum couldn’t afford for us to move so she sent me to a high school a long way from the village. She told me to make up this story that Dad had left us, that he was abroad. So I did, and it worked. I think I nearly believed it myself by the end.’

  ‘But you could have told me. We were adults, not kids. You should have trusted me.’

  Beth sat down, her back against the concrete wall. She ran her fingers round the rough spiral of the fossil, not daring to look up.

  Sami sat next to her. ‘Tell me everything,’ he said.

  ‘When I was little, Dad never held down a job for long. He would disappear for the weekend sometimes and come back with cash. He said he ha
d worked hard for us. And then one night the police came, lights flashing, bashing on the door, the lot, and they took him away. It was the last time I saw him. Mum told me the day he was sent to prison that he’d been sent up north a long way away; he didn’t want to see us, and we were not to speak of him any more.’

  ‘But that wasn’t fair.’

  ‘I suppose not, but Mum was all twisted up by it. I was so ashamed of my father: angry, sad, all messed up, I didn’t speak about it to anyone.’

  Sami wiped his eyes. ‘It’s so sad.’

  ‘I was so confused. Dad had become the enemy, yet I had some good memories of him. He would take me to the beach looking for fossils. He used to tell me to work hard at school, that I was clever and pretty.’

  ‘So, he tried?’

  ‘I think he did but, of course, I only saw one part of him. He chose to do that robbery and to take a knife.’

  ‘And so, once he went to prison you never saw him again?’

  ‘No. I assumed, because he never got in touch, that Mum was right, that he didn’t want to see us. It wasn’t until I went to my aunt’s funeral six years ago that I found out the truth.’

  ‘And that was?’

  ‘My cousin told me Dad had been sent here, to Parkhurst. She told me—’ Beth held the fossil tight, curled her knees up against her chest. ‘He killed himself in the third year he was here. I’d have been about fifteen or sixteen. Mum never told me. All that time, I’d thought he was alive, and he was dead.’ Beth swallowed hard. ‘Apparently, the prison authorities or the council organised a cremation here. There’s no plaque at the crematorium, nothing. When I came back from the funeral I didn’t know how to cope. Too many emotions all shouting at me: anger with Mum and with Dad, but all this, sadness, and guilt that he’d killed himself.’

  ‘And that is why you were so ill? Oh, Beth. Why on earth didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘It felt too late. I was so ill, and I thought you would leave me if I told you. I did tell that doctor. She was lovely. She wanted me to go for therapy, but I couldn’t face raking it all up. She did suggest this, though: marking a place, and I’m really glad I did. It’s somewhere to come.’

  Sami put his arm around her. ‘I can’t keep saying you should have told me, but I wish you had.’

  ‘But I was so in awe of you; you were so clever and kind. Your life was nothing like mine.’ Beth put her head in her hands. ‘These are all excuses. I should have told you.’

  She felt Sami’s cold hands gently take hers away from her face. ‘But you didn’t. It’s all right. You were frightened, and I can see why.’

  ‘I wanted everything to be perfect, for Adam and Layla to have the home I never had.’

  ‘You’ve been a lovely mother and wife, and still are. You are still my Beth.’ He looked down at the stone. ‘I hate to think of you coming here on your own. Did you ever tell anyone else?’

  ‘No, no one. Of course not. Apart from the doctor, you were the only person I have ever wanted to tell.’

  ‘We must come here together, me and you. Would you like us to do more? We could go to the crematorium, ask about some kind of memorial plaque or something?’

  ‘Thank you. I’m not sure yet. I’m still confused about how I feel about Dad and Mum. Maybe one day I’ll go and talk to someone about it all, but the main thing is I’d like to not feel ashamed of my past any more.’

  ‘This is your story. You can tell it when and however you want.’

  ‘I’m glad I’ve told you. It’s a start. It’s hard to describe how I feel: tired, but lighter.’

  Sami held her tight. Beth stood up and put the fossil back in its place. She picked up the dead daffodils, but she didn’t wrap the grass around the stone and, as she walked away, she glanced back and saw it leant against the wall, not hidden, not in the dark any more.

  38

  A month later, they were all sitting in Patrick’s garden in the early evening. Patrick had invited Beth, Sami, Layla and Adam, Imogen, Elsa, Alex, and Roisin to come together with him and Conor on what would have been Kathleen’s forty-first birthday.

  Where the hen coop once stood, Patrick had installed a beautiful bronze sculpture of a young girl with long flowing hair holding a hen, the perfect memorial to Kathleen. When they arrived, it had been covered with a cloth which he removed to unveil the statue. They raised their glasses to Kathleen. On the base of the statue was a plaque, which Patrick read out.

  To my darling Kathleen,

  May the wings of the butterfly kiss the sun,

  And find your shoulder to light upon.

  Layla played an Irish folk melody on her flute and they shared memories of Kathleen: stories, photographs, good times, and times they’d cried.

  When they had finished, Beth went to sit with Imogen.

  ‘So, how are you and Elsa?’

  Imogen smiled. ‘We’re doing OK. Elsa is gearing up for university in September and it looks like I shall be all set up to return to school for the new school year. I’ve had meetings with the governors. There are a few things to be ironed out, but I’ve been cleared of everything as far as the police are concerned. It won’t be easy going back, but that’s never stopped me before, has it?’

  ‘No, and I’m sure you’ll get a lot of support.’

  ‘It will be good to see you there.’

  ‘Actually, you won’t see me at school.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m going to finish my degree, but I don’t want to teach. I had a long chat with Sami. I think the reason I was doing the degree and planning to teach was that I felt the pressure to do something academic. But it’s not really me. I’ve decided I want to try something new. I went to see Gemma. I knew they were looking for someone to expand the community room side of things at the Hub. Well, I offered to be the one to take it on. I have talked to the committee. Everyone seems enthusiastic. I have lots of ideas. It should be exciting.’

  ‘I’d never have imagined you doing that kind of thing but, yes, I can see you making a go of it.’

  Beth moved closer to Imogen. ‘So, any news of William?’

  ‘He’s been charged with Kathleen’s murder. He confessed it all the first night they questioned him. He seemed almost proud of it. Also, despite that suit, he wasn’t as careful as he thought. He’d transferred some dirt and, I think, a feather into the car and onto his shoes. The main thing is, there is no way he’ll get out of this.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘It’s hard to believe I got someone so wrong.’

  ‘It was a terrible time for you, but now you and Elsa deserve a fresh start.’

  Imogen smiled. ‘Thank you.’

  Beth walked alone down the garden to the fence. Glancing behind her, and seeing everyone was engrossed, she walked to the end of the fence and slid the panel back. Ahead, she could see the sea: sparkling blue. She could hear it shushing below, just as she had that Sunday evening. She felt something lightly touch her and saw a white butterfly with orange tipped wings had landed on her arm. She didn’t touch it, knowing how easily the scales on its wings could be damaged. Instead, she watched its fine wings shiver.

  ‘We won, Kathleen: me and you. We fought together, and we won. You don’t need to be frightened now: no more secrets, no more shame. You are free.’

  Suddenly, there was a brilliant light. Beth blinked hard and, as she did, she felt the tiniest tingle on her arm. As she looked down, she saw the butterfly take flight towards the sea. She watched it until it flew out of sight.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to all my family who have been there for me from my first days of writing. In particular I would like to mention my brother in law, Mike Nicholson. He was a lovely, exceptional man, who was always so supportive of everything I did. He was taken from us too soon and is missed every day.

  Many close friends have kept me going me with wise words, cups of coffee, and even cake, including Adele Rolf, fellow dog walker, Harriet Robinson, and writer,
Lucy Blanchard.

  I must thank writer and lecturer, Felicity Fair Thompson, for her inspirational creative writing classes. Also, writers Sue Shepherd and Piers Rowlandson, for helpful feedback in the early days of writing this book. Thank you, Barbara Nathan, for allowing me to use Ollie as the name for the cocker spaniel.

  I would like to say an enormous thank you to the wonderful team at Boldwood Books for publishing The House Party. Thank you so much to the editing, cover design, and marketing teams. I would like to particularly thank Sarah Ritherdon for her unstinting support, enthusiasm, and insightful comments.

  Finally, a huge thank you to everyone who reads my books. To you, the readers, bloggers, and reviewers I am enormously grateful. Every encouraging, generous comment, email, and review has helped far more than you can imagine. Thank you.

  More from Mary Grand

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  About the Author

  Mary Grand is the author of five novels and writes gripping, page-turning suspense, with a dark and often murderous underside. She grew up in Wales, was for many years a teacher of deaf children and now lives on the Isle of Wight.

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