It was a mistake to come here. Stupidly, I’d thought that I could win, and now I know how ridiculous that sounds. I keep fooling myself that I’m in control. In reality, I never am, and I never have been.
‘Let’s talk about that day,’ Angela says.
‘Go on. Tell me how it was all my fault.’ I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. ‘You can’t confront Jamie anymore, can you? I’m the best you’ve got.’
‘They got less than ten years for what they did to me.’
My insides twist and I fight the urge to vomit. ‘I know, I was there when they read out the verdict.’
‘They left prison years ago, and since then they’ve been out there living their lives as though nothing happened.’
‘What does that have to do with me? They hurt me too, remember? I know your face was bashed in, but you had to notice Jamie pinning me down and ripping off my underwear.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Lily looking away in fear.
‘Yes, I saw. I saw how you fought for yourself, but you didn’t fight for me.’
‘I was held down by two men!’ I yell.
‘Not the whole time, you weren’t. You’re remembering it wrong. You were drunk. Slumped in the corner. Jamie started raping me while you were barely conscious. I needed you and you weren’t there.’
I shake my head. ‘That’s not true. I… I didn’t drink much of the beer. You were the one who…’
Angela shakes her head very slowly, and this time I can’t stop the urge to vomit.
Forty-Three
I cough up thick yellow bile onto the carpet, and a foul stench fills the room. Sweat breaks out on my forehead and my abdomen cramps up one more time before it releases. Everything about the smell and the shame and the sweat takes me back to that day. I remember sitting on Mark’s lap in the back of the car, swigging beer, bouncing along to happy hardcore, shouting out the repetitive lyrics in a slurred voice. I hear myself inform Annie in an obnoxious voice that she’s uptight, twirling my way through the field towards the shelter. I see myself spinning around and around with the boys until I stagger over to a corner and throw up, half collapsed, and pass out for a minute or two.
When I woke, Jamie was on top of Annie. Her mouth was that same cavernous expanse I’ve imagined all these years, and her screaming made my ears ring.
‘Katie, help me!’ she screamed.
But I couldn’t wake myself. I think my drunken mind was convinced I was having a nightmare. Instead of going over there to help her, I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I was restrained, Annie’s face was being smashed into the ground and Jamie was yelling at her. That’s why I kept closing my eyes, because I was drunk and slipping in and out of consciousness.
Then they dragged me out of the corner. Jamie tugged at my clothes, his thick, dry fingers fiddling with the stiff buttons on my cheap school shirt, tugging on my necklace. Something snapped inside me. I found the rock. It was over in a matter of minutes.
‘It’s funny. Every time you told me your version of that day in our therapy sessions, I thought you were deliberately lying to me in order to make yourself sound better. But then I began to understand that you truly believed your own lies. I’m not sure what made me angrier. In the end, I got sick of listening to you. While I still feel the pain of that day, you’ve moved on. You’ve protected your precious psyche by inventing a different story. You’ve even managed to find a rich man and maintain a marriage.’ She chews on her bottom lip and her eyes open wide. ‘While I’m barren and will never give birth to a child, you had a beautiful daughter. Grace. My relationships never lasted because I could hardly bear to have a man touch me. I never got back that size-eight figure; instead I hid my body under these layers of fat, ashamed of who I used to be. Not that I’ll ever be attractive again, with this botched face. While I was fighting for my life, you were passed out in the corner of that shelter. It’s still all I can see when I close my eyes, even after all these years.’ She wipes away tears. ‘I can’t punish them. I could never be within a mile’s radius of them because of the sheer terror of it. But you… well, you’re different. I thought it would be enough to watch, and plant seeds, and manipulate you however I pleased. But then my life kept getting worse while yours got better and better and I wanted more than just being your therapist. Grace’s bullying of Lily was the last straw. Neither of you deserve the life you were given.’
‘Mum,’ Lily says quietly. ‘Don’t you think we should stop now?’ Her eyes glance across to me. ‘It wasn’t dog poo. It was this prank stuff from a joke shop.’
‘None of that matters now,’ Angela says. It’s the first time that she has acknowledged her adopted daughter’s presence since dragging me into the living room. ‘We talked about why we’re doing this, honey. It’s because of what she allowed to happen to me.’ Angela jabs the knife in my direction.
‘I don’t want to keep doing this. I don’t want to keep lying.’ Lily’s eyes plead with me instead of Angela, suddenly reminding me of Grace when she’d come home from school after a fight with Alicia, forlorn and crumpled. ‘We pushed her into the quarry. That was enough.’
I watch as Angela’s face contorts, bringing out every ugly line and wrinkle on her forehead. ‘She survived! She always survives.’ The knife carves through the air as she waves her arms back and forth.
‘But you did too, Mum!’ Lily stands, opening her palms. ‘She’s sorry for what happened. You told me that she wasn’t sorry, but she is!’
Angela paces the room, still brandishing her knife, swiping it back and forth between us both. ‘It’s not enough.’
‘You killed her daughter,’ Lily whispers. ‘You pushed her over the edge and she died.’
‘What?’ As Angela paces towards the fireplace, I climb to my feet, the pain in my ribs and ankle inconsequential compared to the impact of Lily’s words. ‘What did you just say?’
Lily’s eyes are round and oddly innocent as she faces me. ‘Grace did write that suicide note, but when we got to the quarry, she changed her mind. The plan was for us to stand on the edge together. I’d promised her I was going to jump, but the plan was that I wouldn’t jump at the last minute, letting her go alone. But Grace got cold feet. She decided she wanted to live. She was going to go home and tell you everything. But Mum was watching nearby, like she was that night you met me at the Suicide Spot. She saw Grace change her mind.’ Lily falters, staring at her mother.
I clench my fists tightly before I demand, ‘Then what happened?’
‘Mum rushed over, and everything happened so quickly.’
‘Lily?’ I take a step towards the girl, but Angela comes closer, the knife held aloft.
‘Just tell her,’ Angela insists.
‘Mum pushed Grace into the quarry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Everything went too far. I did what she told me because she said you both deserved it, but I don’t think you did deserve any of it.’
Angela steps away, puts one hand on the mantelpiece above the fire and pauses there.
I’m not sure what to make of the tears wetting Lily’s cheeks. Yes, she reminds me of Grace. Youthful skin, young voice, quivering bottom lip, big eyes. She’s a teen, not yet grown, still soft clay to be moulded – and Angela has moulded her into a dark and destructive creature. But do I feel sorry for her? Do I believe her pleas for contrition? Or is this more pretence?
‘It’s true, I did push her into the quarry. I grabbed her by the arm and we both looked at each other. My God, Katie, she had your eyes. It was like looking at a polished version of teenage you. You were beautiful, in a rough kind of way. You dressed like a boy, never washed your hair, always had spots – but the beauty was there underneath.’ Angela moves back towards me, lifting the knife higher. ‘The girl deserved it. She was a bully and a liar. She was prepared to kill herself anyway, along with her unborn child. I would do anything to be able to carry a child.’ Lost in an imaginary world, Angela strokes her belly as though there’s a child in there now. ‘I wh
ispered to her… “I’m coming for your mother next.” And then I pushed her.’
Before I can let those words sink in, she crosses the room, grabs me by the hair and puts the knife to my throat. ‘Let’s end this now,’ she says. ‘You and me. Let’s finish it together. You survived the fall for a reason. We’re meant to die together. Look at us: we’re the same. I’ve watched you for twelve years; I know you. I know us. We both changed our names and pretended to be new people, and then we found each other. We should die together.’
‘Mum!’
As Angela pulls my head back to slice my flesh, I twist my body away, somehow wrenching free from her grip. Lily throws herself onto Angela and the knife goes flying. A flash of red-hot anger courses through me. This woman murdered my daughter. I pull Lily away and push her towards the door to the kitchen. In one quick motion, I pull the rag from my coat, flick on the lighter, light one end of the rag and toss it at Angela. While she tries to bat the burning cloth away from her body, I hurry out of the room and towards the front door. On my way, the small can of gasoline on the downstairs toilet catches my attention. I grab it and limp back to the living room, where I witness Angela desperately trying to remove her burning dressing gown, screeching almost as loudly as she does in my nightmares. Flames dance along the fluffy material, licking at the ends of her hair. Before I can change my mind, I toss the can at the sofa and watch as the gas spills out and the fire spreads. Soon it’s travelling across the carpets towards the door. I get away, limping as fast as I can.
‘Help me!’
The desperate voice forces me to stop. It isn’t Angela shouting to me, it’s Lily. I’d thought she’d got out, but when I glance over my shoulder, the view is one of chaos: a room almost completely filled with flames, black smoke building into a cloud of noxious gas. Lily is in Angela’s clutches, held back by this half-crazed, burning human being, unable to get away.
A sociopath would leave Lily to burn in that room with the madwoman. Self-preservation is a sociopath’s first concern; no one else truly matters to them. I could hobble over to the exit, turn the key, stagger out and survive another day. But Lily would die along with Angela.
When Grace was born, I decided to be a better person for her, and she died believing I was that person.
‘Fake it until you make it,’ I mutter to myself, rushing into that burning room, feeling the smoke clog in my throat, the flames searing my exposed skin.
‘Take my hand!’ I shout.
Lily grasps hold of me and I shove Angela away, throwing her back into the room. Her shrieks die down as her throat rasps through the smoke. There’s an expression on her face that will join my nightmares, but I have Lily and we make our way out of the house. She props me up as much as I help her. Both of us are coughing through the black smoke, choking on it.
As we stagger out of the house, people begin to spill out of the nearby cottages. A man in paisley pyjamas hurries over and helps us onto the driveway.
‘I’ve called 999,’ he says. ‘Are you all right? Let’s get you away from the house.’
Someone else hands us both glasses of water.
Soon the sirens blare. A large fire truck struggles up the dirt track to the isolated cottages. Fire fighters climb down from the cab, barking orders to each other as they unravel their hoses.
‘Is there anyone else inside?’ someone shouts.
‘Yes – my mum,’ Lily replies.
The man stares at the house and his shoulders sag. He knows as well as we do that she’s dead.
Annie Robertson and Angela Mardell are both dead. And so is Katie Flack.
* * *
Lily stays close to me in the hospital, clinging to my side like a frightened puppy. Not long after our arrival, a confused Charles appears, clutching the letter I told Michelle not to give him until tomorrow. I can see it is still sealed, and I whisper to him not to open it when the doctor is examining Lily. No one else comes to support Lily. Then the police show up to take statements, and I’m relieved to see DS Slater isn’t among them for a change.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ the police officer says. ‘I know this is a difficult time, but I need to ask you a few questions about the fire.’
It’s Lily who answers, before I can even open my mouth. ‘It was all Mum.’ Her voice shakes with emotion. ‘Kat is Mum’s friend. Well, she’s Mum’s patient, but they were friends, too. I called her because Mum was acting weird, and she came in the night to make sure everything was okay.’ Lily takes a sip of water and slowly swallows. I can’t keep my eyes from her. ‘Mum had this small can of petrol and a lighter, and she was threatening to kill herself. Kat was really brave. She tried to talk Mum out of it, but Mum wouldn’t listen. She lit this rag and set the sofa on fire. Then she grabbed me and tried to make me stay in the room with her. It was Kat who managed to get me free. She saved my life.’
The police officer makes a note of all of this.
Lily grips my hand and leans her head against my shoulder. ‘Thank you, Kat. Thank you for helping me.’
Epilogue
Mrs Nash hangs over the garden wall as I make my way down the back alley, her low breasts squashed between the cheap fabric of her T-shirt and the bricks. A cigarette hangs out of the corner of her mouth, but as she sees me approach, limping, she pulls it from her lips and exclaims.
‘Oh, Katie, what have you done to your leg?’
‘I fell down a quarry.’
When the shock registers on her face, I let out a laugh, enjoying the way her jaw hangs open.
She takes a long, slow drag. ‘Well, I never. Susan didn’t mention it at bridge night last week.’
I just shrug. ‘That’s because I didn’t tell her.’
She waves a limp-wristed hand in my direction and the cigarette smoke wafts over. ‘I’m sure you didn’t want to worry her. Are you here to visit your mum? Course you are, aren’t you, love?’
‘Who else would I be visiting?’ I say, leaning away to avoid her cigarette smoke. ‘Unless I’ve come to visit you.’
‘You can come in for a cuppa if you want.’ She cups her mouth and lowers her voice. ‘Or, I’ve got a bottle of gin open.’
‘Nice one, Mrs Nash. But I’d better go.’
‘Good to see you, Katie.’
‘It’s Kat now.’
She frowns. ‘It is?’
‘I got married eighteen years ago. I’ve been Kat ever since.’
‘Oh, you silly beggar. Why didn’t you tell me?’
I shrug. ‘I guess it didn’t occur to me until now.’
Her eyes follow me as I limp along the rest of the alley to my mother’s house. As the ghostly wisps of Mrs Nash’s cigarette smoke fade away, I find myself imagining cold fingers reaching inside me, grasping my lungs, squeezing tight. After everything that has happened since Grace died, I can finally admit to myself that I am afraid of walking down this street. When Angela managed to convince me that I’m a sociopath, I in turn convinced myself that I don’t feel fear. That it was hatred making me feel this way, because I’m a hateful person. But now I know that it was weak of me to never acknowledge, to never own, the fear that I’ve always had of my mother. There is strength in acknowledgement and weakness in avoidance.
My mother frightens me more than anyone else in the world, even more than Jamie, Gav, Steve and Mark, the idiots who thought they were entitled to my body. The fear of my mother isn’t a physical one. She never hurts me in that way. It’s a deeply ingrained emotional pain. Those fingers around my lungs, squeezing the air out of my body…
Fear of Gav and the others is physical. Since leaving the hospital, I’ve done some research into those three – Mathew Gould came in handy again – and discovered that Mark ended up in and out of prison for assault, currently located in HMP Wakefield. Steve is a born-again Christian who works for a Christian charity. Gav is an alcoholic living in Old Barrow on a zero-hour contract.
After a brief knock on the door, she answers. Shock registers on her face
when she sees my bruises, but it’s fleeting, replaced by a smug satisfaction that I’ve fucked up again. She opens her mouth to speak but I cut her off almost immediately.
‘Grace didn’t tell you anything, did she? She probably didn’t even come to visit you. The only reason you said that was to get in my head and under my skin. You’re poison, Mother. This is the last time I speak to you, I want you to know that. I came here to say it to your face. Our last connection is severed and there’s no reason for me to stay in your life, and vice versa. After I saved my own life by killing Jamie Sutton, you called me a murderer, but I was never a murderer. You told me I was worthless, and you were wrong. I saved my life that day, and I saved the life of another. I fought back even when I was drunk and afraid. The worst mistake I ever made was believing what you told me. We’re done.’
When I turn away from her and limp through her concrete garden, she calls my name once. It’s half-hearted, thin as her sinewy body. Then she stops. She doesn’t follow me into the alley, and goodness knows I’m moving slowly enough for her to catch me up with ease.
One down.
At the end of the alley, I take a right and pass a number of snarling dogs straining at their chains to try and reach me. In the next garden, a kid in nothing but a nappy toddles over to wave at me from the garden gate. Two teenage girls sitting on the wall outside the youth centre laugh at my limp. All in all, even with my bad ankle, the walk takes three minutes.
The house is a terrace. There are no dogs in the garden, but there is an empty rabbit hutch and underwear on the clothes line. I open a squeaking gate into the garden, taking care on the paving slabs, slick with moss. After three blasts of the doorbell, a woman with greasy grey hair opens the door. ‘Yes?’ Her eyes trail my body, taking in my appearance. I don’t blame her unease; I’m dressed in expensive clothes, but I have bruises and scratches on my face and burns on my hands.
Only Daughter: An gripping and emotional psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist Page 28