The Family, page 28
Times had been hard since Gavan had been blamed for causing Ashleigh’s cancer by building on a landfill site. Money short. Friends and neighbours avoiding us. When he texted that evening and said the surprise deal he’d been working on was going ahead, he told me to put the champagne on ice. He needed to stop off and secure the tarpaulin covering the roof at the Walker Street site, before the predicted high winds hit, and then he’d be home. Years ago, after Gavan landed his first deal, I’d gone to the site he was working on with a bottle of cheap fizzy wine, and two glasses. After the builders had left for the day he’d spread his coat on the concrete floors and we had toasted our change of fortune. I thought it would be nice to do the same; good news had been a long time coming. I grabbed the bottle of champagne that was gathering dust at the back of the cupboard and called up the stairs to Tilly that I’d see her later. She’d been shut in her bedroom all night. I had hardly seen her those past few days and when she ventured downstairs she was sullen. Snapping one word answers to Gavan, and sometimes he couldn’t help biting back. Now he had this deal, much of his stress would be alleviated and the atmosphere at home would lift, I was sure. I had visions of us going out for a celebratory family dinner on Saturday evening. Chinking glasses. Making plans.
It wasn’t until I stepped out of the front door I realised how bad the weather was. The wind blustered rain into my face, shoved me back when I tried to walk forwards. By the time I reached the end of our road I was considering turning back, but Walker Street was only ten minutes away and I was already soaked through. I bowed my head, shrouded in a hood, ignored the freezing raindrops dripping down my collar and pushed forward.
I was on the opposite side of the road to the site, metres away from the huge building covered in scaffolding when my shoelace became undone. I crouched down to tie it under a streetlamp. Something reflected in the puddle drew my eye upwards. A shadow. A scream. A falling figure.
My husband.
I toppled forward onto my hands and knees. My bowels loosening, stomach churning with the need to vomit. I had forgotten how to breathe.
A figure came rushing out of the door.
‘Dad!’
My mind registered it was Tilly. I sucked in a lungful of air but before I could call out her name, she ran away.
The shell of my husband lay on the ground, broken and bleeding. I knew there was no way he could have survived. I rocked myself to my feet and approached him. His wide, unseeing eyes stared back at me. Instead of falling apart I experienced a moment of absolute stillness.
Absolute silence.
It was as though I had also ceased to exist but seconds later my heart kicked in again, strong, determined and metronome-steady. I had to make a choice. Tilly was alive. Tilly needed me. What might she do after witnessing something so traumatic? With one last, lingering look at Gavan, my maternal instinct drove me after my daughter as I fumbled for my phone to call for help, but I couldn’t speak and run and, rightly or wrongly, Tilly was my priority. She was fast. Faster than me. And by the time I had rounded the corner she had disappeared. I knew she was heading for home. My feet splashed through puddles she’d have splashed through moments before. I don’t remember thinking anything, feeling anything, as I flung open the front door and pounded up the stairs. I didn’t have a plan. Outside Tilly’s room I hesitated, rested my forehead against the wall. Her muffled sobbing tore at my heart. I shucked off my wet coat and threw it over the bannisters. Without knocking, I opened the door, crossing the room to sit on the bed beside her, cocooning her in my arms, wishing we could stay that way forever. I needed to call the police but my body had been emptied and filled with concrete. It was impossible for me to move. It seems like ages we sat there. She didn’t speak and I couldn’t. Eventually the doorbell broke us apart. I patted her hand. I opened the door to the two officers I had been expecting, but still it felt like a complete shock and when they broke the news my grief was real and raw. A primal scream ripping through me. I was led to the sofa and when I looked up Tilly was framed in the doorway. She told the police we had both been home all evening. How could I betray her? Call her a liar? They’d have taken her away for questioning, and she hadn’t done anything wrong, had she? My head was swimming with the right and the wrong and all the shades of grey between.
‘Mrs Evans?’ I was prompted.
‘Yes.’ My voice cracked. ‘We’ve both been here all evening.’ Nobody noticed my jeans were damp, and if I had been asked why, that might have been my downfall. My thinking was slow. Muddled. All I knew was Gavan had gone and I couldn’t lose Tilly too. Subject her to endless questions. She wasn’t strong enough for that. The police interviews I’d been a party to at her age had been relentless and, while not ruthless, they’d made me question if it had been my fault. If I had been to blame just because I had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. I wouldn’t put Tilly through the same experience.
But two lies don’t make the truth, do they? In the following days, weeks, we were both heartbroken. Neither of us thinking clearly. And it seemed better for her to pretend she hadn’t watched her father fall to his death, if that’s what she wanted to do. If that’s what she needed to do to get through the darkest days. Now I wonder if it had just been better for me. Time marched on and her anguish, her guilt, seemed to amplify, and I longed to talk to her so she didn’t have to carry the burden alone, but I didn’t know when or how to bring it up. She seemed happier pretending, and sometimes if you tell the same story often enough it becomes your version of reality. Who was I to wrench that away from her? I’d been so anxious about the inquest. Worrying whether the coroner would somehow discover that Gavan hadn’t been alone on the roof, and think Tilly’s lies meant she had something to do with his death. But all I could do was stick to my story – Tilly’s story – and hope for the best.
I wrap her in my arms again and rest my chin on the top of her head.
She’s here.
She’s home.
It’s all over.
I’ll never tell her that I know.
It is not the only lie I’ve told.
Not the only secret I keep.
Chapter Eighty-Five
ALEX
Alex swallows the tablets on his tongue and opens his mouth so the nurse can check it’s empty. It doesn’t matter what medication they give him, he can still see it, the crow. Even though he’d screamed and screamed until they’d covered up the window in his room with cardboard and tape, he knew it was still there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Nights are always the worst.
The darkness around him
The darkness within him.
As he tries to sleep he imagines he hears it. He can’t cover his head with his pillow, the nurse took it away. Instead he draws his knees to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible, and clamps his hands over his ears but it’s still there. The rush of beating wings coming at him.
Coming for him.
‘Please,’ he whispers. ‘Please leave me alone. I’m not a bad person.’ The crow caws and caws as he hears this, and Alex begins to rock, his skull slamming against the wall with each backward movement until his tongue clamps between his teeth and he tastes blood. Then the bird quietens, his hunger fed by Alex’s suffering. But he never stays silent for long. The bird will never let him go. Let him forget. It will never forgive him and this Alex knows because he will never forgive himself.
How had it come to this? All he ever wanted was to create a good place for good people.
He’d always done his best for the residents of the farm. For Laura. He’d taken her phone and hidden it because he hadn’t wanted her to somehow find out that the date of the inquest was set, and mention it to Saffron. Even then, part of him must have known that if the coroner’s conclusion was in Laura’s favour, and the insurance company paid out, she was in danger. Saffron was a threat.
One little lie.
It was for her own good.
He was protecting her from his sister.
He was protecting his sister from herself.
It has changed him, Saffron’s death.
Sometimes he cries so hard it feels his skeleton is breaking apart. Sometimes he lies rigid on his thin mattress, his veins molten with anger. Missing Saffron is a physical ache throbbing beneath his skin. He’d cradled her in his arms as her life ebbed away.
‘I told Laura,’ she rasped. ‘She told me I’d never be family.’ She tried to twist her mouth into a smile but it was more a grimace. ‘She was wrong.’
‘What did you tell her, Saff?’ Alex soothed her hair away from her head.
‘That it was my dad. My dad who raped her. I found out when I googled Laura and worked out the dates. Tilly is my half-sister.’ Her chest rattled. ‘We’ll always be blood.’ One last breath and then she was gone.
Alex hadn’t wanted to believe it, but he knew it must be true. How could Saffron have kept that from him? He had trusted her. He questioned whether he really knew her at all, but that didn’t make him feel her loss any less.
He never told the police; he didn’t want Matilda to find out that way that her mother had killed her half-sister. He’d be the one to break that news. Matilda has a right to know she wasn’t an only child, doesn’t she? Honesty. You can’t have a relationship without honesty, can you?
Endless questions plague him and sometimes Alex can’t move his head because of the sharpness of beak and claws inside of him. Sometimes he bangs his skull against the floor, hoping it will split in two and the crow will fly free.
Where will it all end? They won’t keep him here forever. Already they are talking about letting him out, needing the space.
He has nowhere to go. His safe haven gone. His darling Matilda gone.
Sometimes he envies Reed being in prison. Out of a sense of loyalty, Reed said he’d acted alone, helping Saffron bury Iwan. Alex might have escaped jail but he was a different kind of prisoner, trapped by his own ferocious thoughts.
The slap of shoe leather on vinyl floor. A throat clearing. The kindly orderly who sometimes brings Alex treats. Who listens to him in a way the therapists don’t. Never questioning. Never judging. Understanding what he’d lost. Who he’d lost. Promising to help, if he could. A rustle. Something appearing under his door.
A letter.
He reads the first two words printed in thick black ink.
Two words that make his pulse race. His blood heat.
She’s back.
Underneath, a scrawled address.
Alex draws the paper to his nose, imagining he can smell her. Closes his eyes as he remembers what it was to taste her.
Matilda.
He knew she’d return. Soft and gentle and beautiful.
He was her first.
He’ll be her last.
Suddenly, through the chemically induced fug, Alex knows he’s ready to rejoin the world once more. In his mind’s eye, her face lights up as he calls her name. She runs into his arms and begs him not to leave her again. He promises he won’t and as his lips graze her cheek he whispers in her ear, ‘You are my family.’
He fantasises about buying a piece of land. Building a community. Reed will need a place to stay when he’s released. Although Alex has refused visitors, Hazel and Daisy have written and told him they are waiting. Their tone is darker, anger crouching between their scrawled lines, and Alex knows they have been damaged too. He will help them heal. A safe haven, but this time it will all be his, by whatever means necessary. Saffron was right. It’s dog-eat-dog out there.
The more he daydreams, the more his ideas take shape. Matilda, her hair hanging loose, a baby on her hip. They could do anything. Be anyone.
She’s a wealthy young woman.
Or she would be if Laura was dead.
He fantasies about that too. And this is how he knows he is broken. Where once his head was full of communities and happiness. Laughter and love. His mind now travels from dark thought to dark thought.
Don’t hurt her. Hurt her. Don’t hurt her. Hurt her.
They could kill her.
How angry will Matilda be when she finds out the truth about Saffron? Finds out that Laura had lied to her, again.
Alex knows it’s not over.
It’s only just beginning.
Matilda would do anything for him.
Wouldn’t she?
Acknowledgements
I can’t believe I’m writing the acknowledgements for my fifth psychological thriller! Writing a book can be a solitary process, but publishing one is such a collaboration. I’ve many people to thank. Firstly, huge gratitude to Lisa Milton for welcoming me to my new home at HQ, and the whole team at HQ – I’m excited to be in your capable hands. My fabulous editor Manpreet Grewal for her understanding and expertise in bringing this story to life. Thank you to Lily, Janet, George, Cara and and the production team for all you have done. The team at The Blair Partnership, in particular my agent, Rory Scarfe, for his patient guidance.
Sally Abbott and Helen Armitage for answering my endless questions regarding inquests, and Lisa Hardy for her police procedural expertise – any mistakes are purely my own.
All the writers who I spend far too much time interacting with online – it’s fabulous to know I’m not alone. Emma Mitchell – bloody love you. The Cotes Ladies – you’re such a supportive group and I love our get togethers. Lucille Grant, a much loved and valued friend. Darren O’Sullivan, for so many coffees and cakes! Hilary, Sarah, Natalie and Sue – I may not see you as much as I’d like, but I treasure your friendship dearly. My family, particularly my mum, Pete, Glyn, Bekkii, and my sister, Karen.
My husband Tim who can now throw a meal together at short notice while I write ‘just one more page’, and without whom I’d likely almost never eat.
Callum, Kai and Finley – I’ll never stop striving to make you a fraction as proud of me as I am of you.
And Ian Hawley. For you, I try to be the best version of myself every single day. Still. Always.
The following letter contains spoilers
Dear Readers,
Thanks so much for taking the time to read my fifth psychological thriller, The Family. I do hope you enjoyed it.
The book would probably never have come to fruition if it weren’t for yet another incident of terrorism on the news. My youngest son asked why people committed such acts, if they were just born ‘bad’. I told my son that although it might seem that way, I believe it wasn’t always the case and explained to him the concept of brainwashing. Infinitely interested in psychology, he had a million questions that I couldn’t answer and so I started researching. I found it both saddening and fascinating to learn that in the right circumstances, over time, almost anybody could be indoctrinated into behaving in a way that was out of character.
I began to wonder what would happen if you placed two extremely vulnerable women in an environment that was out of the ordinary. Would they feel the same? React the same? What would happen if there was a charismatic leader they were both attracted to? What if the women were mother and daughter?
Tilly and Laura came to me immediately and their grief felt real and raw. Alex was more complex. Charming and idealistic. It took several rewrites for me to realise that he really was sensitive and vulnerable, as open-hearted as he appeared. Full of love, he longed to make the world a better place.
By the end of the book, of course, Alex has come around to Saffron’s way of thinking and Tilly is completely under his spell. How far will she go for him? Far enough to betray her own mother? To kill? I’ve left it up to you to decide.
Human instinct is to make snap judgements based on snippets of information we are presented with. A segment of the news. The opening of a book. Sometimes the one we think is the manipulator could be the one being manipulated. I do hope the twists took you by surprise. In fiction, like life, things are rarely how they first appear.
Do join me next year when my next psychological thriller, The Stolen Sisters will be released, and in the meantime, you can keep up to date with my news and events via www.louisejensen.co.uk.
Love, Louise x
P.S. If you’re interested in exploring brainwashing further I highly recommend reading Terror, Love and Brainwashing: Attachment in Cults and Totalitarian Systems by Alexandra Stein.
Book Club Questions
1)During the opening of the book we learn that someone has been shot. Who did you think this was?
2)Laura had kept a huge secret from Tilly. Did you feel any empathy towards her or do you think she should have been honest with her daughter?
3)‘We’re programmed to think that the relationships with our families are absolute. Our bonds unbreakable. But it’s not always the case. Sometimes friends are more loyal, less judgmental.’ Do you think the bonds between family are greater than friends? Is blood thicker than water?
4)Tilly is keeping a secret from Laura because she thinks the truth would hurt her mum. Is keeping secrets ever justified, or is honesty the best policy?
5)‘We all make mistakes don’t we? Drift from the light towards the dark, hovering in the shades of grey between.’ Are any of the characters in the book completely good or completely bad?
6)Tilly made a gruesome discovery in the woods. Who did you think was responsible for that?
7)‘Promise you won’t tell, Tilly.’ Could you understand Gavan’s reasons for wanting Tilly to keep his secret. Did you think it was unfair?
8)What did you assume about Alex throughout the book? How did this change by the end?
9)What do you think the future holds for Laura and Tilly?
10)What is your opinion on brainwashing? Do you think, in the right circumstances, over time, anyone can be manipulated into behaving out of character?
Turn the page for an extract from Louise Jensen’s next novel,
The Stolen Sisters …
Chapter One
Carly
