Bloody Mary (22 page)

Harry lightly scanned the note, eyes flickering back and forth with speed. “Well, she says the photos are of the Puerto de Pollenca area, and of the apartment she and Darren have purchased. She sounds a bit lonely though. Says Darren’s out all the time and not wholeheartedly supporting the pregnancy.” He glanced up, moving his reading glasses to the end of his nose to focus on me. “I don’t think that comes as a surprise, really, does it, dear?” I shook my head in reply, and he returned his glasses, attention flitting back on the letter. “She’s invited us over, oh, you’ll like this, Mary. She’s calling you Mum. She must have managed to work things out in her mind.”

Well, as you can imagine, I was thrilled, at my daughter’s unexpected return to me, at the prospect of a sunny holiday. “Oh, Harry, tell me you’ll say yes, it’ll do us both the world of good to get away, have a break.”

He laughed. “Well, of course we’re going. No question about it! In fact, I’ll get down to the travel agent without further delay.”

Later, sitting down at the table, the tempting salad, first of the year, lying in front of us, Harry and I were excitedly discussing the holiday we were about to embark on the following week to see our daughter. We’d scoured the photographs with interest, commenting on the dramatic scenery, the apartment block she lived in, especially the stunning backdrop of mountains from her balcony, and the sprinkling of pictures showing her extensive belly, full of our grandchild. It dawned on me first that they should let her know the date they’d be arriving. “Has she put a phone number in the letter?”

Harry unfolded the note, glancing at the top. “No. And I suppose if we mailed it to her, it’s unlikely to get there in time, you know what the post’s like.”

Taking another mouthful of the honey roasted ham, I pondered. “We’ve not really got a choice but to turn up unannounced, then.”

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll drop a card in the post in the hope it’ll get there before we do, and if it doesn’t, it’ll be a nice surprise anyway.”

We both tucked into our meals, assured with the plan. What we’d failed to notice was that the address on the top of the letter was different to the one Harry had scribbled onto a piece of paper from his address book while packing for the trip. I didn’t realise this until later.

The card arrived at Maureen and Bob’s villa the day before Harold and Mary were due to arrive, and, after reading the information on the back, Maureen passed it to her son, greedily scoffing his sandwiches on the patio table. He didn’t need to say a word, but his sworn exclamation befitted the mood at the table.

“Well, if you think about it, they’ve sent the details here, so they’ll probably turn up here. All we have to do is tell them you’ve moved away, and we have no idea where to.” Bob wasn’t overly concerned, and his comment made sense. They arranged that Darren wouldn’t have his lunch with them the following day, and his parents would plead ignorance. With just three weeks before the baby’s due date, neither Maureen nor Darren intended Sophie’s family to ruin their carefully made plans in the eleventh hour.

Harry and I stepped out of the cool taxi into the warm spring sunshine, the deep blue sky overhead contrasting magnificently with the fuchsia pink bougainvillea that adorned the white painted walls fronting the gardens on the delightful street. We glanced around, then at each other. “This doesn’t look like the photos, I can’t see an apartment block.”

Harry leaned back through the window to the driver. “Are you sure this is the right address?”

The driver shrugged, dismissive.
“Inglés? No, señor, arrepentido. No olvide sus maletas.”
Harry stared a moment longer, sighing at his incomprehension, and gave up. He opened the boot of the saloon and removed the two suitcases, and the cab swiftly drove away as soon as the lid slammed.

Dragging the slip of paper containing what he believed was Sophie’s address from his hand luggage, he checked the street name, and the number on the gate of the villa they stood beside, deep blue numbers set into white, flower adorned white tiles. “It’s Calle El Nogal. And it’s plot two, number one two three. Let’s see what we find.”

Pushing against the gate, it failed to open, locked at all times as a deterrent to the illegal immigrants that plagued the English, Dutch and German colonies, so I pressed the doorbell button that Harry hadn’t noticed. Within seconds Maureen hastened out with a key to let us in. “Harold.” She glanced at me and did a swift double take, shock registering. “Who’s this? Where’s Beryl?”

Harry’s heart must have leapt, because his mouth was devoid of words. “But…”

Maureen, obviously realising she really didn’t care who the I was, we were unwelcome and about to be dismissed anyway, moved aside to let us through, guiding us into the pleasant, understated yet ornate, villa, indicating the table to sit, and offering us drinks. Bob had left the villa when he’d heard the doorbell, busying himself in the garden, sweeping the patio slabs of the red sand that blighted the area daily from the north-westerly winds.

“Is Sophie not here? We hoped she’d be here to greet us, it’s such a long time since we saw her. I expect she’s nearly fit to burst that baby out any day soon.”

Maureen donned her best sorrowful expression, eyelids drooping to the tiled floor, eyes watering, a performance worthy of an Oscar. “We got your card yesterday, there wasn’t enough time to let you know before your flight, as we don’t have your telephone number. Harold, it’s dreadful. Darren and I had a falling out shortly after we emigrated, and they moved away as soon as they could. We have no idea if they’re even still in Mallorca, we’ve not heard from him. It’s been such a terrible time. I miss my baby so much.”

Harry laid a comforting hand on Maureen’s arm. “Goodness! Maureen, I’m so sorry to hear that. How terrible for you.”

Watching the scene with distaste, sceptical and suspicious, I had met this kind of woman before, the block of council flats I’d spent near on thirty years of my life in were full of them: women protecting their vandalising sons or their thieving husbands from the eager eyes of the law. “Oh Harry! You don’t believe that rot, do you! Maureen knows exactly where our daughter is, she just doesn’t intend to tell you.”

Maureen wasn’t a person to be crossed, she shot a withering look at me. “I don’t know who you are, love, or what you’re doing here, but you can keep your bloody nose out of our business. Neither my Darren or his wife are any of your concern.”

And I wasn’t a person to threaten, those years of living in an area swamped with poverty had given me a hard nose and a tough backbone. “Well, that’s where you’re so wrong, dear. Sophie is my daughter and her whereabouts is very much my concern. Give me their address.”

Bristling for a fully-fledged argument, but simultaneously trying to digest the words, and my identity suddenly dawned on Maureen. “You mean it was Beryl who died, not the birth mother?”

Harry was stunned, he watched the altercation glibly. “Oh, is that what you told her?” I was enjoying the spat. I laid my hand on Harry’s, now removed from Maureen’s arm, and viewed him compassionately. “That’ll explain why she didn’t come to Beryl’s funeral, you see, I told you she wasn’t the vindictive type.” Directing my cold, blue-grey glare back to Maureen, I continued. “She just wasn’t given the facts. This woman has intercepted every attempt you’ve made at contacting Sophie. She’s been lied to, Harry.”

Harry stood fiercely, uncommon to anger, but this time vitriol pumped through his veins. “Is this true?”

Maureen laughed, a sneering, victorious chuckle that taunted the furious man. “If you can find her, you can ask her, can’t you. But you won’t, Mallorca’s a big haystack to find one little needle in, and she’s got no NIE number, my baby made sure of that, so you won’t be able to find her in the official records. As far as your pathetic daughter is concerned to the Spanish government, little Sophie Delaney doesn’t exist.” She could see how deeply her words were hitting, but she decided to go below the belt anyway. “She’s just an illegal immigrant.”

Harry and I, towing our suitcases behind us, had strolled towards the shopping area the taxi had passed an hour before, a good mile’s walk, too far to be taken comfortably in the progressing heat, and settled ourselves beside a shaded table outside a café, somewhere we could refresh ourselves with a drink and some much needed food. Harry was distraught. “She’s right, you know, we’re never going to find her. I mean, if we knew she lived in Puerto de Pollença, we’d stand a better chance, but if she’s moved to a different area, we’ve no hope.”

I sipped my strong coffee. “Now, now, Harry, that’s not like you, you’re the optimist in this relationship, aren’t you!” The description of their companionship as a relationship, never having been stated before, went unnoticed in his unhappiness. “She does live here, don’t you remember the photos of the area she sent, all of them had Puerto de Pollença written on the back. All we have to do is find the apartment block she sent us the pictures of, and we’re ninety percent there.” Considering my words, I added. “Did you bring the photos?”

He shook his head, tapas untouched, coffee cup full, stirring the liquid lamely for no reason other than something to focus on.

I dipped some unbuttered bread into the steaming sauce of the
carne mechada
in the centre of the table, savouring the deliciousness of the flavouring. “It doesn’t matter, I’ve got a good memory, and I can see the picture in my head as clear as if it were laid on the table before us. We’ll find her, we’ve got a week, remember. Come on, Harry, have something to eat, you need it. We’ll check into a hotel, that way we won’t be towing the bags around with us, and we can start exploring.”

It was early afternoon on the third day of our holiday, and we’d been desperately searching for our daughter, so far, to no avail. Harry, usually upbeat about life whatever was thrown at him, had a despondency and negativity that, not only had I never seen before, was beginning to wear me at the edges. Several days of trying to boost his spirits, and receiving nothing in return but pessimism, was tiresome, and my patience was at its limits.

Having reached the outskirts of the urbanisation we were currently scouring, we decided to stop for one of the regular coffees we needed to keep from getting dehydrated. The café was tiny, with just two tables outside, and was in an idyllic setting: the base of a valley, the mountains towering over us, abundant with colourful fauna, littered with luscious green bushes. Underneath the oceanic skies, the startling sun, the scenery appeared crisp and clear. It was a sight from the heavens. I, having been a keen scholar in my younger years, and pretty good with the spoken word and the fluency of languages, had found it easy to pick up enough broken Spanish to get by in the restaurants and cafes. This one was no different.

As the bronzed waitress, black hair tied back in a neat ponytail, dark, soulful eyes betraying her as Spanish born and bred, came through the doors with her order pad in hand, I waved. “
Holà, seňora, por favor. Uno café con leche, y uno café san leche. Y…”

“It’s alright, love, you don’t have to struggle, I’m English.” The girl laughed, tinkling and cheerful.

I was surprised and a little embarrassed, and I chuckled with her. “Oh, and I thought I was doing so well, too! Look, just something light to eat, maybe some Russian salad with tuna, something like that. Oh, and I presume you serve bread with the tapas?”

“Yeah, love, it comes with everything.” She was still scribbling in her pad.

Without being able to raise a smile from the sullen Harry, I fancied being devilish, and tittered. “
Y mantequilla con los pan, por favor
.”

“Yeah, I’ll bring some butter!” The girl giggled.

As the pretty youngster headed back to the door to drop the order at the bar, I had an idea out of the blue, and I called her back. “I’m sorry to be a pain, but we’re a bit lost, you see, we’re looking for our daughter who came out to live here five months ago, but we stupidly forgot to bring her address, age gets to you like that. She lives in an apartment block, quite tall, painted a peachy colour.”

The girl laughed again. “You could be talking about a hundred places round here, love. Have you got anything more than that to go on?”

I scanned the image of the photo in my memory, trying to find something more substantial to describe the block with. After a moment I’d recalled a quirky thought. “Well, the reason we were searching this urbanisation was because of the backdrop,” she motioned the mountains with her hand, “the balcony overlooks scenery very similar to this. And in another of the pictures she sent us, she was by a heart-shaped pool, with what I presume to be a tot’s paddling pool beside it.”

“Ah, love, that’s more like it. Sounds like the Montaňa Vista Apartments, that’s the only heart-shaped pool I know of in the area. I live there, and my flat backs onto these hills. I might know her, come to think of it. What’s she look like?”

Harry’s pessimism was waning, his ears hanging to every word of the friendly exchange, and I was beaming. “Well, she was dyed blonde last time we saw her, she’s pretty, very dark brown eyes, about five foot two…”

“And she’ll be heavily pregnant by now.” Harry, eager now, joined the conversation.

Vicki’s tanned face paled as she realised they were describing her lover’s wife. Knowing he was married, her curiosity had overwhelmed her enough to find out what this Sophie character looked like, so she’d spied on Darren’s apartment on several occasions before accepting that she was the more attractive of the two women, especially with Sophie’s big, fat belly, and she realised her jealousy had no foundation. Working the situation to her advantage, she considered that if Sophie’s parents visited the miserable wife, they might persuade her to go back to England, then the coast would be clear for her and Darren.

“I think I know who she is. Is her name Sophie Delaney?” Expecting the response to be the ‘yes’ that followed, partnered with glowing, hopeful eyes, she smiled widely. “Look, I’ll take this order in, I’m due to finish my shift soon, they close the café for siesta, so after you’ve eaten, I’ll walk you there, show you where she lives.”