Bloody Mary (23 page)

I couldn’t help myself, I jumped up and hugged the waitress, grateful that the arduous search was over. “Thank you, I can’t tell you how wonderful this is.”

Scheming, her mind whirring, Vicki knew what she wanted. “Oh, just one thing. Sophie’s not been happy, she’s been telling everybody who’ll listen, and I know she’s having problems with her husband. It might be an idea to suggest she goes back to the UK with you.”

Sophie had decided to ignore the intercom when it rang through the apartment, but the persistence of the caller was becoming irritating. Throwing her book down, she answered the machine. Reeling from shock on hearing her father’s voice, heart speeding, a light tremble on her hands, she pressed the button to give him access. Opening the door Sophie threw herself at him, hugging as tightly as possible with the thirty-seven week pregnancy hindering the closeness. He held her face in his hands, gazing into her deep brown eyes, taking in the familiar face, tanned, a healthy glow, hair glistening, the golden curls just at the ends now she’d ceased colouring her hair.

Turning to the companion she’d expected to be her mother, Sophie gasped when she saw the woman Darren had told her had died. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Regardless of her latest shock she could see her visitors were tired, and she invited them in, the question still hanging, hastily closing the door to protect her valued privacy, gossip being rife in the urbanisation.

I began to explain, but Sophie’s hand, raised to show her disinterest in anything I had to say, thwarted her, and Harry took over. “I understand you were told it was Mary who died. Sweetheart, it wasn’t. It was your mother.” He paused as Sophie staggered back, almost falling onto the seat at the breakfast bar. “We buried her six weeks ago. I thought you’d not come because of that silly rift you’d both had, but now I can see it wasn’t your fault.”

The tears were coursing down her cheeks, dripping onto the hand that clasped her heart. Harry gently led her to the living area, and we all sat, him placing a protective arm over her shoulders as her body shook with grief: grief for the mother she’d lost, and the dawning realisation of just how cruel her husband and his family really were. As the violent sobbing subsided to calmness, tears still uncontrollable, but without the heaving shoulders, she needed some answers. “How? How did she die?”

Harry hated the idea of hurting her too much, a shock like this might be detrimental to her condition, and too much detail too early on could overload her. “She felt no pain, sweetheart. She had a fall, it was quick, and there was nothing anybody could do, she died on impact.”

Shaking her head, weary with the tears. “I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t come to the funeral if I’d known. You don’t know me at all, do you?”

He knew the familiar anger that came with death, he’d been through it himself, and he kept himself calm, his voice tender. “I thought it wasn’t like you, we all did, and I wish there had been another way of finding you. The address we had was for Darren’s parents, and they’ve been throwing the letters I’ve written to you away.”

That was too much. It was all too much. Sophie dawdled into the kitchen, any impetus for life having left her. She took the carton of red wine, dropping it back before grasping Darren’s brandy, and pouring a hefty measure. As an afterthought, without consultation, she grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge to satiate her guests. “I know I shouldn’t be drinking, but right now, I need this, so no comments or lectures.”

For five minutes, ten minutes, we sat in silence, each of us cradling our drinks, sipping occasionally. Eventually Sophie, her distress diminishing as the alcohol relaxed her, remembered that I was here, but this time she was less aggressive, her tone flattened. “You never told me why she’s here.”

Harry braced himself. “Mary and I, and your twin brother Alan, in fact Beryl too, while she was alive, we all got to know each other, it seemed the best thing to do considering we were all concerned about you.”

“Alan Taylor?” She recalled the handsome policeman who had appeared to have designs on her, and then made some ludicrous claims she’d forced herself not to hear.

“Yes.”

Sophie refilled her glass, having brought the brandy to the table, omitting to ask the couple if they wanted another drink. “So he was telling the truth when he came to see me. I screamed at him to get out. Now I feel bad.”

Harry shook his head. “Alan’s a lovely man, Sophie, a real credit to his adoptive parents, and he understands that it was all too much for you to take in at the time.”

She returned to the unanswered question. “So, why is Mary Miller here, though. I mean, I can understand the birth mother and the adoptive parents wanting to meet up and be friendly, but don’t you think going on holiday together is a little bit much?” Apparently she couldn’t help the sarcasm, still wary in my presence.

Harry reached across and took my hand, stunning both of us. “When Beryl died, Mary moved into the house as a companion, to look after me and the housework. Over the past few months we’ve become closer, and I do believe I’ve fallen in love with her again.” I could feel my eyes glowing with the words, he’d never said as much to me, but it was what I wanted to hear.

I understood now, and it was my turn to fill in the gaps. “Harry was married, happily, I hasten to add, to Beryl. I was a precocious teenager, and, I’m sorry to admit, a predator to Harry. We had a brief affair, totally instigated by me, and the result was an underage pregnancy leading to the birth of you and Alan.”

Harry continued, their joint sentences demonstrating their new closeness. “Beryl was unable to have any more children after she’d had Steve, but was desperate for a daughter. It caused her a great deal of emotional stress at the time. Of course, I had to admit to her that I’d been unfaithful, and when she heard about Mary’s pregnancy she begged me to adopt the baby if it was a girl.”

Sophie stood, refilling her glass, gloomily witnessed by the concerned grandparents-to-be. “This is a lot to take in. I’m going to take a nap, it’s hot enough carrying the baby without the heat too. Make yourselves at home, I’ll have a sleep and we’ll talk more later. Do you mind?” She took the brandy back to the kitchen and replaced it where Darren had left it.

Harry waved his hand. “Of course not.” We were both grateful that sleep was replacing the drinking.

I decided the best thing I could do now we had finally found Sophie, the conversation over for now, would be to prepare the evening meal. I opened and closed each cupboard in the attractive kitchen, white walls, colourful tiles, and a rich blue worktop, assessing where the food and equipment was kept. Harry picked up a free local newspaper, scanning the pages to see what was happening in and around our daughter’s life. “Do you think I should make enough for Darren as well?” I hated the thought, but it was his apartment too, I reasoned begrudgingly to myself.

Harry thought for a moment. “I suppose you’d better.”

I found some chicken breasts in the fridge, some dirty mushrooms which I rinsed off, an onion, and a pot of cream, then took a pot of sage from the herb rack, enough ingredients to rustle up a healthy dinner. I’d serve it with either pasta or rice, whatever came to hand first.

The afternoon passed slowly and leisurely, lulled by Sophie’s gentle purring as she slept. It was just before five when Darren let himself in through the front door. He first saw me in the kitchen, and did a quick double take, eyes wide in disbelief. “What the fuck!”

“Darren.” I delivered my greeting curtly, without a smile.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be dead.” He slammed the bottle of whisky he’d just bought on the kitchen side, took a glass from the draining board, and picked up the brandy, emptying the remains into the tumbler. “Or was that an evil ruse to get Sophie to talk to you. Where’s Beryl?”

“It was Beryl who passed away, I don’t know where you got the idea it was me from.” I stirred the creamy sauce, and turned the heat on underneath the pan of rice, ready, even bristling, for an argument.

Darren took a second to digest my words, before firing again. “What the fuck, no matter. She’s an old dragon, you’re a crazy bitch, doesn’t matter which one of you it was!” He slugged his drink down, pouring a second immediately. “How did you find the apartment?”

“We’re not daft, Darren.”

He took the glass, bristling with aggravation, to the living area, seating himself on the other sofa, away from Harry. “How did you find us?”

Harry crossed his arms, he wasn’t the type of man to argue, but seeing Sophie had brought back all the memories of how badly she was treated before the move, and circumstances didn’t seem to have changed now. “As Mary said, we’re not daft. She’s kindly cooking you some dinner, by the way.”

Darren sneered, although he had to admit to himself that the aroma in the flat was tempting. “I wouldn’t eat any shit she prepared, stupid old cow! You two had better find yourselves a hotel, you’re not welcome in my home.”

“That won’t be necessary, Darren. We’ve been invited by our daughter, and it’s her home too. We’re here for the next four nights whether you like it or not.”

Yawning, Sophie stepped out of the bedroom, scanned the room and instantly felt trepidation, her father was no match for Darren if things got out of hand. He saw her and marched over, angry. “So you’ve been contacting them behind my back, have you? I told you not to have anything to do with them.”

Finding out her mother was dead, and she’d missed the funeral, her last chance to say goodbye, because letters addressed to her had been withheld. Finding out her father was already dating his ex-mistress, when her mother was still fresh in the grave. Knowing her husband was screwing some tart most nights of the week. It was enough, and her temper grew. “Darren, you see your bloody parents every single day of the week. I rarely see mine…”

He was taunting her. “Oh, she’s your parent now, is she? Quick enough to replace the old dragon wasn’t she, bloody money-grabber!”

Sophie was preparing to shout a response, heartbeat rising with adrenaline, but the baby kicked, her hand went to her belly, and she shook her head, strolling uncomfortably, hand on the small of her back, sitting on the sofa beside her father. “I’ll tell you what, Darren. You do your normal thing. Just have a shower, smarten yourself up, and go and have the night with your girlfriend. I just can’t be bothered with this any more, the baby’s all that matters to me now.”

He wasn’t going to let the argument drop. “Oh, of course it is! So important you had near on half a bottle of brandy earlier, I’m not blind. You’re a piss-head and you know it!”

Harry noticed the guilt run across Sophie’s face, and he stepped in again, the peacemaker. “I’m sure you’d need a stiff drink if you found out your mother had died, a small detail you decided wasn’t worth letting her know, and quite apart from anything, Sophie was never a drinker before she met you.”

He repeated himself before slamming himself in the bathroom. “She’s a piss-head and you know it, and now she’s making my son a piss-head too.”

The charged atmosphere in the open plan flat immediately softened with Darren’s departure, Harry put his hand on Sophie’s arm. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” She nodded without a smile. “Is he always like that towards you?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes. Sometimes he just doesn’t bother to even speak to me. Depends on what he’s had to drink, really.”

Harry sighed deeply, working out where he was going in the conversation from there. “Look, why don’t you just leave him?”

Sophie put her finger to her lips, pointed at the bathroom door, and tapped her ears, enough indication for Harry to know that Darren could hear, and the discussion would have to stop for now. I began to dish the rice onto the three plates I’d laid out, and called them to the breakfast bar. “Enough for now, we’ve a few days to talk. In private. Let’s eat.”

Finally, after spending more time than he usually did to get himself ready, Darren left, his scorn and viciousness following him, and the three people, parents and child, all sagged with relief. We were seated around the coffee table, Harry beside me, Sophie on the other sofa. Sophie opened the carton of red wine she’d brought through earlier from the kitchen and poured us a glass each, handing them across. “Mary, I’ve been doing some thinking the past few hours, and I realise I’ve treated you really badly.” The words were grating her, but they needed saying. “For that I apologise. I can accept now that you did give birth to me, although I have to admit it’s hard. But if you’re making Dad happy, and if my Mum got to know you as Dad tells me, and accepted you, then I would be selfish to,” she swallowed hard, “keep being mean.”

I could see how difficult it had been for Sophie to utter the words I cherished hearing, and I leant across the table, taking my daughter’s hand. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

Diplomatically Sophie withdrew her hand and addressed her father. “I am leaving him, Dad. I’ve had enough now. You know, I swore I would never get a divorce, but he treats me so badly, he’s got zero respect for me, and I don’t want the baby to grow up with that sort of influence.”

Harry’s heart leapt with joy as he heard the words he’d wanted to hear for so long. “Thank the Lord, I’m so pleased you’ve finally seen him for what he really is. Are you coming back to England? I’m retired now, we could help out with the baby, that sort of thing.” I nodded enthusiastically.