Bloody Mary (30 page)

I nodded, enthusiastic. “That’s fine with me, Harry.”

“Sophie?” She seemed distracted, gazing sightlessly into the pram.

“Oh, yes, that sounds good.” Pensive. “I have to admit to being a bit scared of going it alone, but it’s only because I’m going into the unknown! Yes, I think a couple of weeks holiday would be good for all of us.”

“Oh, and one more thing. Mary and I have been discussing this.” Harry and I exchanged a knowing look, both smiling. “I’d like to buy you a car, if you’ll accept one. I think it’s important that you have transport, with little Jaimee and everything, it’ll give you a bit of freedom.”

He took her hand, caring. “We’ve thought about that too. Sophie, I have a good pension, and apart from coming to visit you a couple of times a year, we won’t have much else to spend it on, so I’m happy to pay for the costs associated with you having a car.”

“Oh Dad!” Sophie ran round the table, embracing her father tightly with glee. “Thank you! Oh, thank you!” The brief silence seemed longer than it was, and Sophie moved her arm, hesitated, then placed it around my shoulder to include me in the hug. The unplanned moment was a surprise to us all, but a welcome one, only broken by the waiter asking if we were ready to order.

The weeks passed in the glow of the new member to our family, and were blissful. We’d closed the doors on the villa the day before, handed back the keys, and travelled back to the flat in the Montaña Vista Apartments in the second-hand Seat Ibiza 1.9TDi that Harry had bought for his daughter and granddaughter, using Bob’s residency details due to Sophie’s lack of official documentation. Darren had reluctantly agreed to remove his personal belongings to the underbuild of his parent’s villa, intending to stay until he got something else sorted out. Everything appeared to be working out well.

Harry and spent our last night in Mallorca there, Jaimee sleeping in the Moses basket in Sophie’s room, and we were all excited with the summer electrical storm that raged for the best part of the evening. We’d delighted in the vibrant colours that had raced across the sky, the lightning hacking through the clouds haphazardly, moments before they thundered back together. The sight of palm trees swaying dangerously, of rubbish from the streets floating high, of the pounding rain hammering against the tarmac and glass, had brought whoops of delight from us all, and the neighbours.

When Sophie had taken us to the airport in Palma the next morning, everyone was despondent, Harry and I not wanting to leave Sophie and Jaimee, the intense bonding of the past month difficult to let go. Sophie was daunted by the impending loneliness and responsibility: I had been a massive support since Jaimee had arrived, instructing Sophie calmly on nurturing a child, and taking over when she desperately needed to catch up with lost sleep. And the money we’d given her to help her initially until she found work had been generous, relieving any immediate financial worries.

Turning the key in the door of the silent and still flat, and carrying Jaimee through the threshold, Sophie realised she had never felt so completely alone. Life, her life, Jaimee’s life, it was all down to her now.

She sat the car seat, Jamie snoozing softly, on the floor, and poured herself a glass of wine from the carton. She would have the rest of the day off, and start searching for work tomorrow.

The flight home had been enjoyable, with the airline, albeit an economy line with no frills or perks, treating us kindly, and the drive back from East Midlands Airport easy, quick, and uneventful. It was early afternoon when we returned to the neat semi in Littleover, dragging our suitcases, stretched to the seams with the added items we’d purchased in Mallorca, through the hall, me dumping mine to put the kettle on.

Both Harry and I had been reassured after organising the arrangements with Bob, and we believed we had left Sophie in a much better frame of mind then when we had first arrived. And the bonus was our blossoming relationship, we were so content in each other’s company, it felt perfect.

We were sorting through the stack of mail, cherishing our mugs of tea made with bottled milk, instead of powdered, when the phone began to ring. I finished the dregs of my drink, while Harry trotted out to the hall. He sat on the telephone seat and answered.

“Hi Dad, I just wanted to make sure you got back okay.”

I could hear the relief in his voice, so, guessing it was Sophie, I followed him to the hall. I knew the call was costing her next to nothing due cards you could buy from the
agente periodístico
, which gave her two hundred and fifty minutes of European calls, so it had been a prior arrangement that any contact would come from her.

I caught Harry’s eye and mouthed ‘Is that Sophie?’ and he responded with a nod. “Can I speak to her?” He passed the receiver across, and I, searching for words that wouldn’t cause alarm for either father or daughter, greeted her. “I just wandered, well, I know I’m a silly old thing, but with a baby on your own you’re going to need to someone to offload your day onto. I was dwelling about this on the plane home, I just wandered if you’d call us every day, I mean, if the cost of the cards is a problem we can send some money across, but…”

Sophie’s chuckle tinkled over the line. “Mary, if it makes you feel better, I’ll call every evening to tell you all about what’s going on, and update you on Jaimee’s progress. Okay!” My shoulders relaxed with relief.

It had been a week since her parents had flown home, and Sophie had settled comfortably back into the flat. She’d decided to take at least one trip out a day, collecting the free daily newspapers from whichever bar she was walking past, restocking the food cupboards with daily visits to the supermarkets, and the market on Wednesdays, showing Jaimee off to cheerful, cooing, passers-by. She’d also taken to spending some time by the communal pool, sunbathing, and taking a short swim when Jaimee was safe in the pram, shaded by a pretty, white broderie Anglaise parasol. The expeditions had been valuable, she’d managed to get chatting to a few of the other residents of the Montaña Vista Apartments, and the offers of chinwags over coffee reduced the loneliness she’d felt whilst pregnant.

Every evening Sophie, supping a couple of glasses of wine, would scour the job adverts in the papers, but so far she’d not found anything suitable, and she resolved that she would have to resort to asking in bars and restaurants, in the shops, to see if they needed any new staff.

It was Tuesday, and Sophie had already taken Jaimee for a walk, ensuring she got some fresh air before her father was due to pick her up at twelve. But midday came and went, and by eight in the evening he still hadn’t shown, not even a phone call offering an explanation. Although she was pleased not to have to hand the daughter she adored over for the night, Sophie was annoyed at Darren’s lack of responsibility and care for Jaimee.

She took the baby, tired, well-fed, and clean, to the bedroom and tucked her into the Moses basket, placing the cute, cuddly toy that she’d purchased from the market beside her head. After a gentle kiss goodnight, she watched over her until her eyes closed, and, strolling into the kitchen, she poured the first glass of wine of the day, sitting on the stool by the breakfast bar with the day’s paper stretched out in front. A knock on the door aggravated her: surely he wasn’t going to drag the baby from her bed at this time of night!

As she opened the door, the chain her father had fitted to guard her safety in place, to Darren, she could feel her temper fraying. She unlatched it, let him through, and couldn’t contain her annoyance. “If you think you can take her now, you’re wrong. I’ve just put her to bed, the arrangement…”

“Oh, shut up, woman! I didn’t come here to listen to your bloody nagging!”

Sophie could smell on his hot breath that he’d been drinking heavily, and she instantly calmed herself down, not wanting to provoke him. He grasped her drink from the side, staggered across the apartment and slumped onto the sofa, lounging back and putting his feet on the table. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, but dared not say anything that might irk him. “If you’re not here for Jaimee, then what do you want?”

“Get a drink. I want to talk to you.” Bristling, she followed his instructions and took the other sofa, setting the drink on the table. “You’re a bitch, Sophie, and you’ve ruined our lives!”

Rolling her eyes, she blanked the drunken spillage away. “Thank you. Is that all you wanted to say?”

Darren sat upright and leaned forward towards her, taking a gulp of the drink with a grimace. “My mother, my wonderful Mam, was sentenced to eight years in prison today. She’s gone down, leaving me and my Dad to cope for ourselves, and it’s all your fault.”

Sophie was astounded, having forgotten the mention of blood stained clothing three weeks before, until now. “What! Why’s she in prison? I haven’t done anything, it can’t be my fault.”

“Dad’s in pieces.” He drained the glass and swayed drunkenly as he reached into the holdall that he’d dropped on the tiles. He tugged out a bottle of whisky and Sophie’s heart sunk as he poured it into the glass, filling it to the brim. “If it hadn’t been for you, you bitch, Mam would be at home having a nice drink to round off the day, but oh no, she’s locked away in some dingy cell while you live happily in my bloody apartment.”

“Darren! We’ve got to stay somewhere,” she pointed to the bedroom, “there’s a newborn baby in there! Or have you forgotten! Anyway, my money made up over eighty percent of the purchase price, so it’s more mine than yours!”

Darren laughed vindictively as he dragged some papers from the bag. “In your dreams, stupid!” He tapped the bottom of the paperwork with his finger, before throwing it on the table. “This place is in my name, see. My name. No mention of you, is there?”

“But we bought it together, the bulk of it was from the proceeds of Iris Cottage!”

“No, you can’t buy anything over here, Sophie, haven’t you worked that one out yet? And you’re supposed to be bright. Get this into your stupid head, Sophie, you can’t buy anything here without an NIE number, that’s why your car had to go in Dad’s name. Nothing, nada, zilch. This flat belongs entirely to me, and if I want you to leave, I’m completely within my rights to ask you to go. And that’s what I want.”

Sophie’s mind flitted to Carlos Gutierrez. “No! Any solicitor would be able to show that the money was transferred from my account in England.”

Darren cackled triumphantly, replacing the paperwork and the whisky bottle into his bag. “Doesn’t make any difference, you stupid cow, not over here. See, you’ve always looked down on me as if I’m the stupid one, just because you’re a solicitor and I do manual work. But who’s the stupid one now, eh! You can sleep on the sofa tonight, I want you out of here tomorrow.” He grabbed the holdall and swaggered into the bedroom, leaving Sophie open mouthed and flabbergasted.

Bob, eyes red and swollen from the hours of shedding tears over his wife’s imprisonment, opened the gate and let Sophie pass through. He showed her into the villa, and fixed a drink for each of them. “So, why are you here?”

She explained the horrific conversation she’d just finished with Darren, but Bob dismissed it. “Oh, he’s just had a few to drink, he’s just a bit upset. He’ll have forgotten all about it in the morning.”

“Bob! At this very moment he is asleep in my bed, with my baby, who needs me around, and left me to sleep on the sofa. It’s just not on.”

Sophie had never heard Bob shout before, he’d always seemed happy-go-lucky, not placid, but not aggressive either. “Look, I’ve got enough on my plate at the moment without having to constantly intervene in yours and Darren’s petty arguments. Just go home, have a drink, sleep it off, and everything will be fine when you wake up.”

Shocked, and worried, she left the villa, ambling back to the apartment, her sight misted with terrified tears. She knew she wasn’t wrong to be concerned about what Darren had said, there had been a malicious tone in his voice she’d never encountered before, and his ochre eyes had registered nothing but pure hatred. She needed some help, and the only person she could think of was Kerry on the second floor. She rapped urgently on the door, her acquaintance from the poolside briefly beaming when she saw her, face falling as she realised Sophie had been crying.

Kerry tugged her inside, led her to the kitchenette and sat beside her at the breakfast bar. “What’s happened?”

Sophie related the situation, stressing that she believed Darren, regardless that his father didn’t, and Kerry was appalled, but pacifying. “What a bastard! Look, if the worst comes to the worst, you can stop here for a couple of nights, but you can’t stay longer than that, I mean, I’ve got four kids, and we’re all sharing a two bedroom flat, and their Dad’s due over this weekend, but at least, if he really intends to kick you and the baby out, at least you’ll have somewhere for a few days.”

Sophie was grateful for the charitable offer. She reached into her handbag and drew out the telephone card. “Can I call my Dad from here, I daren’t do it back there in case Darren hears me.”

“Of course you can. Look, I hate to say this, but if your husband does carry out his threat, you haven’t got a leg to stand on over here. If the flat’s registered in his name, it doesn’t matter where the money came from, it’s still his. You should have got an NIE number as soon as you moved here. And residency, have you got that?”

“I don’t even know what it is.” The affirmation of Darren’s threats were twisting her insides tightly, a void in her stomach which physically hurt.

“Girl, you’ve got problems! You go and phone your Dad, the phone’s on the sideboard in the lounge, I’ll get you a beer. Do you drink beer?”