Bloody Mary (34 page)

But the car pulled up on the roadside, they’d arrived, and any ideas of fleeing uncourageously were thought too late. He paid the driver, and took his bag from the seat, inhaling deeply, bracing himself. Finally, he braved himself and strutted up the path to the door, ringing the doorbell. Waiting.

It was me who answered, and I did a double take when I saw Juan, every bit as handsome as I remembered. I ushered him in. “It’s so nice to see you, can I get you a drink of anything? You must be thirsty.” I was leading him to the kitchen.

“Er, yes, please.
Café, por favor
. May I speak with Sophie?”

I was filling the kettle, I stopped and glanced at him. “I’m afraid she’s not here at the moment, she’s taken Jaimee out shopping. You’ll have to make do with me for now! Take a seat, Juan.”

He sat at the table, and cheerfully accepted the drink when it came. I sat opposite with my mug of tea. “I think you know why I come.”

“Well, to be honest, no.”

“I send ring, she no answer, nada.”

I was shocked, I had just assumed that Sophie had sent a letter, and I said as much. They’d seemed so happy together on the final night in Mallorca, I couldn’t imagine why she was being rude to him now. Obviously she’d had her mind on other matters, Darren’s spitefulness had hit her hard, but not even a note saying ‘thank you’. I was seeing a side to Sophie she didn’t realise existed.

Sophie had been shocked when she’d come through to the kitchen, carrying Jaimee in the car seat, and saw Juan at the table. He’d immediately glanced at her hand, and when he saw she wasn’t wearing the ring, his heart had sunk with the rejection. When she thanked him for it eventually, she was returning it to him, still boxed, and again his instinct had been to flee back to the airport and go home to nurse his wounds, but I had a chat with him, persuading him not to give up. I’d offered to babysit so Juan could take Sophie out, but Sophie refused to go, and left the room, heading for her bedroom.

I was angry at her behaviour, at the blatant rudeness, so I trotted upstairs leaving Juan with a fresh coffee, and rapped on Sophie’s door. Sophie opened up and let me, now irate, through. “Just what do you think you’re doing Sophie? He’s come all the way from Mallorca to hear your answer to his proposal, and you not only give the ring back, but you’re sullen and ill mannered too! What game are you playing, because there’s a sterling young man down there that most women would give their eye teeth for.”

Juan had followed me, unseen, and was leaning against the wall on the landing, listening to the altercation, needing to hear the answers himself. “Mary, I don’t want to be rude, I just have to be. If I’m nice, he’s going to think everything’s going to go ahead, and it can’t.”

“Can’t! Why on earth not?” I was incredulous, and appalled.

Sophie began to count the points off on her fingers as she spoke. “Firstly, he’s Catholic, and I’m not religious; second, look how disastrous me moving abroad was, if he moves here he’s going to miss his homeland, his family and friends; third, Darren and this ridiculous money lark is doing my head in; fourth, I have a baby, how’s that going to look to a Catholic family? God, Mary, I could go on and on with reasons why this pipe dream won’t work.”

Sophie glared at, me, her birth mother, hating me at that moment, and stormed from the room, shocked to see him. “Juan, I didn’t know you were there.”

“I know.”

She was fidgeting, embarrassed. “How much did you hear?” Juan stared at the delightful image before him, and was confused: he thought women liked romantic men. Maybe he’d acted too quickly, maybe Sophie didn’t like Spanish men, maybe, maybe, maybe. Whatever! He slowly shook his head, traipsed down the stairs, grabbed his bag, and left, slamming the door behind him. Sophie immediately burst into tears, pushing me out of her room, and locking the door.

Outside, Harold, having spent the day visiting a friend in Leicester, had just pulled into the driveway, and he noted Juan storming from the house, hands in pockets, a face like thunder. He opened the car door, and stood, leaning on it. “Juan!”

Juan didn’t look up. “Harold.” He kept walking without stopping to follow up his acknowledgement.

Harold darted after him, having to trot to catch up with Juan, his strides long, matching his height. He grabbed his arm. “Hey, what’s going on here? First of all, why are you in England, and why are you in a bad mood? What’s happened?”

Juan related, in his stilted English, the situation, and was shocked when Harold laughed. “Get in the car, Juan. Let’s go for a drink and a talk. I need to tell you all about Sophie, she’s a complex character, and I know her better than anybody!”

They’d been out for hours, and both men had enjoyed their comprehensive discussion greatly. Harry had booked Juan into a hotel for one night, he felt it was best he didn’t stay at the house until he’d had the chance to discuss matters with Sophie. Harry had arranged to pick Juan up at lunchtime the next day. When he returned to the house, I was on the sofa, feeding Jaimee with a bottle, watching a documentary on the television. “Where’s Sophie?”

I turned the volume down with the remote control. “Drunk upstairs again, hence me having the baby! All sorts of dramas have happened here today, Harry! You want to thank your lucky stars you avoided it all.”

Harry poured out two glasses of sherry, handing one to me, and sat down in his armchair. “I didn’t, I’ve just been for a drink with Juan, he told me roughly what had gone on.”

I took the bottle from Jaimee’s mouth and placed it on the table, lifting her to my shoulder to burp her, patting her back. “I don’t know what Sophie’s playing at, I just don’t understand. He’s a brilliant catch, and she’s throwing him away like a piece of garbage!”

Harry mused for a moment, sifting his thoughts. “This business with Darren, she’s been behaving oddly ever since that letter from Carlos. And she’s not been a day without a drink since, either.”

can’t even look after Jaimee properly, she’s going to end up a lot of trouble.”

Neither had heard Sophie coming down the stairs, but she’d heard herself being criticised on her approach, and an uncommon anger began to well up inside her. She burst into the room, tired and irate with the disastrous way her life had turned about, and was charged, ready to take her temper out on everybody’s meddling. “Now I’ve heard it all! Have you forgotten that I’ve lost everything I ever worked for, that I’ve lost my husband! I’ve had a bloody rough time this past year, and now all I am is a lush and a bad mother! What do you bloody think I am? A saint?”

Harry, always a master of deflecting confrontation, tried to calm her down. “No, that’s not what we were saying, sweetheart, we’re just worried about you. We don’t like what’s happening to you any more than you do.” Sophie grabbed a bottle of brandy from the drinks cabinet defiantly, not moving her eyes from her fathers, and rebelliously swigged from it without using a glass. Harry winced, unsure what to do. “Sophie, put the bottle down, it’s not doing you any good.” There was a weariness in his voice that I hadn’t heard before.

Still glaring, challenging him, Sophie gulped more down, the bitterness not reflected in her face. “No. I can’t handle this any more, any of it.”

And suddenly Harry’s exhaustion and worry belied his aging years. He sighed. “We just don’t understand why you can’t let Juan be by your side through this battle, with all the rubbish you’ve got going on, at least he can bring one element of happiness into your life, surely.”

The brandy had hit her already, and she was vehement. “Juan bloody this, Juan bloody that. I can’t bloody let him into my life with what’s going on, I don’t even trust myself at the moment, let alone another man.”

I took the reins to relieve the man I had never stopped loving for over thirty years. “Sophie, what if this situation was resolved and you had your money back, or if it had never happened, would you be pushing Juan away then?”

The change in her was instantaneous, her face crumpled, her whole demeanour broken, timid and coy. “No.” It was barely a whisper as she sagged to the sofa, bottle still firmly clenched in her dainty fingers. “No, I wouldn’t, Mum.” Harry’s stunned eyes met mine, I managed to resist a smile at the precious words. “It feels like everything I touch turns to filth, and I’m so scared that if I get together with him, then the relationship would be doomed too. I’m terrified, because every time I try to stand up and cope, something new kicks me down.”

I laid a hand on her shoulder, protective, maternal, and warm. “I know, Sophie, I know.” The twinkle in my bespectacled eyes matched the calm, motherly smile. “I think you’ve reached rock bottom, and from there, the only way is up. Trust me, things will be better soon. I know they will.” The chill in the air went unnoticed.

The situation had calmed quickly, Sophie not resisting the cuddle she’d needed so badly, and her eyes soon began to tire, the lids dropping slowly with little effort to stop them. Soon, she was lulled into a relaxed, alcohol fuelled sleep on the sofa, and Harry tiptoed out to busy himself elsewhere, leaving me, once again, with the grand-daughter I was more like a mother to. Cooing the baby into a nap, I waited until I was sure I could make the necessary telephones calls without an eavesdropper.

And it was whilst making these clandestine calls that the postman dropped the timely news through the letterbox in an envelope addressed to me. Thoughts whirred through my mind, how best to deal with this unexpected gift, and eventually, having checked on both Sophie and her child, I traipsed into the garden to explain to Harry as he weeded his begonias.

“But I thought you were happy here? I’ve proposed, we work well as a couple, we share a bed. Why would you possibly want your old flat back?” He had dropped the fork, his expression almost pained with confusion.

I chuckled lightly, dismissing him. “No, silly, I don’t want to move back, I want to sublet it to our daughter. Imagine, if she had a place of her own, she’d be forced to take responsibility for Jaimee. She’d have her freedom, every adult needs that, and her privacy. I know it’s not the nicest of areas, but she’s a clever girl, and it’s a start. A new start. A chance for her to pick herself up and move on.”

He picked up the fork, digging deeply into the ground mindlessly as the idea sifted through his mind, pros and cons, and the truthful realisation that he would miss his daughter if she left the parental home now. “I’ll have to think about it, give me time. And don’t mention anything to Sophie please, not until I’ve worked things through.” There was nothing left to say as he ploughed back into his gardening, his mind now filled with a new concern, and I returned to the girls, collecting a coffee on the way.

It had taken me two long weeks to persuade Harry that my idea was worthy, although I’d accepted the flat back in the meantime, convinced he would come to my way of thinking, and bit by bit I’d found furniture, crockery, linen, cutlery and utensils, and, with the help of soon-to-be stepson Steve, and long lost birth son Alan, we decorated the place in subtle neutrals, creating the home it had never been in my poverty filled years of residence.

When Harry finally accepted the suggestion, Steve dropped by and admitted what they’d been up to behind his back. Ever placid, Harry saw no betrayal, laughing at the cheekiness of his family, and was pleased when he saw the beautiful job they’d made of creating a home for his special little ladies. We resolved the time was right to finally let Sophie in on the scheme. On the way back from the flat, he collected a couple of bottles of Champagne, hiding them in the fridge for them to cool ready for the evening.

Alan and Steve were both going to be present, it would be a family gathering, a temptingly delicious three course meal lovingly prepared by me with my newly discovered cuisine skills. We’d sit around the table in the kitchen, set off the corks, tuck into a delightful spread, and discuss Sophie and Jaimee’s future. That was the plan, anyway.

It started well, Sophie was ecstatic to see both her brothers, especially Steve, her being so close to him, and she chastised them both for not visiting enough. Jaimee was now sleeping through the night, so when Sophie laid her in the cot after her last feed at eight, the rest of the evening was one for the adults. She’d been careful about her drinking since the altercation two weeks before, nipping to the corner shops when nobody was home, bringing it into the house, and drinking it discretely when she was sure nobody would be able to tell. Of course she didn’t have a problem with it, that was Darren’s department, but at the moment it was helping her to sleep, and the way it blocked out all the unhappy memories gave it the welcome place of being her best friend. But now her father was giving her the permission to drink at the family meal, and she intended to grasp it by both hands.

They hadn’t got further than the first course, a gorgeous baked tuna pate served with French bread and salad, when I explained, a little more coyly than was usually my style, what I, and the two boys, had been up to, that we’d created a place, albeit not perfect, for her and Jaimee to live. Sophie’s shocked reaction wasn’t the one I’d anticipated, and now I was confused.

Sophie was standing, her seat pushed back, her words fuelled with the hidden brandy she’d been sipping most of the day. “You’re kicking me out! I can’t believe this!”

Harry stepped in quickly, the pacifier. “Oh, no, sweetheart, it’s not like that at all. We love you being here, but thought this would help you to get yourself back into life on your own with Jaimee.”