Bloody Mary (6 page)

The blow came from nowhere, Darren heard the crack before he felt the pain, sensed the liquid coursing onto his collar. His hand shot to the back of his head, he drew it back to see the crimson red that appeared black in the scant moonlight. Before his common sense could guide him to turn and see what was happening, another explosion knocked his head forward into the wooden slats of the table before him.

Hazily aware now that he was under attack from an unknown assailant, he tried vainly to escape from the bench, hands up to shield his head, and the next blow crashed against his back, pain not even registering now through his adrenaline filled fear. Struggling away, trying to spin and defend himself, his exit was now assisted by his attacker, who rained punch after punch into his face. Darren slumped face down onto the ground, desperate to crawl away as the kicks started.

Winded. Deflated. No energy left. Darren’s struggle stopped, and he lay upon the cool concrete, waiting for the next strike. Waiting. Waiting. Moments passed, a minute passed. Nothing. Somewhere else, maybe in his head, maybe in the clouds, a faint voice rang out. “Jesus shit! It’s Daz! He’s on the ground. Somebody get an ambulance! Quick!”

It was proving to be a long night. Beryl had been here for hours and I was becoming tired, but I still wanted to know more about what had been happening in her life. For start I was curious, it was a roller coaster of a ride, but also the more she told me, the more ammunition I had for my own gain. It was clear how much Harry and Beryl doted on their daughter, and, from what I could make out, she was relatively wealthy. That was surely a double whammy! On the one hand I could use Sophie to get at her parents, and on the other, I could find a way to blackmail some of that cash out of her. The money I got from benefits and from tarot reading paid the bills and fed me, but it would be amazing to move out of the shithole I lived in to somewhere more decent.

So, without resenting the cost of the alcohol, I passed Beryl a third glass of whisky, and I was ready to listen again after her latest flood of tears. “We’d been there a few hours when the night staff told us that the police wanted to talk to us. I could see from Harold’s eyes that he was thinking the same as me: that they’d discovered Darren was responsible for the so-called accident. We’d both been sleeping, me with my head on Sophie’s bed, him in his chair, so we were a bit woozy.”

Harold glanced over his shoulder to see two uniformed police officers, and he stood, unsure how to greet them. The nurse left the room, Harold snatched a glimpse of his watch: 3.00 a.m. “Mr Waller, please sit down again.” The young policeman’s dark skin reflected the dimmed lights as he quietly dragged two chairs up to the bed, beside the bemused Harold.

PC Kanhai and PC Taylor sat, the former nodding at Sophie. “I understand this is your daughter, Sophie Delaney.” Taylor briefly took in the patient before looking away. It had been the first time his colleague had mentioned her name, he’d been in the car when Kanhai had learned the details from the barmaid, and he couldn’t cope with seeing the woman he had dreams of so helpless and hurt. Harold nodded. “Could you confirm she’s married to a,” he consulted his notebook, “Mr Darren Delaney.” Again, Harold confirmed without speaking. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this with your daughter, um…” Harold nodded his assent for the man to continue without further sympathies. “I’m afraid Mr Delaney has just been admitted here too, he’s been attacked fairly severely. He’s conscious, but he’s taken quite a, um, well, it was a violent attack.”

Harold’s jaw dropped, unable to work out how to deal with the news, his first reaction, suppressed, was to smile. Mouth glibly opening and closing as he tried to uncover the correct words to use, Taylor drew strength and surveyed Sophie. “What happened to your daughter, Mr Waller?”

Harold shook his head slowly, unable to answer with his suspicions heightened, and Kanhai continued the questioning. “Obviously you don’t want to leave your daughter’s side at this time, however, she is Mr Delaney’s next of kin. Do you know the contact details of any relations Mr Delaney has, even just their names will do?”

Over Kanhai’s shoulder, Harold’s view through the glass to the corridor outside was clear, and noticing Steve coming towards the door was a relief. Until Steve saw his father with the two officers, turned, and hastened away. Desperately controlling the expression on his face, Harold Waller suddenly realised who’d attacked his son-in-law. “Yes, of course, I can give you the names and a general area for his parents. We’re not personally in touch, but I know whereabouts they live.”

Kanhai smiled, positioning his pad and pen ready for the details. “Oh, er, by the way.” The policeman gave Harold his full attention once more. “I don’t suppose you have any idea who would have attacked Darren, do you?”

“Not yet.”

Harold breathed deeply and relaxed, before furnishing the constables with what he could remember of Maureen and Bob’s details.

As Kanhai and Taylor stood up to leave, Taylor took Harold to one side. “Do me a favour, Mr Waller. Can you please let me know when Sophie wakes up. She’s a friend of a friend, and I just want to know that she’s okay.”

After the policemen had gone, Harold fought his tiredness to keep his eyes on the door, waiting hopefully for Steve to return. Presently his son’s face appeared, tentatively checking the coast was clear, and Harold was relieved that Beryl had fallen asleep again, because he wanted to protect her from the truth he knew. Steve came into the room shiftily, almost tiptoeing, and joined his father, sitting beside him in the chair Taylor had evacuated. “What did the police want, Dad?”

Harold shook his head. Every bone in his body wanted to congratulate and thank Steve for defending his sister, but, on the other hand, he’d always maintained that disputes should be settled without violence. He could think of nothing that wouldn’t sound hypocritical. “They don’t suspect you, son.”

Steve’s jaw dropped. “How did you know it was me?” It was a hushed growl, issued from a concerned face. He let his eyes wander to his sister, still serene in her comatose state. “He did this, Dad, you know as well as I do that he did. But this time it’s not just her, it’s her baby too. He deserved it. He deserved more.”

“Maybe so, but you don’t deserve to be put in prison for assault for protecting your sister, and that’s what will happen if the truth ever gets out. So let it go. I won’t say a word, don’t you dare say anything to your mother, and we’ll pretend this never happened. I can’t imagine Sophie will stay with him after this. If it was down to him, which, I hasten to add, we don’t know for certain, then the police will discover that. So hopefully this will be the end of the matter. Clear?”

The police had taken a while to trace Bob and Maureen Delaney from the scant details received from Harold Waller, so it was morning before they finished the drive to Derby to see their son. They were relieved when they saw him sitting up in bed eating toast. His face was blackened and swollen, a few minor cuts, and his head was bandaged, but he seemed in good form, smiling as they paced hurriedly towards him. Bob was stunned. “Bloody hell, son, you don’t do things by halves, do you!”

Darren put his toast back on the plate, half eaten, and took his mother’s outstretched hand. “It hurts, Mam, it bloody hurts.”

Gently stroking his forehead, his cheek, smoothing the covers, straightening the water jug. “I’m sure it does, baby, I’m sure it does. Have they given you painkillers?” She suddenly yelled across the ward. “Nurse! My son needs morphine, he’s in tremendous pain. Nurse!”

“Mam! Stop shouting, everyone’s looking.” Darren indicated the soft armchair beside the bed, while Bob drew up another. Maureen sat on the edge of the seat, leaning over the bed as she made sure the sheets were perfectly arranged.

“Baby, who did this to you? The police say they don’t know, which is ridiculous, I say, they get paid to do nothing. They should have him behind bars by now. What we pay taxes for, I just don’t know.”

“Mam, it’s only just happened and nobody saw anything. I’m sure they’re doing their best.” Darren winced, not really in pain but enjoying the motherly sympathy curling around him.

It came from the blue. “Move to Mallorca with us, Darren.” Bob stared at his wife, nonplussed. “You can’t stay in a country where things like this happen, that’s why we’re moving abroad, the crime, the violence. Just think of it, baby, sun every day, you’ve got a good trade, you’ll find work, we’ve still got the profits from the sale of your flat in our investment account, we’d double it so you could buy a nice place, help you out in any way you needed. What do you say, baby?”

Darren laughed as hard as his swollen mouth would allow, Bob’s eyes were still widened from the suggestion that had come out of the blue. “Mam! I can’t just give up everything here, not just like that.”

“Yes you could, of course you could, we’d help you in any way, with the documents, moving, money, we’d help. Wouldn’t we, Bob?”

Bob felt as if his head was spinning, he was used to Maureen and her determination to organise everybody, every thing, but he hadn’t seen this one coming, so he just nodded, forcing a smile, whilst considering how welcome a glass or two of La Motte Shiraz would be at this moment.

Maureen’s jaw tensed, thin lips pursing. “We would even let your wife come if that was what you wanted.” The words were strained, through clenched teeth. She glanced about. “Hold on a minute, talking of that woman, where is she? She should be at your bedside right now. How dare she not be here when you need her, baby. What is that woman like!”

Darren held her hand, interlinking his fingers with hers, her perfect pink manicure offsetting the ochre nicotine stains on his hands. “She’s here, Mam, she just went upstairs for a bit.”

Maureen tutted her disgust. “I should give her a piece of my mind!”

Bob had no dislike for his daughter-in-law of two years, she was pretty enough, seemed as if she’d make a good mother one day if she’d just lose the silly job and concentrate on her man instead, but he knew that, right now, it was time to diffuse the situation. “So, Daz, what do you think of your mam’s suggestion then?”

Darren thought for a minute, nodding, a light smile. “You know, I think it would be good. It’d be good to be near you guys, and I definitely like the idea of all year sunshine. You reckon I’d be able to find work, Dad?”

“Of course, of course. Carpentry, woodwork, you’d get plenty of work out there, and, like your mam says, we’d help you with everything. Run it by Sophie when you see her. It’s about time she stopped that career lark and gave us a grandchild, I mean, after all, there won’t be much call for an English solicitor in Mallorca, will there, so she’d have to just look after you and a few kids instead.”

Maureen’s back straightened, hands neatly placed in the centre of her lap, and she smiled sweetly, mission accomplished. So she’d have to put up with that woman, but at least she’d have her favourite son and his babies nearby.

Harold stood abruptly, sucking air into his lungs, gasping, and he reached over, patting Beryl’s shoulder. “Darling, wake up, wake up!” Beryl stirred, then sat bolt upright as she remembered where she was. “She’s awake! Sophie’s awake! Nurse! Nurse!” Fumbling, he reached for the assistance button and pressed a few times, overexcited.

Sophie’s eyes were wide, deep brown puddles in the centre of the scared whiteness, framed by long, dark lashes that defied the goldenness of her long curls. Her weak hands rose to her throat, breathing raspy and laboured, trying to tug lamely at the ventilator. A split second later a nurse at the door, seeing the recently comatose patient, shouted out for assistance. Running over, she pushed Harold aside. “Please move back.” Taking Sophie’s hand, her manner was calm and reassuring. “Sophie. Hello Sophie. Calm down, love, I know it’s awkward to breathe, just let the machine do it for you until the doctor comes, just relax, love, it’s okay.”

The gossip had swamped the nurses’ stations, the canteen, the sneaked cigarette breaks: the story of the tragic couple who had both ended up in hospital on the same night for completely different reasons. It was easily approved to give them a room together, that was the least they could do, poor loves! The porter wheeled Darren’s bed into the small room, pleasing him immensely to have his own space away from the coughing and spluttering, wheezing and grunting, of the patients on the previous ward.

At the same time, Sophie was with the consultant being discharged from intensive care. The ventilating cannula had been removed from her mouth, leaving her throat sore and grazed, her voice husky, and the only drip still attached was helping to rehydrate her. Harold and Beryl, his arm tenderly wrapped over her shoulder, waited nearby, their joint emotions a mixture of pride, relief, and gratitude. “So, Sophie, we’re going to send you to a ward now, and you’ll be referred from there to the X-ray department just to check that the ribs we suspect are broken won’t cause any further problems.”

Sophie nodded, her parents beamed at her warmly, Beryl clasping the hand that lay on her shoulder. As the consultant moved on to the next patient, the nurse who’d been standing aside moved forward, plumping the pillows and smoothing the covers. “We’ve got a treat for you too! Just you wait until you see who’s waiting for you.” The smile instantly left Harold’s face – he’d not told either of the women in his life about the attack on Darren – when he realised the horror Sophie was about to face. He excused himself, feeling inside his trouser pockets for the phone number Taylor had scribbled down for him.

It was a difficult phone call to make, after all, he only had suspicions that Darren had been lying about finding Sophie at the bottom of the stairs, he didn’t know for certain the so called accident had been an attack. He blustered through, trying to explain to Taylor without incriminating a man who may possibly be innocent, and the result came across as gibberish. The only sense Taylor could really glean from the call was that Mrs Delaney was awake and going to be fine. If he’d realised she was being moved to a room with her husband, he would have called the hospital and halted the transfer immediately.