Bloody Mary (7 page)

It was too late, regardless. When Harold returned to the room Sophie was gone, her bed replaced with a fresh one ready for the next seriously ill patient. He dragged his hands through his hair, before hunting for someone who could tell him which ward his wife and daughter had been moved to.

The doors burst open and a porter’s back bumped through, dragging a bed into the room with him. Darren’s heart sank, he’d been enjoying having a room to himself, and anyway, how were they going to fit another bed in, the room wasn’t big enough. As the bed was wheeled closer than the standard distance to his own and he saw Sophie, a wide smile stretched across his face, crinkling the bruising and stretching the cuts. Following, Beryl recoiled in horror, a large gasp audible, and her hand went to her heart.

She only stayed until Harold found them, unable to stay in the room with the man she detested, and anxious for the details of Darren’s admission that her husband appeared to somehow know about. Harold reluctantly left his daughter and took Beryl back to Littleover.

When PC Taylor arrived, his lunch break being the only time he could spare, he was eager for Sophie to open up and admit that her injuries had been inflicted by her husband as Harold had suggested, rather than the unexplained fall down the stairs. But his heart sank when he saw the contrived scene of seemingly loving husband and wife through the glass of the doors. How could he interview her now? She’d never admit to anything with Darren Delaney in the room. There was no point him being there, so he left without stopping.

Sophie pushed the food around her plate, neither hungry, nor happy, although Darren devoured his greedily, wishing there was more. She’d been happy to see him in an odd way: she loved him, had done for the past four years, and marrying him twenty-three months before had been the most wonderful and exciting day of her life. But she was scared of him now, terrified of what he was capable of.

He’d hit her before, in fact she’d pretty much gotten used to it, but it had only been a swipe here, a shove there, a bit of wrestling. The night before had reached a new level, one she’d never anticipated, and one she never wanted to repeat. If only he would admit he drank too much, he was beautiful on the rare occasions he was completely sober. She’d have to try and talk to him somehow. Especially now the baby was on the way. Or so she thought: nobody had mentioned the miscarriage to her.

Darren leant towards her, turning the television down until it was too hushed to hear clearly. “You know when your house sells, Soph, you know we were planning to move somewhere smaller, cheaper?” She nodded, still not able to bring herself to make eye contact with the abuser she loved so dearly. “How do you fancy moving to Mallorca?”

And the contact was made. His smiling eyes snakelike and yellow, creased laughter lines crawling from the corners. Hers, a horrified chocolate brown, mouth ajar, words halted.

Either not noticing her reticence, or just not caring, Darren proceeded to gush all the offers his mother had made earlier in the day, his mind already clearly decided, and her anguish grew. The newly timid demeanour she found herself locked inside no longer had any idea how to say no.

Beryl had been at my flat four a total of three hours, and she’d managed to get everything she wanted off her chest, leaving her more cheerful than when she had arrived. By cutting dead my emotions, building brick walls between my heart and my head, her story was now just that: a story. Not a girl in hospital having suffered domestic violence, but a girl in hospital who I was going to befriend for my own benefit. Not a mother who was distraught at her child’s injuries, but a woman who stole the man I’d wanted thirty years before. Not a son who’d defended his sister, but a man I could now bribe and manipulate.

Beryl had called Harry on her mobile to ask him to collect her, and I watched out of the window after her departure to see if I could catch a glimpse of him, but, being on the fourth floor, all I could see was the roof of their car.

My revenge for him could wait, I had other, more pressing, things for now, and it was about time I got some sleep so I could be up bright and early tomorrow. Now the fun was really about to begin.

It had been four days since Sophie’s accident, and since Darren was viciously attacked. Due to the distance between their home and the hospital, Maureen and Bob hadn’t been back to visit their son, but they’d kept in contact with their mobile phones. It had been playing on Maureen’s mind that her son’s attacker hadn’t been caught, and she wasn’t the type of person to let things go. For the fourth time she dialled the number of Leicestershire Constabulary Darren had given to her, attempting to locate the officers who were supposed to be detecting the beast who had attacked her son, and this time she couldn’t be bothered to be polite any more, the whole debacle was becoming tiresome.

After stubbornly refusing to accept any excuses, Maureen was finally put through to an officer. PC Kenhai listened to her angry rant for a short while, not being able to get a word in edgeways, and began to wonder if the woman ever needed to breathe. “It’s three days since my Darren was beaten up, and I still haven’t heard anything. Why haven’t you found out who did it yet and put them behind bars?”

At last there was a break in the verbal spillage, and Kenhai pacified her diplomatically. He’d not so much forgotten the event, but had other, more pressing, tasks to take care of. However, her call brought Darren Delaney back to the forefront of his mind. By chance his sergeant had paired him with PC Taylor again, which pleased him because they got on well together, with similar senses of humour, similar morals, and similar policing techniques. As they were strolling to the patrol car, Kenhai mentioned Maureen’s call, and Taylor stopped walking abruptly. “What’s up?”

Taylor shook his head, unsure whether to voice his thoughts or not. He forced himself to display a blank face, to open the car. He slipped into the passenger seat, and the bemused Kenhai chugged the engine to life, driving slowly out of the car park.

Taylor was unusually quiet as they drove at a placid speed through the villages, through the streets, the countryside, he couldn’t remove Sophie Delaney’s battered face and body from his mind. He knew he was falling for her in a way he’d never experienced before, but he had to admit she was pig-headed, and, if truth be known, stupid for defending a man who treated her so badly. But his inner turmoil also debated that there was no proof Darren had ever laid a finger on his wife, nothing had ever been said. Eventually he decided that he had to do something, one way or the other, and it was something he couldn’t do alone unless it was out of hours.

So it was when they stopped for a bite to eat in their break-time, he confided his fears to Kenhai, whilst devouring chicken salad sandwiches and hot coffee. Kenhai listened eagerly, nodding slowly towards the end of Taylor’s suspicions. “Well, that would make sense, especially the timing. Are either of them out of hospital yet, do you know?”

Taylor, mouth full, shook his head. Swallowing hard. “I don’t know. I went in to see her the day after her so-called fall, only to find they’d put her in the same room as him. I couldn’t do anything about it, I mean, I can’t incriminate him with no facts, so I just left without talking to her.”

“Want to go there now?” Kenhai was placing the ball firmly in Taylor’s court, and, approving of the idea, they re-started the car and headed towards Derby.

The consultant was just leaving the room, yet, already, Darren was packing his belongings together ready to go home. He detested hospitals, vile places, the stench of disinfectant, a place that people died in, and he couldn’t wait to get back home: have a bath, get some clean clothes on and have a drink or ten at the local to bask in the sympathy he’d no doubt receive. Sophie needed to stay an extra couple of days, her injuries were healing nicely, but the trauma she’d taken to the side of her head was still a concern. And she didn’t mind anyway, it kept her away from her husband, which she really needed right now. “Do you want me to chase the estate agents up when I get back, ask them to drop the house price or something?”

Sophie choked on her mug of tea. “What? Why?”

Completely unfazed by her reaction, Darren continued to throw his array of hair and skin products into the holdall his acquaintances from the White Horse had brought in. “Well, if we’re going to move abroad, we may as well cut our losses here and get out as soon as possible.” Darren took the flowers his mam had sent for him through Interflora and moved them to Sophie’s bare bedside cupboard.

Leaning forward, she placed the half-finished mug of tea on the over-bed table, ensuring the words were clear in her head before she voiced them. “Darren, I haven’t said I want to move abroad, we haven’t decided, we haven’t even discussed it.”

“Of course we have! We’ll only be downsizing here if we stay, and that’s not good if we want kids. It’s easily the best option.”

Sophie gulped back the tears that threatened when Darren mentioned children, she didn’t want spillage, there’d be too many questions. A nurse had told her about losing the baby two days before, and it had taken every extent of her courage not to show any emotion in front of Darren. It was imperative he didn’t find out she’d been pregnant, it would only make him feel guilty. That snippet had to be her cross to bear. Pulling herself together, she allowed herself to continue. “We don’t know anything about schooling, documentation, house prices, and what would I do for work, anyway?”

Darren sighed, rolling his eyes sarcastically. “I told you, Mam and Dad will help us with everything. Come on, Soph, they wouldn’t consider me bringing up a family out there if it wasn’t the best place to do it. And as for somewhere to live, we’ll have the money from the sale of your place, plus the money from mine…”

She couldn’t help herself. “If you’d ever shown any of the money from the sale of yours I wouldn’t have to be selling mine!”

The silence in the room echoed ominously for too long, Darren’s expression turning slowly from cheerful, eye’s narrowing, lips twisting, to scornful. Slowly, menacingly, he placed the holdall on the bed, and moved closer to Sophie, bringing his face uncomfortably close to hers. “So that’s why you had my car smashed in, is it! Money. It’s all boils down to money with you, doesn’t it? I buy all your drinks in the pub, remember. I buy the majority of the booze you throw down your throat at home! If you fancy a curry or a Chinese, who gets it? Me! And you want to steal the money from my flat on top of that as well, you greedy bitch.”

Inadvertently, Sophie had raised her arms in defence. “Darren, that’s not what…”

He grabbed her arm, causing her to wince in pain from the broken ribs. “Yes it is. Money’s all you care about, well, fuck you, bitch. You’ll never get your hands on any of mine, or my pension. In fact I think I might just leave you and go to Mallorca on my own…”

“I think it would be a very good idea to leave her alone right now, don’t you, Mr Delaney?”

Darren jumped back and Sophie released her pent up breath, heart thundering wildly: neither had noticed the two policemen enter the room. “You probably won’t remember us, Mr Delaney, you were a little bit dazed when we saw you, but we’re the officers who are investigating your assault.”

In a beat Darren had transformed into the ‘good bloke’ who everybody knew and loved. He performed his wide smile, striding round the bed, hand extended. “Have you found out who attacked me then?”

Kenhai shook Darren’s hand. “No, we’re here to ask you some questions about the events leading up to it.”

“Of course.” Darren shook Taylor’s hand, eyeing him quizzically. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

Taylor resisted the temptation to punch the smarmy man before him, his internal anger riding high. “It’s possible you may remember me from A and E the other night. I need to ask Mrs Delaney some questions, PC Kenhai will talk to you.”

Darren extended his finger, his twisted face accusing. “That’s where I know you from! The night my car was done in. You were the bloke who came out with that dippy blonde copper. You went into the kitchen with my wife. That’s what this is, isn’t it! You fancy her and you’re trying to get alone with her…”

Kenhai stepped between the two, forearms raised. “Mr Delaney, you’re not doing yourself any favours. If it’s preferable, I’ll talk to your wife while PC Taylor takes your statement. That’s all we need: statements. There’s nothing underhand going on.”

It was Darren’s turn to raise submissive forearms. “Fine. Okay. I hold my hands up, I overreacted. I’m sorry, it must be the bang on the head. Look, she was in hospital, she wasn’t even there. There’s no need to talk to her. I’ll tell you what you want to know, and we’ll leave it at that.”

I’d fallen asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow after Beryl had left the night before, the whisky having made me unwind completely. I won’t deny that I had a slight headache when I awoke, but a few mugs of tea soon sorted that out. I opened the phone book and began making calls to all the solicitors in Derby, asking each if Sophie Delaney worked for them. After a number of ‘no’s, I dialled Hodgekinson, Neville, and Barton, and a pleasant voice gave me the ‘yes’ I’d been waiting for.

“I thought so, I just wanted to check I had the right number. Can I make an appointment with her, please?”

“Mrs Delaney is on leave at present, can I make you an appointment with a colleague?”

Of course I knew she wasn’t there, but the bluff had to be believable. “Oh, er, well, Mrs Delaney has come highly recommended by a good friend of mine. When do you think she’ll be back in the office?”

“We have no idea, at present. Her colleagues are also very good.”

“No!” I realised I’d said it far too quickly, and took a deep breath. “No, my friend specifically named Mrs Delaney. You see, I want a divorce and…”

“Well, if you let me stop you there, because Mrs Delaney doesn’t deal with divorces, she’s our contracts solicitor.”