Bloody Mary (8 page)

I was thinking on my feet here, I had to get into those offices. “Yes, I know, but if you’d heard me through, I also need somebody to arrange the purchase of a house I’m desperate to get, I need somebody who can get me through some awkward problems.”

Her tone was less harsh now. “Ah, I see. Well, in that case, perhaps you could leave your number and I’ll get her secretary to give you a call to arrange an appointment when we know when Mrs Delaney will be coming back.”

I was getting there, but not quite enough. “Well, if I could see somebody else about the divorce today, I can give you my number in person.”

She certainly wasn’t the friendliest of receptionists, by any means, but finally I managed to persuade her to let me see someone this afternoon, and she gave his name as Mr Gordon. I’d never been to the offices, and was clutching at straws, but I’d make it up as I went along!

I finished my tea, had a quick wash in cold water, and put my smartest clothes on. A quick glance in the mirror I tried to avoid showed me still to be scruffy and unkempt regardless, with rolls of fat spilling over the waistband, and messy grey hair reluctant to stay where the comb placed it. I sighed, briefly remembering a long gone time when I had been pretty and desirable.

I decided to make the most of the bus ticket to town and buy some necessities whilst there, so before leaving I jotted a quick shopping list on a pad, and locked up just in time to get to the bus stop.

Hodgekinson, Neville, and Barton Solicitors was on the outskirts of the town centre, occupying an imposing building that must have been a couple of hundred years old, with tiny windows at the top which showed it would have once been the residence of an affluent family who could afford servants. With several carrier bags full of food surrounding my bulky frame, I awkwardly pulled the door open, the sticky heat of the building hitting me. The receptionist’s overly powdered face broke into a practised smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

I explained who I was, and Barbara, her name was displayed on a tag pinned to her blouse, remembered my call, she told me to take a seat. I stayed by the desk. “Just out of interest, where is Mrs Delaney’s office?”

She glanced at me, frowning at the odd question, and pointed to a door nearby. I hastily dropped the bags on the laminated floor, and leaned against the reception desk, lightly puffing, out of breath. She enquired if I was okay, nonplussed, and I nodded, explaining I was a little asthmatic. That wasn’t a lie, but the ‘attack’ I was having right now was an act. I laboriously lifted the carriers, and shuffled to a seat in the waiting area, ensuring my wheezing could be heard.

After ten minutes, an affable man bounced down the stairs leading from the reception area and called my name. I stood, taking my bags, breathing heavily, and walked towards him. Concern spread across his face. “Are you alright, Mrs Miller?”

“A slight asthma attack, that’s all, I didn’t bring my inhaler. I just hope I can manage it up those stairs without it getting worse. Unless you have a downstairs office we could use?”

Mr Gordon glanced expectantly at Barbara, who was issuing me a filthy glare. “Mrs Delaney isn’t in today, I’m sure we could talk in her office. Have you got the keys, Barbara?”

My plan worked, because now I was in Sophie’s office. Mr Gordon took Sophie’s chair, and I sat on the other side of the desk. It was a pleasant room, the sun flooding through the huge, frosted window cast a brightness over the feminine touches Sophie had instilled in the room. Thriving plants were dotted around, framed certificates on the walls, a neat and tidy desk, a large photo of a man who I presumed must be Darren.

He started the conversation, and after a few questions he began to write notes on an A4 pad with a fountain pen. Then he asked me why I thought I had grounds for a divorce, so I explained that we’d been apart for years, and a divorce had never seemed necessary.

Still jotting notes, Mr Gordon asked how long we’d been separated, and when I took a guess at ten years he chuckled, stating that the courts would have no problem with granting a divorce. But I pointed out that I had no idea where Kev was nowadays, and his optimistic grin briefly lessened a little.

This was all taking too long, so I decided to start the next part of my plan: the wheezing started up again. Once more his expression turned to concern, and I asked if he could get me a glass of water, so he picked up the phone. Panicking, I stopped him before he could dial. “Oh no, don’t let that poor receptionist get it, she had enough trouble with me before. You pop and get it, love, save her the trouble.”

With a bemused expression, he shrugged, and left the room. I wasted no time. I delved into Sophie’s top drawer, searching for anything that would let me know more about her personal details. I swiftly slid the address book, a diary, and a repeat prescription into one of the carrier bags, and slipped back into my seat just as Mr Gordon returned.

The rest of the appointment was redundant to me, the motive I’d come for had been accomplished, but I went through the motions to avoid raising suspicion. Getting a divorce made no difference to me because I had been lying when I said I didn’t know where Kev was. Because I was the one who left his body in the skip when I disposed of him, useless piece of rubbish that he was.

I’d taken the bus from the town centre to the hospital, and now, as I was walking towards the reception area I was regretting having bought so much shopping, dragging all these cumbersome carrier bags around was tiresome. As soon as I reached the front desk, I dropped them wearily on the floor. The smiling woman asked if she could help, and I asked which room Sophie Delaney was in.

Retrieving the bags, the brief rest from carrying them having replenished me slightly, I made my way through the corridors to the ward, a nurse showed me to Sophie’s room, and I stepped in, ready to have some fun at Harry and Beryl’s detriment.

She regarded me blankly as I walked towards her bed, the overhead television chattering to itself, and I thankfully dropped the bags back down. Her expression went from indifferent to curious as I slumped into the chair by her bed. “Can I help you?” Her voice was soft, well spoken, just like her father. I wasn’t ready to speak yet, finding it odd, coming face to face with the spawn of the man I would love until the day I died.

She was beautiful, not in the conventional sense, by any means, but there was a glow about her. Obviously the bruising and scabs were still apparent, but it was something about her eyes, deep pools of brown exposing a gentle soul. Her hair was long with corkscrew curls, a golden colour, bottle blonde, I guessed, from the root growth. It was difficult to believe that this strong-featured woman could have been borne by the timid and tiny Beryl. But then again, Harry was her father, and he had been a striking man when I knew him.

She was beginning to get annoyed, quite understandably. She didn’t know me from Adam, this fat piece of scruffy trash sitting beside her when she was vulnerable and in hospital, but, and I have to be honest here, the inclination to reach out and hug her, hug the product of my Harry’s loins, it was overwhelming. It was confusing, because I was there purely to hurt her to hurt him. To hurt Beryl. What was I going to say?

Sophie reached for the control displaying the assistance button, clutching it in her hand. “Look, I think you should be in another ward, let me call the nurses to help you.”

The truth was all I could think of now, I didn’t want the staff removing me. “Sophie, I know your parents, I mean, I know Beryl.”

She visibly relaxed, a light smile replacing the frown. “Why didn’t you just say!”

My heart was thudding, her resemblance to Harry was spectacular, her expressions, her mannerisms, her tone of voice, and that should have made me hate her, but I sort of loved her, if that’s possible. Breathing was becoming a struggle, I felt claustrophobic, sweaty but cold, and I stood, flustered, ready to leave my bags, even though they held the items I’d so cleverly stolen from this woman’s desk. Then it came out. It wasn’t planned, it just tumbled out and there was nothing I could do to stop it. “Sophie, you need to know this. You haven’t lost your baby. It’s still there, I know it is.” Where the hell did that come from! I was the biggest fake tarot reader in the world and now I was believing my own crap!

Her face paled instantly, the puppy dog eyes welling with tears and I knew I’d achieved what I came in to do, to hurt her, but believe me, it wasn’t planned that way, I really did just feel an overwhelming compulsion to say those words. I was aware of my own eyes watering, the thick lenses of my unflattering glasses hiding my emotion from the world, and I wondered if I was truly evil.

She confirmed it for me. “For God’s sake, how could you say such a thing, such a cruel thing. Go away! Just go away!”

I wanted to, really I did, but the words were there and they were coming out, and I couldn’t believe I was uttering such garbage. “You are surrounded by a deep, deep red, which tells me you are nervous, anxious, and that danger and anger surround you. The edges are greying, a dirty, nasty grey, which suggests fear and insecurity. The only saving grace about you at the moment is the child you’re carrying,” Sophie’s tears were tumbling now, unstoppable, “the small flecks of orange show it’s healthy and strong.”

“You bitch. You vicious bitch. Why are you doing this to me? Just get out of here, get away from me.”

Something inside made me ignore her, I took a deep breath, and increased the volume of my voice, it seemed so imperative that Sophie heard what I had to say. “You have to get away from the dark forces that surround you, Sophie. If not for your sake, then for your unborn child’s.”

She was screaming now, hands over her ears, desperately trying to block out the words that were breaking her heart. “Get out! Get out of here!”

I grabbed my bags and hurried to the door, just as a nurse was approaching to see what the noise was about. I had no idea what had just happened, and I was as scared as Sophie, as angry as Sophie, because for once I had lost control. Something weird had just happened and I didn’t want to be part of it, I had to get away from her.

The words wouldn’t leave her head, no matter how much she tried to block them out. Such cruelty. And who was that awful woman, she said she knew her mum, but she never gave a name, so Sophie couldn’t even ask the question. Tossing and turning in the stuffy heat of the hospital room, the night seemed to last for weeks.

If only the woman was right about the baby.

Tears began to flow, so many, pooling onto the pillow, the thoughts of her lost child unbearable. What if it was true, though? Could it be true? Sophie chastised herself, certain that the consultant would never lie about something as grave as miscarriage, and, anyway, the scan had confirmed it. Eventually, in the early hours, Sophie drifted into a fitful sleep, but when the birds began singing and the sun crept over the horizon, she woke, instantly remembering the dreadful woman. And her words. It was ridiculous, but she had to know the truth. She pressed the assistance-button to call for a nurse.

“Hello Sophie, is everything alright?” Nurse Messaoud entered, wiping the toast crumbs from her chubby fingers onto her uniform.

“I know this sounds silly, but is there a possibility I could still be pregnant?”

The nurse reached for the notes at the end of the bed and flicked through, answering in her lilting Jamaican accent. “According to your notes, my love, you had a heavy bleed, and when the scanner was passed across your belly, they found no trace of pregnancy.”

Sophie, unaccustomed in life and work to appearing anything but sane, knew she could be on the brink of losing her credibility. “I want another scan.”

The process had involved much huffing and puffing, and, if it hadn’t been for their professionalism, Sophie was sure the medical team involved would have been rolling their eyes and patronising her. But her tenacity had succeeded, and she was lying on the trolley in the gynaecology department with a sonographer squeezing a cold jelly-like gel onto her abdomen. She began to move the scanner slowly over the area. She was thorough, but eventually she stopped and wiped the gel away. “I can’t see anything in the womb.”

On top of the empty grieving, Sophie felt like an idiot for even considering believing that woman and her false hope, and she slowly sat, mindful of her healing ribs, with her head dropped in embarrassment. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.” Her voice was pitiful.

The sonographer took Sophie’s notes and perused them briefly. “It says you had only just found you were pregnant when the accident happened. Do you have a rough idea of how far gone you would have been?”

“It would have been about four, maybe five, weeks. I don’t have regular periods so it’s impossible to pinpoint it.”

“Look, I’m going to try one more thing, Mrs Delaney. I want you to go and empty your bladder, then wait outside and I’ll call you.”

Ten minutes later Sophie was back on the trolley, shocked at the degradation of the internal ultrasound, but the humiliation was worth it when she heard the words she’d not expected. “There it is!” The sonographer moved the screen so that Sophie could see her fingers detailing the outline she was describing. “That, you see, between there and there. That’s a pregnancy sac, and it appears to be intact. I can’t tell this early the exact gestation date, but I can tell you that either the bleed didn’t disrupt the pregnancy, or you were carrying fraternal twins and only lost one. Congratulations, Mrs Delaney, you’re going to be a mum.”

I had no idea what had happened when I visited Sophie in hospital, I don’t think I’ve ever behaved so irrationally, and when Beryl told me at her next session that she was going to be a grandmother after all, it frightened me. Was it all a big coincidence, or could there be some truth in the tarot cards. I’d spouted all that rubbish about auras, I mean, I know I advertise myself as seeing them, to be consulted on them, but I make it all up, just saying what the client wants to hear. When I saw Sophie, I saw no colours, but the words came out as if I did. I just didn’t know what to think.