Bloody Mary (9 page)

For the first time in thirty years, I had dug out the only photo of Anna and Andrew that I possessed. I’d framed it and displayed it beside the kettle in the kitchen. I had to, I had to remember why I was trying to hurt this family, and this was the only way: a visual reminder. But the horror of that day stayed with me, and when Hodgekinson, Neville and Barton rang me to say that Sophie was returning to work and did I still want to see her, I said no. It was the same story with the divorce, I told them I didn’t want to go through with it any more.

Likewise, even though I had read both Sophie’s diary and address book from cover to cover, any thoughts of using the details to my advantage were hastily quelled. I still did the ‘readings’ for Beryl, although that had dropped to every two weeks now, and I do believe that she kind of considered me as a friend, in a way. She was always open about what was happening in her life. I still wanted to punish her for my lifelong pain, but couldn’t bring myself to do anything about it. In short, I was scared about the intensity I’d felt in Sophie’s presence.

The weeks turned into months, and it was October before I felt strong enough to put the visit with Sophie to one side, relegate it to a mere coincidence, and remember that I had a plan I wanted to carry out.

Darren was ecstatic at the prospect of becoming a father, his parents delighted, and boastful, convinced they were going to have a grandson. Sophie had decided not to tell Darren that there was a possibility she may have lost a baby, it wasn’t important any more, not now she was still carrying a child, one way or the other. My visit to the hospital had been relegated to the back of her mind, she was just thrilled at the impending prospect of becoming a mother.

Darren hadn’t laid a finger on her since he’d discovered she was carrying his heir, he worshipped her body, treating her like a precious jewel, the vessel that was bringing the fruit of his loins into the world.

There hadn’t been a decision to move abroad, it had just become an accepted fact. Darren and his parents had devised their plan, and, knowing she was going to put her career on hold for a few years to be a stay-at-home mum, Mallorca or England didn’t seem to make too much difference, not now her parents refused to speak to her. With just a month to go before Maureen and Bob were due to move abroad for good, the promise of a holiday to stay with them, a chance to survey the area and house prices, Sophie had been eager enough to drop the price of her house, and there was a renewed interest. For the first time in ages it seemed as if life was perfect.

With everything that was going on in her personal life, Sophie had lost her enthusiasm with her job. She continued to provide a competent service, but her heart lay somewhere else now. The day at work had been lengthy and tedious, and Sophie was grateful to be home at last.

Stepping through the front door the welcome heat hit her, along with a delicious aroma, and Darren called her into the kitchen. She dropped her bags onto the sofa, hung her coat on the hook, and strolled through. “I’ve made us some minestrone soup, thought it might warm us through now it’s getting colder.” Sophie pecked him lightly on the cheek, surprised: she’d never known him to cook before, in fact she wasn’t even aware he knew how.

He busied himself, slicing fresh crusty bread onto a tray, buttering it, retrieving bowls from the cupboard, dishing out the chunky, steaming liquid. “Is there anything I can do?” She asked, bemused.

“Just go and sit yourself down in the dining room, I’ll bring these through in a minute.”

She followed his orders, ambling through to the rarely used room, and was astonished to see the normally bare beech table draped with their best tablecloth, cutlery set, an open bottle of Chianti and two burning candles in the centre. She sat, dubiously, by the drawn curtains of the bay window. “Have I forgotten an important date, or something?”

Darren chuckled as he strode through carrying plates holding the bowls of delightful smelling, homemade soup, setting them on the table. “No, I just thought I’d treat you, Soph. Eat up, it’s full of fresh ingredients that’ll be good for my boy in there! I’ll just go and fetch the bread.”

Staring at the broth, the rice and chopped vegetables tempting her taste-buds, it occurred to her that maybe she’d died and gone to heaven. Darren cooking? That was amazing in itself, but going to all this trouble, it was such a romantic gesture. She resolved that after they’d eaten she’d pamper herself in the bath, dress up in an alluring nightdress, make herself beautiful for him.

But later, snuggling up closely on the sofa, hair fresh, perfume subtle, Sophie knew she wasn’t going to be able to make love to him once they went to the bedroom: her heart just wasn’t in it. Maybe it was her hormones; maybe this happened to all pregnant women. Once the lights were out, she gently rejected his advances, claiming tiredness as an excuse, and hoped this phase wouldn’t go on for too long. They fell asleep quickly: the Chianti had relaxed her, being the first alcohol she’d tasted since discovering the pregnancy; Darren had followed his wine with a few brandies, which always left him drowsy.

As they slept, backs to each other, with the warm winter duvet tucked closely around their shoulders to ward off the chilly night, a storm began to rage outside the cottage. A bead of sweat formed on Sophie’s brow, rapidly followed by more, and, still deeply unconscious to the world, she threw off the covers, arms thrashing back onto the pillow in her quest to cool down. It was her urgent murmuring that woke Darren, he rolled over to face her, concerned. “Soph?” He shook her shoulders as another belt of thunder boomed overhead.

Unable to rouse her, Darren sat, he leant over Sophie with his hands on her shoulders, and gently shook her, trying to wake her, but her thrashing and muttering continued. “Soph, you’re having a nightmare, wake up.”

Without warning her hand lashed out and struck him painfully on the cheekbone, he recoiled, stunned. This time her words rang clear. “You bastard, Darren! You killed my baby.” Instantly her body was calm again, a weak hand returning the covers to her shoulders as her breathing subsided to a gentle purr. Astounded, and unsure what to make of her bizarre statement, Darren noiselessly crept from the bed, donned his dressing-gown and slippers, and tiptoed down the stairs. He needed a stiff drink.

Darren had a day off, he was meeting up with his parents, mid-way between their two houses, for a meal at lunchtime, the plan being to go over all the arrangements and documents he and Sophie needed to move to Mallorca. He lay in bed, awake, as she got herself ready for work. She was ready to go, but, on a whim, decided to prepare him a mug of tea before she left, bringing it up to him. “Are you awake, Darren?”

As she entered the room, she saw him sitting against the pillows and her smile waned. “Your face looks sore, it’s all red on one side.”

Darren took the mug of tea gratefully. “Is it? I guess I must have been lying on that side.” Sophie reached forward and gave him a brushing kiss on the lips. “What time do you think you’ll be home today? You were quite late yesterday.”

Sophie winked mischievously. “Why? You planning to cook for me again!”

“Sure, I will if you want!”

She was taken aback, that wouldn’t have been his usual answer! What was wrong with him! “I, I was just kidding, Darren. I’ll be back about five today, my last client’s due at three, I’ll sort that out, do a bit of paperwork, then get myself home. Say hi to your mum and dad from me and the baby.”

Darren smiled and patted her belly. “Will do. Love you both.”

“Mmmm.” Sophie headed from the room leaving Darren confused that, for the first time ever in their relationship, she hadn’t returned his affection.

It was something Beryl had said at her previous tarot reading that had made me resolve to see Sophie again. My advice to her had consistently been to keep away from Sophie as long as she was with Darren, and it surprised me that she seemed quite willing to accept my suggestion. It certainly wasn’t causing her the pain I wanted it to. But this cold October night, she told me that her son, Steve, had gone to see Sophie, and was shocked to find that she and Darren were planning to move abroad. Without taking the time to devise a plan, I phoned Hodgekinson, Neville, and Barton and made an appointment to see her the next day.

With the weather cooling rapidly as autumn replaced summer, I’d been delighted to find a new outfit ridiculously cheap in Evans, a pair of leggings and a light summer shirt. The cold hadn’t bothered me for years, I couldn’t really afford to heat my flat to a comfortable temperature, and this had had toughened me against the chill, so while everybody else was donning coats and gloves, my new shirt teamed with an antiqued cardigan would keep me warm enough. I twirled in front of the neglected mirror, admiring the unusual sight of myself appearing relatively smart for once.

I caught the bus just in time, and as the exhaust stained inner city buildings passed slowly by, I wondered how Sophie was going to react when she saw my face again. It would be a shock, that was for sure.

Barbara recognised me as I stepped through the door, and the welcoming face she normally adorned didn’t appear. She rang Sophie’s office to tell her I’d arrived, and I took a seat while I waited for her to call me. When she finally opened her office door, a wide smile on her face, it waned, the colour paling from her skin. “You.”

“Yes, I need to see you.”

Sophie marched towards me, anger spouting from every pore, and I was surprised to find we were the same height, she’d looked taller in hospital. To my embarrassment, she was shouting, pointing at the door. “Get out of here and stay away from me. I don’t ever want to see you again. Get out now or I’ll call the police.” I noticed her hand was laid gently on her tummy, and that concerned me, so I hastily backed away and followed her instructions, but I had no intention of going home yet.

As I walked away from the offices without further ado, I was unaware that Sophie was watching my bulky body waddle away from the building, unaware that she breathed a sigh of relief.But I had prepared myself to meet with her today, and I wasn’t going to let the chance pass.

The October sun was bright, but didn’t issue any warmth, and as it began to show signs of setting, it cast a stunning orange glow across the sky, giving me something to focus on during my tiresome wait. For Sophie, balancing the tiredness of pregnancy with an intricate job, it had been a long day, her secretary, unaware of either the planned emigration or the pregnancy, had packed the appointments in a little too efficiently. I had to wait nearly three hours before I finally saw Sophie step onto the street, closing the door behind her.

Relieved the lengthy wait was over, I addressed her. “How’s the pregnancy going, Sophie? Beryl told me about it.”

Her face was filled with horror, she dropped her head down, eyes scanning the pavement as she hastened away, briskly, ignoring me as I did my utmost to keep up with her. Frustration raged inside me, and the bizarre compulsion to warn her about god knows what in hospital swamped me again. “You’ve got to listen to me, Sophie, you know I was right about everything I said. I’m only here to protect you.”

I didn’t expect her to, but she stopped abruptly and turned towards me, her face crinkled with venom. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but just leave me alone. I don’t know what you want from me and I don’t owe you anything. Just go away and leave me alone.”

I was unperturbed by the harsh words, the urge to speak to her was intense. I continued to plead. “Sophie, just come and have a coffee with me. One coffee and you won’t see me again.”

“I said get lost!”

I was begging. “Please Sophie, I’m as scared about this as you, it’s weird, but really, if you talk to me now, I’ll keep away from you after that.”

Sophie sighed with irritation. “For good?” Our eyes met, hers deeply brown, mine murky grey and hidden behind thick lenses, and I was relieved to see her resolve weakening.

“Yes.” I took Sophie’s elbow, the woollen fabric of the coat scratching my rough hand. “Yes. Now come on.”

Sophie shrugged my hand away with distaste. “I’ll have a coffee with you, and that’s it.” Reluctantly, she followed me around the corner to a small, featureless café, which sat on a one-way street running parallel to Friar Gate. We entered, and the overly warm air hit us both. I swept the cardigan from my shoulders and she unbuttoned her coat, we discarded the outerwear, and sat ourselves at a table beside the window. Sophie requested two coffees, and I, hungry now, added a tempting slice of carrot cake to the order.

The minutes passed as we sat in silence, the waitress arriving with a tray and depositing the items on the table to my grunted ‘thank you’. She left, and the vacant quiescence continued. Eventually Sophie broke the spell. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Don’t be difficult, I can always leave.”

“I don’t know, I just did.” I didn’t want to tell her about the oddly predictive tarot reading I’d done for Beryl. “Is it going well.”

I peacefully sipped my coffee, the cake still uneaten, her sarcasm rendering me silent. Sophie impatiently tapped her foot against the table leg, and it was clear she would rather be anywhere but here with me. She began to fiddle with her handbag, and I knew that if I didn’t talk soon she would just go, and I didn’t want that. “Sophie, that day in hospital…”

She softened slightly. “You put me through hell with what you said, but I suppose I wouldn’t have asked for the scan if you hadn’t said it, so I guess I’m a little grateful.”

I felt my cheeks glowing with the half compliment. “It was scary for me too, those words just had to come out, but I don’t know where they came from. How are things at home now?”

Sophie almost missed the last word, and it dawned on her through her subconscious. “Did you just say at home?” I shifted, averting my eyes and shoving a large forkful of cake into my mouth, aware I’d said one word too many. I nodded nonchalantly, trying to dispel the tension somehow. It didn’t work. “What do you know about my home life?” I forced another huge chunk of cake into my already full mouth. Sophie had had enough now. “Are you some kind of a stalker? You know nothing about my home, my family, my life!” She stood abruptly, collecting her coat and briefcase. “Just get lost, Mrs Miller, get away from me and stay out of my life. If you come near me again I’ll contact the police and have you arrested for harassment.” And with this final statement, Sophie stormed out of the cafe, putting her coat on awkwardly as she left.