Bloody Mary

by Ricki Thomas

  Sophie dropped the receiver on the sofa beside her and strolled to the cabinet, opening the bottom door. She rooted through the photo albums, searching for the one containing the childhood photos her parents had given her when she got married. Slumping back into her seat, she flicked through the pages until she found the picture. Mum, Dad, Steve aged twelve, her aged six.

  The family likeness was unarguable. Steve was the mirror of Beryl, eyes so dark they appeared black, large pools of darkness set into their olive skin, straight hair so ebony it reflected a metallic blue in the sunshine of the summer day all those years ago. And Sophie was definitely her father’s daughter, them both sharing the paler skin, chocolate brown eyes, spiralling hair, a chestnut tinged with auburn highlights, the highlights she detested so much she had her hair coloured blonde quarterly. A handsome family with no room for intruders. Mary Miller was clearly a nutcase.

  Sophie picked up the phone book and found the number of the police Station.

  Chapter 8

  Lucky for Some?

  PC Taylor was at his desk, filling out the tedious paperwork that took up so much of his time, an arduous task which hindered him from doing the job he’d applied for: policing the streets, reducing crime. The name echoed through his psyche, standing out from nowhere, and he stared at his colleague who sat at the desk beside the door. “Leon!” He’d begun walking swiftly towards the desk. “Leon!”

  Kanhai waved his hand, pointing to the phone in the other, and mouthed ‘on the phone’, but Taylor was insistent. “Mrs Delaney, could you just hold on a minute, please.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece to mute his speech. “What’s up, mate?”

  “Is that Sophie Delaney?”

  “Yes.”

  This was the moment Taylor had been waiting for. Although she had broken his heart with her news the night before, although he’d picked up a cute brunette at the pub in a vain attempt to eradicate Sophie from his mind, he still couldn’t lose his crazed preoccupation with her. “If you have to go out and see her, I want to come with you, okay?”

  Kenhai smiled in affirmation and returned to his call. “Sorry about that, Mrs Delaney. Where were we?”

  Darren was still asleep when the patrol car crunched along the driveway, parking behind Sophie’s Fiesta. She had been watching through the window since the call, waiting for them to arrive, and a sense of relief flooded her when she saw Taylor: at least she would be voicing her weird tale to somebody familiar. Having let them in and offered them a welcome mug of tea, they followed her into the kitchen while she prepared the beverages.

  As the kettle slowly bubbled to the boil they went through Mrs Miller’s details, her description, address, the odd altercations leading to the latest where Sophie admitted to reversing into her. Although listening with the same intrigue as Kenhai, who was noting the details in his pocket book, Taylor was studying the woman before him intensely, the animated way she moved, the way her eyes shone with her expressions, huge pools of velvet, the colour gloriously deep, yet with a sorrowful quality, the long lashes framing them giving her an air of vulnerability. He adored the way her golden curls glistened in the glow from the fluorescent strip-light, with a tiny growth of roots that belied her true colouring. She was so beautiful, he just wanted to hold her, tenderly protect her, love her.

  “Have you spoken to your mother about this woman’s claims?”

  Kenhai and Taylor followed Sophie, each with a steaming mug in their hands, into the living room, and they all sat: Sophie in her usual place, legs curled innocently beneath her, Kenhai and Taylor on the second sofa. “Why would I? I mean, they’re just the words of a crazy woman.”

  “Okay. Would you mind if we had a word with your mother?”

  Sophie’s reaction was fierce, albeit polite. “Yes, I would. That woman is already trying to destroy my life with her weird auras and spooky predictions, I certainly don’t want my Mum being upset by her too.”

  The sound of footsteps on the stairs had Kanhai and Taylor sharing a snatched glance. Darren came through the door and stood, head cocked to one side. He glared at Sophie. “What are they doing here?”

  “I’ll tell you all about what’s been happening later, after they’ve gone.” Sophie was reassured by the police presence, comfortable that he wouldn’t be able to lay a finger on her whilst they were in the room.

  Darren stormed through, grabbing his jacket from the coat rack by the front door. “Well, seeing as you seem to have more time for the pigs than for getting my dinner, nowadays, I’m going to the pub. Don’t put yourself out by cooking, will you, I’ll get something from the bar.” His sarcasm was still reverberating through the room as the front door slammed and his footsteps diminished along the gravel driveway.

  Sophie felt humiliated. “I’m really sorry about that, I guess he’s had a bad day at work.”

  Taylor knew the question was unethical, and Kanhai’s jaw fell, shocked, as his colleague spoke. “You know, Sophie, if he ever hurts you, or is going to hurt you, dial nine nine nine. I had your number listed as a priority.”

  Sophie swallowed hard, averting her eyes until she’d gathered the strength to lie whilst maintaining eye contact. “Darren does not hurt me. He never has, he never will. He’s not that kind of person, and I would appreciate that you stop insinuating he is. I insist that my number is taken off priority, or whatever you call it!”

  Her firm tone chastised both men, and Kanhai stood, tucking his pad back into the chest pocket of his uniform. “Right, Mrs Delaney. I think we have enough details to go on here. We’ll pop round and see Mrs Miller now, ask her to leave you alone, tell her we’ll bring forward a case of harassment if she doesn’t. Is that okay with you.”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  The first I knew about Sophie involving the police was when the two handsome young men turned up on my doorstep. I quickly cleared piles of wool, clothes, newspapers, magazines, puzzle books, and more, to make a small space each for the officers to sit. They’d already both politely declined a cup of tea, as most people who visited me tended to, I guessed the fact I led a cluttered lifestyle led everyone to believe I was dirty. Maybe I was. It was Kanhai who was doing the talking, leaving Taylor to scrutinise me, and what he considered to be my laughable claims.

  I gave them my date of birth and saw the disbelieving glance between them. Hell, I know I’ve not kept very well, I’ve never been able to afford any fancy creams and I always cut my hair myself, but I was only forty six at the time. Sadly I knew I looked nearer sixty. As Kanhai reluctantly scribbled my details down, the pair of them still shared the joke between them and I became acutely self-conscious. Yes, I’d let my hair go grey, yes, it was lightly thinning at the top, and I knew the thick rimmed glasses with equally thick lenses made my blue-grey eyes seem tiny. And, fine, I was overweight and exercise wasn’t a hobby. The sensation in my abdomen was as if my insides were scrunching up, twisting, churning as the smirks they tried to cover swamped my painfully delicate ego. I touched the skin on my face, carved with deep wrinkles, and I knew the errant rosacea scattered across my nose, cheeks, and chin was unattractive. Taylor, who was clearly besotted with Sophie, the tender way he spoke of her made that obvious, must have been certain a creature as effortlessly beautiful as Sophie Delaney could not possibly have such a heritage.

  Eventually the blushing subsided and my concentration returned to hear Kenhai stressing that I would be charged with harassment if I didn’t leave Sophie alone. I still insisted doggedly that Sophie was my child. I persisted relentlessly, repeating my story, the details standing firm: I’d had an affair with a married man, found myself pregnant at fourteen, had twins at fifteen, a boy I named Andrew and a girl I’d named Anna, and that the babies had gone straight for adoption against my wishes, due to my age. Having searched for both children for thirty one years, I finally tracked Sophie down. Harold and Beryl had obviously renamed her using her middle name, Sophia. The boy still remained unfound.

  As they closed the doo
r behind them, statements taken, warnings issued, Kenhai rolled his eyes mockingly. “Mad as a hatter!” I heard them. It wasn’t something I’d not heard before, but that didn’t stop it hurting.

  I was furious that Sophie had gone to the police, put me in such an embarrassing position, I waited at the window until I saw the officers get into their car and pull away. Alone, as always, with nothing to do other than think, I paced around the flat, trying to work out what to do next. If I saw Sophie again I would be arrested. But she was my daughter, the precious baby I’d been searching for. And what made it worse was that, not only did Beryl have the man I wanted, she also had my child. She’d had the benefit of seeing my baby grow from a little chubby newborn to the stunning creature she was now. Destroy her? I’d wanted to hurt her before, maybe emotionally, probably not physically, but now? Now, I detested her with such a passion for the life she’d stolen from me, I was capable of anything.

  It had reached ten o’clock and Darren hadn’t shown any signs of returning from the local. Sophie had briefly considered taking a stroll down to meet him, but the idea of sitting with a bunch of boring, old, drunken men whilst she sipped soda water seemed intensely unappealing. Having to eat for the baby’s sake, as opposed to hunger, had led to her preparing cheese and crackers, adding an apple for fibre, but it only served to disrupt the tediousness of the evening for a short interlude.

  Sophie was pleased she’d chosen to call the police rather than her parents, but still the issues of the afternoon continued to burn in her mind. By quarter past ten, having switched the television off, she debated going to bed, but with her thoughts whirring so insistently she knew sleep wouldn’t come easily. The only solution she could come up with had been the brandy again. She knew she shouldn’t, all the pregnancy books advised against alcohol, but she needed something to turn her off button.

  The problem with having a couple of drinks was losing her inhibitions, and, although she guessed calling her parents late at night wouldn’t be appreciated, she still chose to do so. “Mum? It’s Sophie.”

  The response was curt. “Have you left Darren?”

  “Mum, don’t do this, please. Of course I haven’t.”

  “Then there’s nothing more to say. Goodbye.”

  She was going to have to come straight to the point, and quickly. “Mum, don’t go, this is important.” She heard the heavy sigh, and could picture her mother’s uptight expression, raised eyes and pinch-lipped, but she dismissed the image, swigging a large gulp, and grimacing. Sophie launched into her attack. “Did you give birth to me?”

  Beryl took a sharp intake of breath, stunned. “Of, of, oh, for heaven’s sake, of course I did! What a silly question.”

  “Why have I never seen my birth certificate?” She’d never questioned Beryl’s insistence to organise her passport, or her offer to take the certificate to the registry office to save her time before she married Darren.

  “I’ve got it in safe keeping here, you’re welcome to see it any time you like. Now, have you finished with this ridiculous conversation?” Beryl’s tone had become defensive, bordering on angry.

  “No. Have you ever heard of a woman named Mrs Miller?”

  “No, I have not, young lady! I can see what’s happening here, you’re drunk, Sophie Delaney. You never used to drink too much before you met that man, and it’s about time you thought about your baby instead of your unbelievable concocted notions!”

  Sophie reeled as she heard the slam, then the dial tone, realising her mother had put the phone down on her. She thrust the receiver back into its cradle, swearing, and refilled the glass, no longer caring if Darren would be able to smell it on her breath. Not that it would make any difference if he could: they never got that close any more, anyway.

  Shoving the photograph album containing the picture of the once-happy family roughly into the cabinet, Sophie took her glass and stomped up the stairs. Lying in the bed, wrapped in fleecy pyjamas and her dressing gown for extra warmth, she realised she’d had as much as she could take with everything that was going on. When Darren got home she resolved to ask if they could move abroad straight away. She was certain Maureen and Bob wouldn’t mind putting them up until they got back on their feet.

  They had gone to bed, but Beryl’s constant sighing, her tossing and turning, was keeping Harold awake. He’d tried to coax out of her who had been on the phone, but she wouldn’t tell him. He was a calm man, rarely losing his temper, but he had work in the morning, and it was already two o’clock. Eventually he broke. “For heaven’s sake, Beryl! Either tell me what’s upset you, or go to bloody sleep.”

  She threw herself over until her back was facing him, and this only served to annoy him more. “Beryl, I’ve had enough of this! If you don’t tell me I’m going to bring up the number on the phone and call them myself.”

  She sat up, her voice also raised. “If you insist. She knows.”

  Exasperated, he also sat. “Who, for god’s sake! Who knows what?”

  In all their married life, Harold had never heard Beryl shout, and it shocked him. “Sophie. She knows we adopted her.”

  Harold, stunned, slumped back against the headboard, and for minutes that seemed like hours, the silence in the room was deafening. Eventually he managed to speak, calm now, upset. “How?”

  “I’m going to get a nightcap, do you want one?” She was out of bed, shrugging on her dressing gown. He nodded, if there was ever a time to have a drink, this was it.

  She was back soon, a little more composed, and she handed him the fine crystal containing a large measure of port. They both sipped, neither knowing what to say, where to take the conversation. Now they had both soaked in the unexpected revelation, the discussion could be held without anger, and Harold took his wife’s hand. “Was that Sophie on the phone then?”

  “Yes. I don’t know how she knows, but she mentioned a Mrs Miller. Do you have any idea who that could be?”

  Always a man to think before speaking, he shook his head a while later. “No.”

  “Then the only thing I can think of is that our Steve told her. Apart from us, he’s the only other person who knows.”

  Harold gasped. “No! Steve would never do that.”

  She held her hands up in frustration and once more her voice rose. “Harold! Steve is the only other person who knows. It can’t be anyone else!”

  Harold snatched the phone from its cradle, dialling fiercely. “Then I’ll ask him.” The early hour of the morning didn’t stop Steve from answering, and he was a shocked as his parents at the news. The secret they’d held from Sophie for her entire life was out, and now all three people had no idea how to deal with it.

  It all happened frighteningly quickly. Darren had managed to stagger home from the White Horse just before midnight, reeking of stale cigarettes and beer, but regardless of his drunken state, Sophie had still put the question to him. He’d completely forgotten during the course of the evening that he had left her in the company of two policemen, which had worked out well because it had meant less of her time explaining, leaving more time for the exciting plans.

  Until the next morning. The alarm buzzed at seven, and Darren pulled the pillow over his head, groaning deeply. Sophie stepped from the bed, donning the dressing-gown she’d discarded once Darren had finally clambered into bed. “Do you want a cup of tea?” Sophie’s own head didn’t feel too wonderful, and she felt guilty that she’d succumbed to the brandy the night before.

  “I want some more sleep, that’s what I want. I think I’m going to pull a sickie today, I feel like shit.” His voice was muffled, and Sophie moved the pillow aside, her face full of consternation.

  “Darren! You said you were going to take today off anyway. Don’t you remember what we talked about last night?”

  Darren pulled himself up onto his elbows, brow furrowed, searching for some kind of recollection, but the previous evening was a blank. He threw himself back on the bed. “No. Remind me.”

  “You were goi
ng to speak to your parents about us moving to Mallorca at the same time as them. Ask if they’d mind putting us up until we got ourselves sorted out.” Sophie had sat on the bed beside him.

  Once more, Darren pulled himself up, further this time. “I remember now, the police were here. Why were the police here?”

  “That’s why I have to get away from this place, Darren, that weird woman I told you about, Mrs Miller, she’s stalking me. She won’t stop hassling me, follows me wherever I go, keeps turning up at work. And to top it all off, yesterday she said she was my mother.”

  Darren couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “You what! Crazy bitch! That’s insane.”

  Sophie gulped roughly, her mouth dry. “Darren, she’s beginning to scare me. I just want to get away from here, away from work, away from my parents and Steve. I want to get away from everything, bring this baby up with no problems or drama. Please try and persuade your parents. If they say yes I’ll hand my notice in straight away.”

  “What about this place? You don’t have a buyer yet.” Now clear, Darren’s mind was whirring, tossing the situation to and fro.

  “The estate agent can show people around, it’ll sell one day, even if we have to reduce the price even more. Or we could even leave the furniture and rent it out, I don’t know. I don’t care. Please Darren.”

  “Okay, I’ll have a think today, call my Mam. Now get your arse downstairs and get me that mug of tea, woman!” Sophie laughed with relief, cheerfully trotting down the stairs.

  Chapter 9

  Lucky for Some?