by Ricki Thomas
He repeated himself before slamming himself in the bathroom. “She’s a piss-head and you know it, and now she’s making my son a piss-head too.”
The charged atmosphere in the open plan flat immediately softened with Darren’s departure, Harry put his hand on Sophie’s arm. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” She nodded without a smile. “Is he always like that towards you?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes. Sometimes he just doesn’t bother to even speak to me. Depends on what he’s had to drink, really.”
Harry sighed deeply, working out where he was going in the conversation from there. “Look, why don’t you just leave him?”
Sophie put her finger to her lips, pointed at the bathroom door, and tapped her ears, enough indication for Harry to know that Darren could hear, and the discussion would have to stop for now. I began to dish the rice onto the three plates I’d laid out, and called them to the breakfast bar. “Enough for now, we’ve a few days to talk. In private. Let’s eat.”
Finally, after spending more time than he usually did to get himself ready, Darren left, his scorn and viciousness following him, and the three people, parents and child, all sagged with relief. We were seated around the coffee table, Harry beside me, Sophie on the other sofa. Sophie opened the carton of red wine she’d brought through earlier from the kitchen and poured us a glass each, handing them across. “Mary, I’ve been doing some thinking the past few hours, and I realise I’ve treated you really badly.” The words were grating her, but they needed saying. “For that I apologise. I can accept now that you did give birth to me, although I have to admit it’s hard. But if you’re making Dad happy, and if my Mum got to know you as Dad tells me, and accepted you, then I would be selfish to,” she swallowed hard, “keep being mean.”
I could see how difficult it had been for Sophie to utter the words I cherished hearing, and I leant across the table, taking my daughter’s hand. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
Diplomatically Sophie withdrew her hand and addressed her father. “I am leaving him, Dad. I’ve had enough now. You know, I swore I would never get a divorce, but he treats me so badly, he’s got zero respect for me, and I don’t want the baby to grow up with that sort of influence.”
Harry’s heart leapt with joy as he heard the words he’d wanted to hear for so long. “Thank the Lord, I’m so pleased you’ve finally seen him for what he really is. Are you coming back to England? I’m retired now, we could help out with the baby, that sort of thing.” I nodded enthusiastically.
But Sophie shook her head. “I can’t, all the proceeds from Iris Cottage have gone into this place, I’d be going back with nothing until the apartment sold, and even then Darren might not agree to selling it, he loves this place. No, I’ll get some kind of a job, get some childcare, and work enough to pay the bills.”
“But you’ll be totally alone here, you’ll have no support at all!”
“I’ll get by, Dad, I always do.”
“Sophie, I implore you, please come back with us.”
She chuckled, indicating her bulging bump. “I can’t do that! You can’t fly this late in pregnancy, it’s dangerous!”
At this point I had to jump in. “Sophie, I know how unhappy you are, I can tell. Please don’t stay here on your own. Please come back with us, a home where you can be in comfort. Please.”
Sophie laughed at Harry’s shocked reaction, before concluding the conversation. “Thanks for the offer, and I know you seem to want the best for me. But I’m staying. Much as I’ve grown to dislike my husband, my child still needs a father in its life, it wouldn’t be fair on Darren or the baby to move back.”
The following morning Darren had already left for work when Sophie appeared from the bedroom. Both mine and Harry’s jaws dropped as we saw the state of her. Two swollen eyes, surrounded by black and blue tinges, bruises littering her arms and wrists, a sore, reddened cheek, her nightdress torn at the top, and scratches about her neck. “Dad. Please take me away from here, I can’t do this any more.”
Harry tried airline after airline trying to find one that would agree to agree to fly Sophie in her late stage of pregnancy, but they were all tied by their rules and regulations. One slightly more lenient company suggested she fly with a gynaecologist and midwife, services that would have to be paid for privately as no insurance company would consider covering the trip, and the cost would be extortionate. However, the extremely helpful, and sympathetic, lady who suggested the arrangement also questioned why Sophie hadn’t contacted la guardia about the beating she’d taken, a question Harry wasn’t able to answer.
Meanwhile, Sophie and I, an uncommon alliance growing between us now that Sophie had realised how desperately she needed any friendship she was offered, ambled to the precinct, stopping at three estate agents to assess the approximate value of the apartment should Darren agree to selling it.
We arrived back to find Harry contentedly reading the free daily newspaper, he tugged his glasses to the end of his nose and smiled. “I can’t find anyone who will fly you, but I’ve got the perfect solution. One of the people I spoke with suggested you report him to the police. They have a zero-tolerance on domestic violence here, apparently, and with injuries like yours they’ll deport him straight away. You can have the baby here, we can stay on a bit longer and…” He stopped mid sentence, realising Sophie had stopped listening.
She stepped into the kitchen, taking the half-full bottle of whisky Darren had started after he’d arrived home the night before, and poured a glassful, and both Harry and I grimaced as we watched, concerned. She took a sip as she waddled, her heavy bump tugging at her spine, to the sofa and sat. I joined her. “I can’t do that, Dad. I’d rather just go and stay at a hotel or something until the baby’s born, then fly back. At least that way he won’t know where I am so he can’t hurt me again.”
It was ridiculous, the way she wanted to continue putting up with him, and I was irritated. “But Sophie, can’t you see that what he’s doing is wrong, he deserves to be punished, otherwise he’ll keep doing it.”
Harry hushed me, patting her knee, patronising, not that he meant it that way. “I know what you’re saying, dear, but at least Sophie is willing to move away to safety, and that’s more than she’s ever done before. I agree with you that he shouldn’t get away with treating Sophie so horrendously, but it’s her decision in the end.” He stood up, grasped the paper he’d recently laid on the table, and strode purposefully to the phone in the kitchen. “I’ll find us somewhere to stay. Mary, go and help Sophie pack everything she’s going to need.”
Sophie had been mindful of the time as she hurriedly filled her suitcases with equipment for the baby, as many clothes as she could squeeze in, her hair care products, cosmetics, personal effects, hoping Darren would do a full day at work. It was nearing four when the three of us were ready to leave, and, after dialling for a large taxi, we took the suitcases down in the lift to wait outside.
When the seven-seated people carrier arrived, Harry held the door open for both of us, gentleman that he was, and then assisted the driver with loading the cases. He’d tried a couple of hotels initially, but, noticing a private advert for a short term let on a villa in the nearby inland village of El Vilar, he’d called and arranged to rent for a period of four weeks. It seemed to be the best solution, it was cheaper, with better privacy, and more freedom.
We arrived in good spirits, the agent who’d arranged the rental, a neighbour and friend of the owner who only came to Mallorca for the winter months, met us on the roadside to exchange the key for payment. From the outside the villa was stunning, decorated a warm, shrimp pink, the gardens neatly tended, a small pool for the warmer days, but inside was even more luxurious. It contained three bedrooms, each breezy, spacious and decorated in cool white. There was an en-suite in the largest room, which Harry generously allocated to Sophie due to her condition. The large kitchen, fitted with traditional, glossy, cream coloured Spanish cabinets, was separated from the livi
ng room by an elaborate breakfast bar, ending with a round table. Steps outside the back door led to a roof terrace from which the striking surroundings could be viewed, ideal for a glass of wine in the evenings on the quality patio furniture. We were delighted, and Sophie, for the first time in months, felt once more that she was in paradise.
It didn’t take us long to settle in, unpack our cases, personalise our rooms, and we decided that after their showers, we’d Harry dress up a bit and take a stroll into the village to find a comfortable restaurant to eat in.
Darren was surprised, but pleased, to find nobody in the apartment when he arrived home from work. As was his custom, he poured his first drink of the day, he didn’t consider the beer he always had at lunchtimes with his parents a drink, more a refreshment, and today his poison was the whisky. He could see Sophie had had some during the day, but it didn’t concern him, just helped with his plan. Leisurely, enjoying the quiet, and not being nagged or whined at, he took his shower, and spruced himself up ready to head for Blakes Bar.
Meeting up with Vicki, as usual, they had a few drinks, before heading back to her tiny flat in the Montaña Vista Apartments to continue drinking but with sex sessions too. Not wanting to see Sophie or her dreadful relations he stayed for longer after they were both satiated, the drinking continuing as they lay languidly in her bed. So it wasn’t until two in the morning on returning home that he discovered Sophie still wasn’t there, and it dawned on him that she must have left him. He was furious, throwing crockery, smashing the contents of the fridge over the floor, punching furniture. How dare she leave!
After the violent outburst had dispelled his childish rage, Darren dialled his parents, suspecting they’d still be awake due to Peggy and Bry’s second visit of the year, and he was right. He explained what had happened, but his mother’s voice pacified him instantly. “Don’t worry, baby. It’s my insurance company who arranged her maternity care, remember, so we’ll be able to trace her through the hospital.”
Agitated once more, his mind working overtime. “What if she’s flown back to the UK?”
Her relaxed laughter calmed him once more. “She can’t go anywhere, baby, her passport’s in our safe. I’ll call the hospital in the morning and have note put on her records to contact us when she goes into labour, everything will be fine.”
Harry had contacted the travel agents he’d arranged the flights through, and had, for a small fee, cancelled the return flights in view of re-booking them when a definite date was decided, and the woman, having had the situation explained to her, was tenaciously helpful. We spent the rest of the day relaxing in the serene gardens, the temperature neither too cool, nor too hot, and a parasol attached to the wooden slatted garden table afforded Sophie the additional shade she needed.
As the sun progressed westerly over the garden, and the breeze rose, I stepped inside, an early trip to the nearest supermarche in the morning having provided some food, and began to prepare a light meal. Sophie and her father remained outside, chatting leisurely about the past few months, and what had been occurring in their lives. It was nearly six o’clock when Sophie felt the tightening, and suspected her labour may be starting.
Harry, excitable yet nervous, ran inside to get me, and I approached Sophie with the calmness only one who had experienced labour personally could muster. I laid a hand on Sophie’s belly when informed another twinge was growing. “Is it uncomfortable?”
Sophie shook her head, her own hand feeling the tightening in her belly. “No, not at all, just sort of, well, painless muscle spasms.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s just Braxton Hicks contractions, nothing to worry about.”
Harry and Sophie were confused, so I elaborated. “In the weeks before the birth, the body, how can I explain this, well, they’re like practice contractions. It’s the body getting itself ready. We’ll just keep an eye on things. Anyway, dinner’s just about ready, so do you want to come in now, we’ll have a bite to eat, then we can make sure you’ve got everything you need for your hospital bag.”
Darren had arranged to see his parents in the evening, and now that Sophie was off the scene, he brought Vicki, much to their surprise. Maureen, having hoped she was roping her baby back close to her chest where he belonged, was irritated that another woman had sprung up so quickly after Sophie’s departure.
Bob felt differently, he was proud that his son had successfully run two relationships parallel to each other, and patted him manfully on the back. “Pretty one there, son.”
Darren winked. “I know, she’s a stunner. And she swears like a trooper, and my God, you should hear her belch, she could win gold in the Olympics with her burps!” They all laughed, and Vicki, reserved at first, realised she’d found a home from home.
Bob strolled outside to light the barbecue while Bry ensured everybody had a drink, and knew the whereabouts of the different types of alcohol if their glasses needed replenishing. Vicki finished her beer and replaced it from the fridge. “Do you want any help in here?”
Peggy was chopping vegetables for the salad, Maureen placing raw beefburgers, sausages, kebabs and chicken pieces on a tray. She pointed to another tray, laden with sauces and dips. “Just take that outside, love, then make yourself comfortable and have a few drinks while you relax.”
The evening was a fun-filled occasion, copious amounts of alcohol relaxed the party-goers, loosening their tongues and their senses of humour, the gorgeous spread was eaten with gusto as the final rays of sun cast the darkening sky with orange and red hues, a spectacular sight, which drew many comments. Once the colours had faded to a deep, almost black, shade of blue, the bright stars twinkling in contrast, they retreated to the comparative warmth of the balcony which led from the living room, lighting bug repellent candles, and opening further bottles of fine wine. Peggy gasped as she noticed a firework display commence in the distance, the villa fairly high up with panoramic views of the valley below. Bob laughed at her delight. “We get those several times a week here! Those Spaniards, they’ll have fireworks to celebrate the opening of a bag!”
Inside, the phone began to ring, and glancing first at Bob, then Darren, Maureen moved to answer it.” One hand waving, she beckoned them in. A hand over the receiver to mute her whisper, she pointed to it with the other hand, orange nails emphasising her smooth skin. “It’s Harold.” Uncovering the mouthpiece. “Yes, we have it here for safe-keeping, and no, you can’t pick it up tomorrow. Do you think we’re stupid enough to give it back and have you take her back to England so we can’t see our grandson!” She slammed the phone down with disgust and proceeded back to the party to relate the phone call in detail.
Vicki, inhibitions laid to rest from the excess alcohol, could feel irritation rearing. Why were they all so desperate to keep his dumb wife here, things would be so much easier for her and Darren if she’d just disappear, and she said as much to Darren when they had a moment alone, having both needed to go inside for the toilet. “It’s not her we want, it’s my son. If she goes back I might never see him again.”
She was bristling, wanting to say ‘so what’ but recognised that wouldn’t be a good idea. She was only twenty-one, had a fantastic life of sun, sea, alcohol, and partying ahead of her, and the last thing she wanted was to be tied down with somebody else’s brat. She had to find a way of getting rid of Sophie for good, and ensuring she took her kid with her. Darren would realise in time that it was for the best, and, anyway, she could have his baby one day if he wanted children that badly. She knew his parents were keeping Sophie’s passport, and she knew it was in their safe. But where was the safe? And where were the keys?
Outside, she began to fish for clues, taking advantage of the group’s inebriation and her own formidable tolerance to alcohol, having been a heavy drinker since she was fourteen. Over the next hour she managed to glean that the safe was set in concrete into the floor beneath Maureen and Bob’s built-in wardrobe, hidden by a wooden panel, but asking where the kept the key would be too
obvious. The only solution would be to get friendly enough with Maureen to warrant spending time with her, and working from there.
“So, Peggy, Bry, how long are you here for?” Vicki had to ensure they were gone before she put her plan into action.
“We’re flying home the day after tomorrow, more’s the pity!” Peggy had been trying to persuade Bry to sell up and move to Mallorca to join their friends, but he wasn’t keen.
Quickly deducing Sophie would still have two weeks before the baby was due once she could get Maureen alone, she relaxed in the knowledge that there was time enough yet. She arranged to visit Darren’s mother three days later, suggesting a girlie trip to the market on her day off from waitressing.
Harry was pacing the room, his mood throwing a dampener on the contentment that Sophie and I had experienced since moving away from the Montaña Vista Apartments. Maureen’s refusal to hand back Sophie’s passport was downright corrupt, and caused us two large problems: she would need to present her passport at the hospital when she went in to labour; and she couldn’t fly home without it. But not knowing the Spanish legal system, he was unsure how to proceed with the matter, and Sophie, having blinkered herself to concentrate only on her unborn child the past few months, wasn’t any help. He considered the British Embassy, but ruled them out for now, and also debated contacting la guardia, but hadn’t Maureen mentioned Sophie was an illegal immigrant? He didn’t want to create any further problems.
The birthing bag was fully packed, enough clothes for mother and baby for a couple of days, should the birth run into complications. Nursing pads, heavy duty sanitary towels, a couple of books, necessary numbers: I had been a wealth of information to Sophie who hadn’t even considered such items, not having experienced birth before.