Bloody Mary

by Ricki Thomas

  “No! If I’m bringing up my child, I’m not accepting handouts. I’ll get a job.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do, and I’ll make sure Steve and Alan check on you all the time, get their backsides into gear now they’re uncles!”

  For the first time in what seemed like weeks, Sophie’s laugh was genuine, and she tucked into the salad with gusto, her decision made, her new life about to start. I relaxed my shoulders gratefully, the matriarch of the table, the solver. The cuckoo in the nest.

  Later, the household quiet, the only sound the peaceful, regular deep breathing emanating from the sleeping members in the bedrooms, I crept from my soon-to-be marital bed, tiptoeing from the room, silently down the stairs, and to the bureau in the living room. I retrieved the intercepted letter I’d taken from the postman, and withdrew a writing pad and pen. My words already planned, I wrote hastily, not willing to be intercepted in my deceit myself.

  ‘Dear Carlos, thank you for your letter, I’m sorry not to have replied before. I was shocked that you haven’t had my copy of the divorce agreement as I sent it three weeks ago. If you would be so good as to provide me with a new form, I will deal with the matter as soon as I receive it. Please assure your client that I will re-send the document with immediate effect. Many thanks for your patience, Sophie Delaney.’

  I sealed the lies into the envelope, and hastily re-hid it at the back of the bureau. A quick trip to the post office in the morning would ensure it was out of harm’s way.

  Between the five of us it had only taken two days to bring Sophie and Jaimee’s belongings across Derby to the small home. Although the block of flats was run down, the inside of number thirteen on the fourth floor was now a mini palace, tastefully created with minimal furniture and the effect of space. The new carpet had been fitted by the housing association, not the best quality, but somewhere clean for Jaimee to roll about on now she was making her tentative first attempts at moving about. They’d also supplied new kitchen cabinets, a cheap yet tasteful array of teak effect, basic units with a stainless steel sink, and I had filled the gaps with white goods purchased from a British Heart Foundation charity shop, each item well kept and cleaned to gleaning.

  The bedroom, laminate flooring lovingly fitted by Steve, contained all the baby equipment, and enough pine furniture to house all their clothing, and I had found curtains for the two rooms in a separate second hand store, washing them back to new. Harry’s spare television and an economy DVD player sat in the living room in front of the sofa purchased through the classified adverts found in the local newspaper.

  Sophie, her initial tirade long forgotten, loved the work they had provided for her, she was not only grateful, but strangely excited. The past few days had seen her applying for a number of positions in the many legal offices in the area, and some quick research had supplied a list of childminders and nurseries nearby. Sophie knew she’d built herself from scratch once, and with some strength and determination, could do it again. Life seemed good.

  After the many stresses of moving home, Sophie wasn’t willing to use her new kitchen, and we decided that Harry would collect fish and chips from the take-away on the corner, highly recommended by me, for whom such a meal would once have been a treat in my penny-less days. We spread the papers containing the greasy food on our laps, Steve and Alan lounging on the floor, and switched the television on to watch the Saturday night programs together, now that Jaimee was asleep in her new, shared, bedroom for the night.

  Although my subsequent marriage after my affair with Harry had been started in the same apartment block, a two bedroom flat just large enough to house me, my husband, and our three sons, downsizing against our will when the boys left home to this one bedroom place, I couldn’t remember having heard such laughter in either abode as I had on this fun-filled evening. Everyone was in good spirits, jokes and witticisms splashed at any opportunity, and it felt as if the past eventful year was now firmly behind us. Except for two pieces of unfinished business. The divorce. And the man who was making it impossible.

  As the hours ticked away, Sophie’s brothers ebbed away, back to their own lives, and finally Harry decided that he, too, needed some sleep after the rigmarole of the day. He kissed me on the cheek at the door. “How long do you think you’ll stay with her for, I mean, it’s not ideal, you sleeping on the sofa.”

  I laughed, removing the glasses I now only occasionally wore, Harry’s pension affording me the luxury of contact lenses, to wipe away the tiredness in my eyes. “I’ve slept in far worse places, trust me! I’ll just stay until I’m sure she’s settled, a few days, maybe a week or so. We’ll be under each others feet in no time anyway, she won’t be able to get rid of me fast enough!”

  I let four days pass for Sophie to settle in to my old flat, or apartment as she like to refer to it, before packing a suitcase to bring with me for my week away. Her face was drawn after a few days of having Jaimee alone, but she did seem to be coping better, and was currently cuddling her baby with a bottle of warmed formula milk in the living room. As I glanced around, ensuring we both had hot mugs of tea, I noticed she’d changed the order of the contents of the kitchen cupboards, unpacked almost everything, and kept the place sprucely clean. I was looking forward to having the time away after the tension of the past few months. And I was more excited about the trip I had planned.

  We spent a couple of days chatting, enjoying the brand new sight of Jaimee rolling about on the floor, gurgling and chuckling, her angelic face, with huge blue eyes surrounded by long dark lashes, her wayward curls mirroring her mothers. She was a delight, and now the first, hardest months of her life were behind them, her routines firmly fixed, Sophie was adoring motherhood.

  But now the day had come for my little interlude, and I sat, a mix of fear, anticipation, and adrenaline running through my veins. I checked my watch for the hundredth time, and it was as if hours passed, but in reality it was minutes, while Sophie tried to settle Jaimee into the cot. Finally she brought the sobbing baby back into the room. “She won’t settle, I’m going to give her some of that baby rice I bought, see if that fills her up enough to take a nap.”

  “Ahah!” I peered over the rim of my glasses, my expression deliberately sardonic. “I see, you’ve finally reached the solids stage. You’re going to love her nappies from now on!”

  She planted Jaimee on the carpet, and trotted into the kitchen, mastering several actions at the same time to prepare Jaimee’s first grown-up meal. “It’s like that, is it! Well, it’s got to be done.” With my daughter busying herself, out of sight, I swiftly laid the un-started book I’d been pretending to read on the sofa

  I took my suitcase and lifted the lid, reaching in to bring out a smaller bag I had placed inside, and rummaged through the contents for a final check that I had packed everything I needed. It contained a small number of travel sized cosmetics, and enough clothes for a single night away. I zipped it up, and threw it back before closing the suitcase. Sitting back on the sofa, I grabbed the tea from the occasional table, and picked up the book, awaiting Sophie’s return.

  It didn’t take long, she returned clutching the new experience she was preparing for her child, and a plastic spoon. Seconds later Jaimee was strapped into the bouncer, ready to try the bland mixture. Checking my watch, the time had nearly come, and I began to make my excuses. “Sophie.”

  Sophie had her back turned towards me, absorbed in feeding her child. “Mmmmm?”

  “Look, I’ve been here for four nights now, and I thought it was about time to see if you could manage alone for another night, so I’ve decided to go back home to your dad tonight.” The slight tremble in her voice went unnoticed.

  Immediately Sophie stopped what she was doing, spinning to face me, her chestnut eyes wide. “What! I thought you said you were going to be here a week?”.

  I jumped in quickly. “It’s okay, you’ll be fine, and I’ll be back tomorrow to stay another few nights, I just want to see how you cope, this is a good id
ea, really it is. I’ll tell you what, finish feeding her, she won’t eat much on her first attempt, and you can try settling her again. Your dad will be picking me up in five minutes or so.”

  The petulance returned to Sophie’s face, she clearly wasn’t happy, and with an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders, she turned back to Jaimee and threw a spoonful of the gloopy meal into her mouth. “You could have told me before now!”

  I could see her sulk had set in, so further words would go unheard, so I returned to the book, the words a jumble on the page with my enthusiasm to get on with the night. Finally she snatched the baby from the chair, wiping her mucky face with a bib. “I’m putting her to bed.”

  With no hesitation once Sophie had left the room, I swept to the window, searching for the car I was expecting. Moments later it arrived, and my heart began to thump wildly in my chest. Tonight was the night.

  I grabbed the small bag from inside the suitcase, my shoulder bag from the sofa, and briskly reached the front door, before I called out, not wanting to be stopped now. “See you tomorrow.” I hoped the trepidation that overwhelmed me hadn’t registered in my voice.

  Seconds later, when Sophie reached the hallway after hearing the door click shut, I was gone, leaving Sophie dumfounded. Eventually Jaimee’s whimper brought her back to her senses, motherhood, and the responsibility that was now firmly on her shoulders, and she returned to soothe her.

  I hastened as fast as my fitter, leaner legs could carry me, down the stairs, my breathing better than it had been in years, and ran across the pavement to the waiting Vectra. I climbed into the back seat, chucking my two bags onto the others that already lay there, and slammed the door. The two men in the front seats of the car both peered at me over their shoulders, and I uttered nervously. “Are you ready lads?”

  They exchanged apprehensive glances. “As ready as we’ll ever be.” No more words were necessary, and the driver chugged the engine into life, and pulled into the light traffic stream.

  Chapter 23

  The Surprise

  What I didn’t realise, and the timing couldn’t have been worse, was that Harold had become used to me being around the house, he thought of my company as warm, motherly, and loving, and he wasn’t taking to my absence particularly well. He knew that Sophie needed her support, and realised his own neediness was selfish, but the bottom line was that he missed me. Desperately.

  As he nonchalantly waited for the microwave meal for one to heat through, he gazed sightlessly through the kitchen window, the few late summer leaves that twirled from the trees passing the window unnoticed. I’d been gone four days, and he’d only phoned once to check that his daughter, granddaughter, and I, had settled into the new environment nicely. Surely, he thought, he’d given them enough space, not disturbing them with his own loneliness?

  As the microwave buzzed to announce his tasteless meal was ready, he mindlessly opened the door and took it to the large table, set for one. Mulling as he chewed the lasagne, which he always joked reminded him of soggy cardboard, he resolved a visit was in order that night, that he’d buy us both some flowers from the nearest service station, maybe bring some chocolates or something, small gifts as an excuse for his presence for the evening. And now the meal became more appetising having made the disastrous decision, and he tucked in, eager to have a bath before he drove across the city on the tail end of the rush hour.

  He knocked on the door, the flat quiet, with a gentle orange hue flooding through the living room window. Sophie opened the door wide, and her jaw dropped. “Dad! What are you doing here?”

  With his sweet, crinkled smile, as gentle and caring as ever, he strolled past Sophie, handing her an elaborate bouquet, a beautiful and fragrant collection of cerise roses and pink striped lilies, sparsely littered within the numerous gypsophila and coral carnations, some fern foliage added for contrast. “I just thought I’d pop over for a couple of hours to see how you and Mary are getting along.”

  She followed him into the living room, setting the flowers on the table, puzzled, and glanced at the time on the DVD player. “But Mary left here two hours ago, she said you were picking her up any minute.” Now Harold was confused too, and Sophie filled in the curious silence. “She was going to spend the night with you to see how I coped on my own. Have you forgotten?”

  Harold laid the other bouquet of contrasting yellow flowers, his gift for me, alongside the pinks. “Well, I don’t remember anything being said, but I must admit I’m getting forgetful as I get older! I really can’t recall anything, but if that’s the case, maybe she got bored of waiting for me and took the bus.” They both sat, each secure that they’d solved the mystery, and he mused, more to himself than Sophie. “We must have crossed each other travelling, her bus must have been delayed or something.”

  “Must have. Well, seeing as you’re here, do you want a cup of tea, maybe coffee? You can try phoning her so you know when she’s arrived.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  By the time they had bloated themselves with three mugs of tea each, and the autumn sun had settled into blackness, Harold placed the telephone handset back in the cradle, his brow furrowed. “There’s still no answer.”

  Sophie shared her father’s concern. “That’s four hours she’s been gone now, that’s way too long to get across town even if the buses were delayed, or she missed a couple. Dad, I’m getting worried.”

  He stood, pacing, his thought processes complex as he scientifically considered the journey and what could possibly have happened, if anything had. Eventually he stilled, a light smile smoothing the lines from his forehead. “I’ll tell you what’s happened, she’s just not answering the phone. Sometimes she doesn’t if she’s engrossed in something else. I’ll drive back, I’m sure that’s all that’s going on. If she’s reading a book or doing her embroidery, she probably won’t even have noticed that I’m not there! You know what she’s like!”

  Sophie returned his relief, and waved him out onto the darkening corridor, ready to face the night alone as a single parent again.

  Over the summer months Darren had discovered to his delight that his deep tan and roguish looks had attracted a constant stream of female holiday makers, out in Mallorca to either visit relatives or stay in the numerous hotels and guesthouses, and he hadn’t had so many conquests since his youthful teens and early twenties. Tonight was no different: he’d had his pick from three attractive women, eager to have an easy fling. He checked his pocket for condoms, it had become his ploy to shag the women in the dark alleys and deserted copses if they didn’t have a hotel room, having had an uncomfortable experience with a stalker who wanted more than a night of fun once she knew his address. All he had to do was choose from the trio, and the simplest way was to deduce how likely they were to give him a good time rather than an unproductive goodnight kiss.

  He sat at the bar, his eighth pint warming in the heat, condensation copiously dribbling down the glass, and set to work on his personality assessment:

  • Tanya: Natural blonde, rare these days, rough chopped bob, obviously looked after herself. Bit of a big nose, but that wasn’t the part that interested him. A sweet shift dress, nipped in and out in all the right places, and endless legs made longer with the towering coordinated heels. Mind you, the dress was pretty tight, would he be able to lift the skirt over her hips without taking the entire outfit off. Maybe he’d wait and see what she would wear out the next night.

  • Annabel: Equal height to himself, at least with the elegant court shoes. Brunette, probably dyed, either that or she’d spent too much time in the sun, as the long strands were fairly frizzed towards the ends. Massive green eyes, quite unusual colouring, but easily the best thing about her was the lycra mini skirt which stopped right at the top of her thighs. An ample cleavage enhanced by the smallest of tops. Yes, she’d definitely be up for it, without a doubt.

  • Kyra: Cutely short, very petite, a girl who definitely knew what the word trendy meant in a tight f
itting vest top advertising the band Black Label Society, their scowling faces glaring back at him, a series of tour dates printed on the back, and cropped beige combat trousers, loose at the waist to display her hips and the top of her g-string. No, she could be ruled out, probably a little too sassy to get it on behind a bush.

  The choice boiled down to Annabel, and he ambled up beside her, squeezing in closely, making eye contact, a sultry expression and some flattering words. She was instantly hooked, and he was satisfied he’d selected well. He had mastered the seduction process over the months: buy her a couple of drinks, get her drunker than she already was, and go in for the kill. Easy as pie, another lay. Life in Mallorca was great!

  It had passed ten o’clock, five hours since Sophie had last seen me, and all the lights blazed through the windows of Harold’s house in Littleover. He’d shouted my name as he’d entered, confident of a reply, but the initial darkness had begun to concern him, and he’d traipsed from room to room, searching, becoming increasingly agitated when each room was vacant.

  Now he was pacing the hallway, unsure whether to worry Sophie with my absence or not. Eventually surmising that it would only be fair, he sat on the telephone seat and dialled her number.

  She was stunned. “Not there! Then what’s happened to her? Do you think we should contact the police?”

  Harold sighed. “I thought of that. I didn’t want to make a fuss, so I called Alan, both his landline and mobile, but he’s not answering either. After a few attempts at both, I called the station, but the desk sergeant said that, because of her age, sound mental health, and without any extenuating circumstances to suspect she was in danger, they wouldn’t be too concerned unless she’d been missing more than three days.”