The Unfinished Tale Of Sophie Anderson

by Martyn J. Pass

  "It does mean the whole place will know about us by the time we get back," I pointed out. "Are you okay with that?"

  "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

  "Just checking," I said, opening the door. "I'm fine with it. I just didn't want you getting into trouble like maybe it was a job thing."

  "I don't think Riley's has a policy on it like some other companies do. Anyway, it doesn't matter. Are you coming in?"

  "Yeah, but I think I need to take off my boots first," I said. He grinned.

  "My mate runs a cleaning firm, one of those mobile ones that drive around doing domestic jobs. I used to do all the cleaning until Rebecca left and then I decided I'd done enough. He offered to do it twice a week for mate’s rates."

  "Is it cheap?"

  "Yeah - I don't earn that much! Like I said, I'd have sold the place if the mortgage hadn't already been dealt with by her Dad. I gave my mate the key and he comes in and does the house and the garden. It helps him out and because it's such a nice house I let him put a sign up." He pointed to a small rectangular plate bolted onto the gate that led into his front garden. It advertised the cleaning company and could be seen by anyone passing by. "He gets calls every week from people who've seen this place and want the same service."

  "Wow. It does look nice," I said.

  "People tend to think cleaning is a woman's job but I hate that attitude. My mate turns it into an art form and it's a big help to me. Anyway, let me show you inside."

  I followed him through the garden with its immaculate lines and military-cut grass and in summer I was confident that the bushes and flowers planted here and there would turn it into a show garden. Tom opened the door and we went inside to the scent of vanilla and old oak.

  "Whoa," I said, stopping on the rug. "This is a-mazing."

  "Home sweet home."

  "Wasn't the house enough to make Rebecca stop with you?" I said, regretting the words the moment they ran away from my mouth. Tom didn't seem to mind though.

  "You didn't see the house she moved into."

  "What, better than this?" He nodded. "Oh my."

  He led me into the living room which was floored in stained panelling the colour of chestnut and though they looked rough they were smooth underfoot. The walls were done in pale cream with false wooden beams running up to the ceiling and across to the other side, ending behind a gorgeous brown settee the length of the room. There was space for two giants to lie down on it and its partner chairs; two lazy boys flanked it before a gigantic LCD TV. Where there was other wall space, Tom had fitted ancient looking book cases right out of Bilbo's hobbit hole and filled them with all kinds of fiction which actually looked like they'd been read and not just put there for effect. Only one book case, near the TV, was filled with DVDs and they were mostly 80s action flicks.

  "Admiring my collection of Arnie?" he said.

  "I can't get over it. How lucky you are to have a place like this."

  "It came with a price, Soph."

  I suddenly felt like an idiot. Of course. To get this house meant lost time with his son. A divorce. The humiliation of your loved one cheating on you. Endless arguments. Living in the place you were supposed to spend forever with your partner in.

  "Sorry," I said. "That was thoughtless of me."

  He turned and smiled. "It's okay. I just don't want you to think that I'm showing off my wealth. If it were up to me I'd live in your flat without the painful history."

  "But you wouldn't have Sean."

  "That's exactly it," he said. He went to the foot of the stairs. "I won't be long. I'll just get some things and throw them in a bag."

  He took the steps two at a time and I walked over to the book shelves and began checking out the spines. It was an eclectic collection of fiction, from horror to spy to sci-fi. They were all clearly read and many had broken, rippled spines. It was a thing of beauty.

  A few minutes later and Tom returned carrying his gym bag.

  "Right, let's be off," he said. "What's this village like?"

  "It's nice. Shame we're going there for a wake and not a holiday," I said, leaving the wonderful house behind. I had a clear mental image of the things two lovers could get up to in that living room but they'd have to wait.

  We drove off, joining the M6 south and its easy Sunday traffic. The weather was dry and the crisp blue of a winters day broke through the sporadic cloud cover. The miles passed by effortlessly under us and it was only when Tom pointed out the MacDonald’s on a minor A road that I realised we were half way there.

  "Shall we grab a bite?" he asked as I found us a spot.

  "Yeah. I'm starving. I could do with a coffee too."

  "Do you want me to drive for a bit?" he asked. I shook my head.

  "I'm fine. I've done this run a few times and it’s just another hour, maybe two. Some wake-up juice will do the trick."

  "If you're sure," he said, holding the door open for me. Inside the place was crawling with kids on their way to a last-minute winter break and they were running around in packs, playing with the sauce dispensers and throwing their rubbish around. The cleaner was following them but it was hopeless really - she'd never win. We got in line and waited for the Welsh woman with the tattoos behind the counter to turn our way.

  "What can I get you?" she asked with the familiar accent. It invoked a few memories of the last time we'd been down this way. It'd been with Mel and we'd been going for a short break whilst Reg recovered from some minor surgery on his stomach. It felt like some other life, some other person now.

  Tom placed our order and we took it back to the car rather than face the hellish ten minutes with the Lost Boys. I had a double cheese burger with a black coffee but gave Tom my fries. He was devouring a box of twenty chicken nuggets all by himself and he looked at my meal and sighed.

  "Dieting sucks," he said. "I couldn't give away my fries."

  "Not even to me?" I said, laughing.

  "Especially not to you. I've just watched you eat a double cheeseburger without fries. You don't deserve luxuries like that if you're going to waste them."

  "But they're not going to waste - you're having them!" I said.

  "But that's not the point. It's a waste. You should have got a salad."

  "A MacDonald's salad?" I snorted my disgust. "Never!"

  "Remind me why you're dieting again?" he asked.

  "I want to trim up a bit," I said.

  "From what I saw you don't really need to." My face flared with the heat of lava. "It looked fine to me." I tried to find a way to say it had nothing to do with him and more about what I saw in the mirror. Once more he seemed to hear the thought before I had chance to even think about a response. "If you're serious I could take you through some of the stuff I do at the gym. Maybe go running or something."

  "I just want to-" he cut me off with his hand and smiled.

  "I get it. You want to be comfortable in your own skin and me saying you look fine won't change that. On the other hand, I don't want you doing something for someone else. I'm happy with your body - you may have noticed that last night, but if you're not I'm happy to help you change that."

  "Thanks," I said, still hot but glad we were sat in my car looking through the windscreen and not at each other. It was a tempting offer. I'd be a bit more motivated if Tom was there to help me.

  When we'd finished eating we set off again, driving through the castle town of Caenarfon and breaking off to take the short cut over Pistyll - a near vertical climb that my little car only just managed to get up. Then it was on to Nefyn before finally Morfa Nefyn and Mel's parents’ house.

  "This it?" asked Tom as we pulled up outside the quaint little cottage decked in a fisherman’s theme - nets and anchors and a lot of white and blue paint on the walls. I saw Mel's car parked round the back and there were people in the living room drinking tea.

  "Yeah but I don't know who they are," I said, pointing to the window. "Might as well knock on and see what's happening."

  We got
out and walked up the gravel path, knocking on the front door and unsettling a stack of crab pots near the letter box. After a moment the door opened and there was Mel - her eyes ringed red with crying and yet still dressed to kill in tight denim jeans, knee high boots and a skinny top.

  The moment she realised who I was she threw open her arms and grabbed me, squeezing the air out of my lungs with one long embrace.

  "Oh god, Soph! I'm so glad to see you," she cried, pulling me inside.

  "Tom came with me," I said before it became awkward. Mel turned and appraised him with her eyes, silently granting me here approval.

  "You're a good 'n Tom. I mean that," she said. "I'm glad you're both here. Come on in."

  11.

  The stench of cigarettes hit us the second we crossed the threshold and I felt my nose close instantly like it was detecting a foul substance - which it was. I hated smoking and I hated the stench it put on my clothes. Tom said nothing but I could see he wasn't any happier about it than I was.

  "There's some of the neighbours here to pay their respects. Come on in and meet them."

  "Where's your Mum?" I asked, scanning the room. The neighbours were all ageing and most looked beyond seventy at least. There was plenty of clattering china and dribbling tea to mask the obvious emotional tension the room seemed soaked in. I knew they were there for Mel's mum and weren't all that bothered that Reg was gone. His long nights making a racket with his power tools had finally come to roost.

  "Upstairs. She doesn't really want to come down at the moment and I can't blame here. It was such a shock, especially after seeing the speed of his recovery."

  "Is there any news from the doctors?" asked Tom.

  "Nothing," said Mel, shaking her head. "They're still not sure what he died of yet. I still can't believe its happened."

  I put a hand on her arm and she reached for it, smiling as best she could. I saw the pain. It was raw and real and familiar to me. This wasn't a stranger.

  "We'll get through this," I said. "Together."

  "I know we will, Soph. Thanks again for coming. I needed you and you were there. That's amazing."

  "It cost her a MacDonald’s!" laughed Tom.

  "From the glow in her cheeks I'd say you've already paid her in full."

  "Mel!" I cried, the heat unbearable now. At least she was laughing.

  "I'll show you where you can sleep. Come this way."

  She led the way down the long corridor that ran to the rear of the house where a spare bedroom was being aired and the king sized bed already made. It was a pretty room painted in sea-blue pastels with worn white furniture and a white metal framed bed with blue cloudy quilt covers.

  "It's nice," I said, throwing my bag down. "Thanks Mel."

  "You're welcome. I didn't know about Tom but I figure you two can work something out." She was grinning again and she turned to go. "I'll knock us up some tea later."

  "I'll sort it," said Tom. "I saw a few takeaways on the way in but I could cook if you want."

  Mel was impressed. She folded her arms and smiled even more. "You have a few talents then?"

  "A few," he replied.

  "Good. Well, I'll be in the kitchen if you want me. Make yourself at home and I'll put the kettle on."

  When she left, Tom whistled and led out on the bed dangling his boots over the edge to avoid slopping mud everywhere.

  "Nice," he whispered. "She seems to be coping."

  "For now," I replied, joining him. "Mel's good at putting on a show."

  "You think she's worse than she's letting on?"

  "Yeah. I do."

  "I'll try and stay out of the way," he began. "Give you guys some room. You might be able to draw it out of her, get her to talk about it."

  "Yeah, I hope so."

  "Then we can try this bed out later." I elbowed his arm and he winced. "What?"

  "You can't behave like that," I laughed. "We're at a wake."

  He was grinning like the bloody Cheshire cat but it was dangerously infectious.

  "I can be a quiet lover," he said.

  "I think I need to get you out of here before something happens."

  "Yeah - maybe you're right."

  Mel was still talking to her guests when we slipped out into the back garden to take in the countryside. Her parents’ house was quite high up, given the terrain, and it allowed them to enjoy an almost 360 degree of the surrounding hills that were characteristic of the Llyn Peninsula. I pointed a few out to Tom from the patio and he grinned with delight. That smile alone knotted my stomach now and if I spent the rest of my life making it appear it wouldn't be a wasted one. He was beginning to consume me from the inside out and I couldn't bear the idea of being parted from him.

  "I'm glad you came," I said after a moment or two.

  "I'm glad I did as well." His hand slid so perfectly into mine and we gazed up the scarred hillside feeling that we'd found something in all this pain and misery that could actually be ours. It felt fragile. It felt like too much pressure would shatter it.

  "This will be us one day," I said. "Mourning the loss of the other." Tom shook his head.

  "We should make a pact. If one is about to go, the other goes with them."

  "Sweet. Illegal, but sweet," I said, laughing.

  "I couldn't do it," he said. "I couldn't watch the object of my love die in front of me and just carry on. Never."

  "Maybe we'll... No, forget that."

  "What?" he asked, turning to look at me. "Go on, say it."

  "Well, I'm back to thinking about everyone else I knew. Everyone who tells me how it always ends up being like an episode of 'The Royale Family' with the Dad farting and picking his arse and the Mum being too ditty to make sense. I can't live like that - it terrifies me."

  "I see," he said.

  "Do you? Is it just me or-" Tom squeezed my hand and smiled. God, I loved him.

  "No, it's not just you and it won't be us that end up like that. Yes, we're going to have to work hard to make sure that doesn't happen, but we can do it. I'm sure we can. These relationships died in the water, they were dead because the couple took each other for granted. We can't afford for that to happen."

  "But how?" I asked. I needed an answer, a solution, some kind of plan of action.

  "We'll have to iron it out between us but to me it means we have to make sure nothing is taken for granted. Our bodies, our hearts, our heads, we always have to be on that first date."

  "I agree, but what does that look like?" I asked. He shrugged and was about to say something when the patio door opened behind us and Mel came out with three mugs of tea. She realised she'd interrupted something but it was too late to undo it.

  "Sorry - I just thought..."

  "It's fine, Mel," said Tom, taking a mug. "This is great, thanks. Sophie was just telling me about the area. When did your parents come here?"

  "Oh, around twenty-two, maybe twenty-five years ago when Dad got laid off and was given hefty redundancy package. He used it for a deposit on this place and rented his house back in Preston until I was old enough to take it over. They were both able to get jobs when they moved so they did really well out of it. Dad loved it here." She was welling up again and I put a hand on her shoulder.

  I took one of the cups and sipped it, blowing the steam away as it rose up into the cold sky.

  "They'll be going soon," she said, indicating her guests. "It takes them half an hour just to put their coats on - they can seriously talk!"

  "Are they just local friends?" asked Tom.

  "Yeah but some are work mates of Mums. She's in there with them, seeing them off."

  "That's good - she came down then?"

  "Yeah, I went and told her you were here and she was like 'oh, lovely Sophie - I must see her'. She never speaks about me like that!"

  "I'm special," I replied. "We'll go and say hello."

  We followed Mel into the living room which, after the fresh Welsh air outside, threatened to choke us with the essence of Reg's bad
habit. I was grateful though that someone had opened a few windows to air the place even if it did mean feeling a little chilly.

  Mel’s mother, Sandra, was there and she was just seeing off the last of the guests as we stood waiting. When the door had closed she turned and, with sore looking eyes and a tissue held to her nose, gave me the weakest smile and held her arms out to embrace me.

  “Oh Sophie, my dear Sophie,” she said as we met. “It’s so good of you to come.”

  “I’m sorry about Reg,” I said though I was muffled by her squeeze. “I thought everything was going well, it was such a shock.”

  “I know, child. It was a shock to us too.” She broke the hold and released me gently, sniffing and smothering her face in the creased tissue. Then she cast her bloodshot, grief stricken eyes at Tom. “And who is this young man?” she asked.

  “Sandra, this is Tom, Sophie’s… friend,” said Mel. Tom walked over to her and offered the same kind of hug you might be expected to give a distant Aunt.

  “Then thank you as well for coming with Sophie. That young girl means the world to me. She could have been Mel’s sister in another life.”

  “Mum,” moaned Mel, snivelling. I just grinned and thought it was the best compliment she could have bestowed upon me. I was touched.

  “Come, sit down now the neighbours have gone. I’m glad to see the back of them to be honest.” This caused another groan from Mel to be heard. “Never you mind, Melanie. They never had any time for us when Reg was alive and now they’re pouring out their sympathies like hypocrites. I can do without that kind of false sentiment.”

  “They’re just trying to be…” began Mel but she was waved silent by Sandra’s stern parental hand.

  “They’re just trying to be nosy busy-bodies. Once the funeral is done I’ll never hear from them again.”

  Mel shook her head and went looking for her purse that had slipped down the back of the settee. I took one of the small arm chairs, avoiding the one in the corner nearest to Tom where I knew Reg had liked to sit. Cruel, I know, but if someone was going to sit in it then at least Tom could claim ignorance when it upset Sandra. He was about to do just that when Mel collared him.