The Poison Morality

by Stacey Kathleen

  “You were having a good time,” she contradicted. “I’m going to go and meet my friend and have my good time.” With that she turned and left him standing there. She heard him cough, if the money was in her account in a few days she would know if it worked, but for right now Oliver would be at her door.

  ***

  Pacing outside her door, he was ready to break it down, not knowing if she was inside hurt or still out. She blew in from outside, he was tapping the gift wrapped box on his fingertips and both of his hands dropped to his sides when he saw her.

  Her face was flushed but she seemed to be in good spirits when she smiled at him. It was the first smile she had given him without being prompted by anything other than seeing him or it could have been the little box covered in metallic silver paper with a blue ribbon on it but she looked at him when she smiled, not it so he just smiled back instead of chastising her.

  They said nothing until they were inside and he couldn’t wait any longer, handing her the gift before she even got her coat off.

  She wanted it that was true, it felt good to have someone care enough for her to get her a gift but she said, “You didn’t have to.”

  “No, of course not but I wanted to and I think you will enjoy it very much.”

  Sitting on the sofa, she inspected the outside of the package. The meaning of it and the paper so pretty she didn’t want to mess it up but she tugged on the ribbon and it gave easily, only a few piece of tape and the paper came off. It was some kind of electronic gadget but she didn’t know what.

  “You don’t like it do you?” He deflated at the disappointed look on her face.

  “Oh no, it’s not that, I just don’t know what it is.”

  He chuckled and took it from her, leaning in to show her, explaining all the things it did, from downloading books to music, “I put my whole music library on there for you. I also took the liberty of putting Shakespeare, Dickens, Austen, and some other books I thought you might like. Obviously you can keep what you like and get rid of the rest.” He handed it to her. She still had no idea how to use it because she was so distracted by his proximity.

  “You took the time to put all your music on here,” she knew from the stacks of cd’s that was a tremendous amount of work.

  “Yes, but like I said you can do what you want with it.”

  Sophie stared at it, touched by the thought. Not the gadget itself but the trouble he took to put his music on it for her. Oliver could tell she was trying not to get emotional so he stayed quiet for her to gather her thoughts but inside he was ecstatic.

  “Thank you,” she said and leaned over to kiss his cheek, “I love it.”

  “So,” he clapped his hands together, “where did you go?”

  He was being nosy and she gave him a look but replied, “On a date, sort of.”

  His face dropped. “No, you didn’t,” he replied incredulously. She laughed at his reaction but he was un-amused, the corners of his mouth distinctly turning down. She told him the story up to the point with the meatball including the conversation with himself, the episode in the toilet, and Bryson’s advances.

  Seeing the look on his face, she apologised. “Under the circumstances, I think I handled it very well.”

  “Did you do it then?”

  Mistaking the ‘it’ for sex, her face cringed in horror, “No! Ew, no of course not.”

  He scoffed, “Not that, I mean the poison. How did you after sitting across from him for an hour, talking to him, interacting with him.”

  “I injected his last meatball.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I put it in the meatball. I wasn’t sure if he was going to eat it or not.”

  He knew where this was leading because he knew how she thought, “So the choice was his.”

  “Exactly,” she stated matter of fact.

  “Your logic is astounding.” Before giving her time to reply, he added, “So you were okay with his advances, following you into the loo?”

  “He didn’t do anything surprisingly enough; he seemed that type you know.” She could tell he wasn’t thrilled about the events of the evening but what could he say.

  Changing the subject, “Your birthday is next Tuesday right?”

  “Yes.”

  Oliver saw the figure again but turned his attention quickly back to Sophie as not to alert her, “Good, we’re having tea at my aunt’s.” Her smile dropped, she had already agreed. He noticed the change, “Do you have other plans?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the figure walk away into the shadows again.

  The wheels were turning and when she couldn’t think of a lie he couldn’t see, she just said the truth. “No.”

  “I’ll pick you up at four and we’ll drive over. She’s looking forward to meeting you.” Normal, she thought; birthday gifts and aunts that was normality. “Enjoy your present,” he kissed her temple and went out the door.

  That was it? He gave her the present; she told him the events of the night and he rushed out the door. She hoped she had not hurt his feelings by confiding in him about Bryson but he told her of Tuesday’s plans so if he was, it couldn’t last that long.

  Chapter 21: Sophie’s Birthday

  Oliver arrived like clockwork. When Sophie walked out in her usual black trousers he was surprised to see that her top was slightly more relaxed than her usual cover ups. Still black it was a flowing material with wide sleeves that gathered below the elbow and holes at the curves of her shoulders.

  It had been almost a week since he saw her but they spoke every day. Looking refreshed, she still had a worried look on her face, unable to hide her emotions any more than she could lie.

  “Is this your car,” she asked surprised.

  Oliver opened the door for her, “Yes, I don’t drive it much obviously but it will be more practical to drive to Walton on Thames.”

  “All the way out there?”

  “Get in silly. It’s really not that far.”

  The further they drove the more nervous she became and started biting her nails. Oliver reached over and took her hand away from her mouth and brought it to his, gently kissing the top of it. “It will be fine, just act natural.”

  Sophie looked at him confused.

  “Maybe more normal,” he chuckled, “What is normal anyway,” he said repeating Mariella’s words. “Be yourself; just don’t mention what you do for a living,” He held onto her hand, rubbing the palm with his thumb, to calm her nerves the other steering the car.

  She glanced at him sideways, “What did you tell her I do for a living,” she asked.

  “You’re an artist.”

  “What if she can tell when I’m lying?”

  “It’s not a lie. If you could channel your pain and your anger solely into your art, it could support you. You’re very good.”

  “Could it?”

  “That way you don’t have to lie and it won’t matter if everything you think and feel goes right across your lovely face.”

  After a few minutes of silence, she mumbled, “Does not.”

  Oliver chuckled and replied, “Afraid so.” Sophie cringed but said no more about it, knowing he would follow suit. They made small talk the rest of the way but did not come back around to the uncomfortable subject of pain and anger or her ‘lovely’ face, discussing the music she listened to already and comparing opinions.

  They pulled over in front a small brick house, on a street lined both sides with similar houses in an area called Mayfair Bloom Gardens. Oliver jumped out of the car. Sophie was apprehensive but Oliver reached for her hand, “Come on, it will be fine,” encouraging her.

  His face lit up as a woman in her forties opened the door holding a little girl in her arms both waving and smiling at Oliver. She had on an apron, obviously busy cooking, a warmth emanated from her of love and hospitality. Her face was creased from smiling like Oliver and she kissed him on both cheeks as the child reached out for him. He took her gingerly in his arms.

  The baby had ro
und cheeks and large eyes with long eyelashes, a mass of blonde curls hung to her little shoulders as Oliver kissed her forehead, obvious now to be his favourite form of expressing affection for everyone.

  Oliver introduced them as Phillipa and the baby as Evangeline. “Oh, well come in, come in,” Phillipa repeated. Oliver’s hand on Sophie’s back ushered her in while he held Evangeline in the other.

  “Tea’s almost ready, so make yourselves at home. Well Oliver already does.” Phillipa walked back into the kitchen, while the three of them walked into the living room where Evangeline’s toys were scattered on a blanket on the floor. Evangeline chattered at Oliver as they sat on the floor and played together but he had one eye on Evangeline and the other on Sophie.

  Sophie walked around, not sure what to do but look at the many family photos that sat on every surface possible. There were photos of Phillipa and her husband, photos of Evangeline, photos of Evangeline with her mother, with her father, and photos of the parents happily living the dream life.

  No photos like that existed in Sophie’s broken family, at least any that she knew of. Only the picture of the twins, the mysterious sister and the circumstances around the time the photo showed up existed.

  She heard Oliver’s soft voice talking to Evangeline, that soft, caring voice that eased and calmed her. She closed her eyes, listening, imagining what he would be like as a father.

  Oliver watched her face. The yearning for normality and the family life showed on her face and he knew what that felt like too. Oliver was slightly relieved turning his full attention on Evangeline again.

  “Sophie dear,” the spell was broken, “come in the kitchen and let’s talk and leave those two to play. Evangeline loves Oliver,” she said as Sophie followed her into the kitchen and sat at the table.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” Phillipa said while putting a pan in the oven and plopping down in a chair in front of Sophie, pouring tea.

  “So, happy birthday, by the way,” she said holding Sophie’s hands in both of hers. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “There’s nothing much to tell, really,” Phillipa had warm, caring eyes full of sincerity. “What has Oliver told you about me?” Sophie asked, wanting to take her cues from what he had already revealed about her.

  “He told me you’re an artist, that you’re beautiful, and sad. I can see that, the beauty but you don’t look sad to me. Maybe Oliver makes you cheerful, he does that for us,” Phillipa stood up winking and walked towards the cooker, “You know, Oliver is a good man and I’m not just saying that because he’s my nephew,” she said sitting back down and looking past Sophie at Oliver playing with Evangeline.

  “Do you want children some day?” It was a question she would have expected from a mother but not an aunt and Sophie was thrown off, suspecting that Oliver told her about the same conversation they already had.

  “I never thought that it would be possible, I suppose.”

  “Why is that,” Phillipa paused, pan in mid-air, hovering over the cooker, a look of concern on her face.

  “I don’t think I would make a good mother. I had the worse mother in the world so I wouldn’t know how to be one, would I?” Sophie traced the flowers on her cup with her jagged fingernail recollecting the flowers on her broken cup from her childhood, she shook the memory off.

  “Listen, no one knows how to be a parent, you learn as you go along.” Phillipa set a stack of plates on the table, “My mum wasn’t Mary Poppins either. For God’s sake,” she chuckled sarcastically and Sophie looked up at her, the smile faded for just a moment, “she used to forget to feed us half the time. But being a good mother means loving them and trying to do your best for them and keep yourself sane. It’s hard work, there’s no doubt about that but worth every minute. Especially moments like that.” She nodded towards the couple playing in the other room. “If you and Oliver ever….,” her voice trailed off at Sophie’s stricken look, “well anyway.”

  “Evangeline is the great joy in my life. It took us years and when we decided to give up, there she was. Sam is a wonderful father too. Evangeline couldn’t be more loved, it’s just not possible. You know Oliver is her Godfather also, did he tell you that?”

  “He didn’t tell me anything about his family, really except that his mum was your husband’s sister, yes?”

  “Yes, I hope that Evangeline and I have the bond that Oliver and his mother had. Look at him, how attentive and gentle he is. Some of that is his mother’s influence; some of it is just Oliver. Anyway, when Ava and Sam’s mum died, Ava took care of Sam. Oliver and Sam grew up together even though they are about seven years apart. I daresay they are closer than Oliver and his actual brother. You know, he talks about you every chance he gets, not that we see him much with the hospital taking up so much of his time. He’s concerned for your welfare, that’s what caring is you know. I think he thinks he can make you happy.”

  “Is it,” Sophie was surprised, “Is it possible for one person to make another happy?”

  “Sam makes me happy, Evangeline makes me happy, Oliver makes me happy. The rest is just filler isn’t it? It’s all just stuff to do that makes us content. Family will make you the most content and doing things for your family is the stuff that is worth doing.”

  Sophie liked that notion but had not witnessed much of it first hand or had an urge to do so. If she wanted a wonderful family she would have to make her own and that didn’t seem to be on the horizon. “So you knew Oliver’s mother?”

  “Oh yes, Ava was a wonderful lady. When she died, he was devastated; he was with her in the end. No amount of training can prepare you for losing a loved one. He almost quit med school but Sam talked him out of it; told him his mother would be disappointed if he didn’t carry on. How did you two meet?”

  Sophie was finding it hard to keep up with the conversation when Phillipa had a tendency to change subjects in the same breath. “Ummm….well, we met on the tube.”

  “Oh did he chat you up,” Phillipa rested her chin in her palm staring dreamily at Sophie.

  Sophie couldn’t help but to smile back at her. “No, it was late; he had to give a man CPR.”

  Phillipa’s head jerked up, not the romantic image she was hoping for.

  “What are you two talking about in here,” Oliver walked in with Evangeline in one arm, her head resting on his shoulder sucking her thumb. Oliver’s free hand rested on Sophie’s shoulder reassuringly. He always seemed to know what she needed and when.

  “About how you had to do CPR on the tube. While it was moving? How on earth,” Phillipa took Evangeline and put her in a highchair with some cereal rings. Oliver plopped down in the chair between Evangeline and Sophie. Phillipa busy filling plates, not bothering to ask what anyone wanted but handed them out each in turn before settling in a chair across from them.

  “It was the Central Line,” he voice became low and serious.

  “Oh,” she nodded her head, “That’s a smoother ride at least, I can’t imagine if you had to do it on the Piccadilly, you would have done more damage than good” she chuckled and then stifled it. “Sorry, it’s not funny. Did he survive?”

  “No,” Oliver replied. Sophie could feel his gaze, “he died,” his voice solemn.

  “What was it, you think?”

  Oliver looked at Sophie, “Heart attack apparently.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “I’m sure that’s what killed him,” Oliver took a bite, “I just think there was a not so obvious cause and I don’t mean clogged arteries.” Sophie was squirming.

  “You suspect foul play?”

  “Either in life or death.”

  “Quite the way with words lately, Oliver. Never mind, the result is the same regardless. I feel sorry for the family though.”

  “Perhaps, assuming he’ll be missed,” Sophie interrupted; both Oliver and Phillipa stopped chewing and stared at her.

  “Oh sorry, love, does the subject bother you,” Phillipa asked, concerned.

/>   “Don’t worry, Sophie is stronger than she knows…seems,” he corrected. This time Sophie glared at him.

  “I was just telling Sophie how Sam is like a brother to you,” she nodded to Sophie, “Tuck in,” Phillipa urged when she noticed Sophie was the only one not eating.

  “True, he is more like an older brother than an uncle.” Everyone was eating but Sophie poised her fork above the plate not knowing where to start and not recognizing half what was on her plate. While the others were eating forks full, Sophie took slight nibbles until she could definitively decide she liked everything and then proceeded to eat as the others, manners aside. She felt as one of the family.

  “Oliver and his brother don’t get along, too much like their father, he is. And Oliver is a sweetheart like his mother.”

  “Where is Sam,” Oliver asked.

  “He’s working late tonight,” she replied clearing the plates after everyone was done and making a fresh batch of tea. “Sophie, would you like to hold Evangeline?”

  Oliver jumped up and was pulling her out of the highchair before she could answer; Evangeline was in her arms, full, jovial, and sleepy.

  Evangeline settled into the crook of her arm, playing with a small doll, holding it in her little arm and sucking her thumb. Instinctively, Sophie rocked back and forth. As long as Evangeline was comfortable so was Sophie and within minutes she was asleep. Sophie, put her lips to the child’s forehead as Oliver does and felt the warmth of her. The baby’s smell powdery and soft. She was feeling broody and she saw Oliver looking at her smiling and Sophie looked away, the feeling escaping.

  “We should go I think,” Oliver said, “I’m on call tonight.” Phillipa took Evangeline and put her to bed.

  “Oh I almost forgot,” Phillipa said, digging in a drawer and handing Oliver two slips. “I know you like opera, I got these from a friend who can’t go and I can’t stand it. I thought you might like to take Sophie, maybe?”