Bloody Mary (12 page)

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.”

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?”

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 going 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.

Sophie’s day had again been stressful, and she was eagerly anticipating getting home to the cottage she loved, yet couldn’t wait to leave. She dropped pens and pencils back into the jar, tidied up the files and paperwork on her desk, and was about to put her coat on when the phone on her desk trilled. “Soph, it’s me.”

“Hey, you! I thought you’d forgotten me!” She dropped her coat over the back of her chair and sat back down.

“Mam and Dad have been out all day and their mobiles were turned off. I’ve only just spoken to them.” Sophie held her breath, the words he was about to relate were the ones that depicted their immediate future, her nerves were ragged, and she briefly wondered if her heart was still beating. “It’s even better than we thought. That underbuild they said they were having done, well, it’s got a bedroom, en-suite, and kitchenette. They said we can live there for as long as it takes. Mam said she didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before.”

Sophie punched the air, expelling her breath. “Yes!”

“But you do realise it’s only three weeks away, Soph. There’s a lot to arrange in that time if we’re really going through with this. Do you think you’re up to it? What with the baby and everything. And don’t you have to give two months notice?”

“Oh, stuff work, I’ll get round that! I’ll go and see Mr Barton now, hand in my notice.”

“But what about the flights, removals, all the rest of the things that’ll need doing?”

“Darren, organisation is one of my strong points! In three weeks we’ll be packed up and ready to go!” They resolved to discuss all the arrangements later, he would cook something simple like beans on toast for dinner so eating and the dishes wouldn’t take too long, then they’d write a list of everything that needed to be arranged. Once the call had ended and Sophie had managed to get the beaming smile from her face, she locked up her office, left her briefcase and coat in the reception area, climbed the stairs, and knocked on Mr Barton’s door.

Sophie negated his words completely, she didn’t have time for a discussion with the bad-tempered man she couldn’t bear. “Mr Barton, I’m handing my notice in.”

I had decided that today was the day I was going to find out where Sophie lived. Threats of harassment were going to have to be risked. I was in a taxi, engine running, discreetly waiting for Sophie to leave work. I’d explained the situation to the bemused taxi driver, and he duly followed her car. As the Fiesta in front of us turned through the gates and onto a driveway, I instructed the cab driver to pull over. I’d been amazed how long the journey had been. In my mind Sophie had lived in Derby, on the doorstep of her workplace, it hadn’t occurred to me she’d live this far away. I paid the driver the requested fifteen pounds, the expense making me realise I didn’t have enough money to get back, and I swore inwardly. Dismissing the problem for the time being, at least I now knew where Sophie lived.

Trying to avoid the gravel, not wanting to make any noise, I crept along the grass verges towards the rambling cottage, marvelling at the charm of the quaint, albeit large, property. “How the other half live!” I bristled with jealousy, knowing I could have had all this if life had treated me with a little less vengeance and a lot more luck. If Beryl hadn’t been in my way. Closer to the house, I controlled my movements, ensuring each step taken was as silent as possible.

It was all in vain. The front door opened, and a tall, well-built man stepped into the darkness carrying a bag full of rubbish. Taken aback, I darted behind a tree, but managed to tread onto a pile of autumn leaves, and they crackled noisily. The man glanced around, searching, and his face registered shock, he must have seen the moon reflecting from my damned glasses. I remained stilled, but he wasn’t going to give up. “Who’s that? Who’s there?”

I swore under my breath, wishing I’d discarded my glasses, and saw no other solution but to show myself: he’d find me one way or another now, and he was a big man, and, albeit overweight, I’m just a little woman. Racking my brain to find a feasible excuse for my presence, I stepped onto the gravel. “Hello.”

Darren dumped the bag into the wheely-bin and faced me, shivering lightly with the chill in the late autumn air. “Who are you?”

“I, er, I, um…” I wasn’t sure how I was going to get out of this? I could see the man before me was becoming impatient with my hapless dithering, but if I told him the truth he’d tell Sophie, who would contact the police and have me arrested. But I couldn’t just go home, I only had five pounds left, not enough for a taxi. Unless there was a bus running. “Are you Mr Delaney?” Why did I say that? I could have excused myself as a Jehovah’s Witness or something, but now I’d said his name I’d have to come up with a pretty good explanation. Why was I here!

Darren was quizzical, rooting through his memory to try and place me. “Who wants to know?”

“My name is Mary Miller.” The name rang no bells. “I’m your wife’s birth mother.”

A twinkle flicked in Darren’s eyes, mind racing through ideas of how he could use the unexpected situation to his advantage. He knew if he told Sophie the crazy bird was here she’d call the police, that was the sort of person she was, but he could see possible hidden opportunities, money, bribery, he had to find a way to exploit this. He lowered his voice to a whisper, shoving his hand into the back pocket of his trousers and retrieving his well-stocked wallet. He pulled out a twenty-pound note and handed it to me, and my eyes boggled as the grateful smile crossed my face. “Look, you can’t come in, Soph’ll go mad. There’s a pub round the corner, the White Horse. Go into the lounge bar, it won’t be busy, get yourself a drink and I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”

I could feel my smile widening, my face crinkling into a hundred lines beneath the ugly thick glasses. Thankfully, this was going better than I expected. I snatched the money from his hand and toddled back toward the road, leaving Darren to make whatever excuse he was concocting.

Back in the kitchen, Sophie had just opened a can of baked beans and was about to pour them into a bowl ready for the microwave. Darren took the tin from her hand, pushing the lid back down and placing it in the fridge. “Tell you what, Soph, I’ll nip to Swadlincote and get a take-away. I fancy a Chinese tonight.” He took his car keys from the worktop.

“But that’ll take ages, we need to discuss the move.”

Darren smiled back as he headed through the door. “It won’t take long. You get a pad and pen ready so we can take notes while we’re eating. You want the usual?”

Resigned, Sophie nodded, and once he’d gone she took the menu from the drawer and rang the usual order through, reasoning that she could at least save him the waiting time.

Pulling into the pub car park, easing his BMW into one of the many empty spaces, Darren jumped out and hastened into the lounge bar. Of course I didn’t know then, but he normally he drank in the games room with the other regulars, but he wanted to stay inconspicuous tonight, a bit of peace and quiet to talk to me. I was seated, as demurely as one with such a large frame could, in the corner, toying with the half-pint of cider I’d nervously purchased from the bar. Darren collected a lager and strolled over. “I can’t stop long, Soph’ll get suspicious. Now, what’s all this about you being Sophie’s birth mother?”