Bloody Mary (13 page)

I began to fidget with my glass, anxious, even though he was coming across, surprisingly, as a thoroughly helpful chap. “I am. I gave birth to twins on the thirtieth of August, nineteen eighty. I named the girl Anna Sophia Bryce, and my son Andrew Stuart Bryce. Bryce was my maiden name. I was only fifteen, so they took my babies away without giving me a chance to say I wanted to raise them myself. My parents apparently signed the papers. I never got over it, I’ve been looking for them ever since, I could never let the babies go.”

Darren nodded thoughtfully. He knew Sophie’s middle name was Anna, but she bore no resemblance to the woman who sat before him. It didn’t matter if the woman was a crank, anyhow, he was sure if he played along with the game he’d be able to fleece her for something. “So what makes you think my Soph is your daughter?”

“Years of searching. I gave up with the registries in the end, guessing their names had been changed by their new parents, but I had no idea which adoption agency had organised it all. It was a coincidence, but Beryl came to see me in my capacity as a tarot reader.”

Darren laughed, and downed his pint, he motioned to my full glass. “Can I get you another?”

“No, thank you, I’m not a drinker normally.” I sipped the cider as he took his glass to the landlord to be refilled.

“So who was the father, then?” Sitting back at the table, it was obvious that he was disinterested in my story, and I was beginning to wonder why he’d even bothered to meet up with me.

“His name is Harold Jacob Waller.” Darren sat up with a start. That was his father-in-law’s name. Maybe there was some truth in this. And now I fully had his concentration. “He was married, a lot older than me, and already had a child, a son, can’t remember his name.” It was a lie, but I wanted to ensure he was listening now.

“Steve?”

“That’s it. I was keen on studying, I was a real book worm when I was at school, and I wanted to go to university, so when Birmingham held an open day I jumped at the chance to go. The moment I laid eyes on Harry I knew I had to get to know him better, he was gorgeous.” Darren tried to picture his father-in-law as a handsome young man but found the imagery difficult. Fine, he still had a full head of hear, but it was wiry and grey, he was hunched, timid, and had myopic eyes. Gorgeous. In the eyes of the beholder, he reasoned ironically. “I did all the chasing, told him I was eighteen so my age wouldn’t frighten him off, and he tried again and again to fend me off, but I was persistent. Eventually we started an affair, but weeks later I realised I was pregnant. I was terrified.”

“Harold! Well, dirty old bugger, I’d never have put him down as the unfaithful type!” Darren had forgotten the time, the story was too engrossing.

“I thought we were in love, daft, stupid child that I was. But he dropped me like a ton of hot bricks. I never heard from him again, not once. I searched for my children for years, but heard nothing. Finally, having been doing readings for Beryl for a few months, I found out that Sophie was born on the day I had my twins. It was too much of a coincidence, and I checked with the registry office to see her birth certificate. There wasn’t one. So Harry and Beryl had adopted my Anna, well, Sophie.” I had drifted away, I was talking to myself, even though he was still there, enwrapped. “I don’t understand why her and not her twin brother. I still have to find him.”

Darren glanced at his watch, and gasped. “Shit! Look, Mary, I want to continue this conversation some time, it’s got to be soon because we’re moving to Mallorca in three weeks, but I have to get going otherwise Soph’ll be tearing her hair out.”

I grabbed his arm, my fingers gripping tightly, pleading eyes peering through the thick lenses of my glasses. “Please try and get her to see me, Mr Delaney…”

“Darren. Call me Darren.”

“Promise me you will.” I felt, and sounded, desperate.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Darren was standing, car keys in hand, eager to leave. All I could do was drag a scrap of paper from my bag, along with a pen, and scribble my address down, handing it to him. “Derby! How are you getting home?”

Of course I had the change from his twenty-pound note in my purse, but playing the sympathy card every now and then doesn’t hurt anyone: I’d seen his wallet as he’d returned from the bar with his second drink, it was loaded and I was broke, as always. So up came a sorrowful expression, my voice deliberately quiet and broken. “I don’t know. I’m not familiar with the buses around here.”

Needlessly glancing at his watch again, Darren sighed. “I’ll drive you back if you’ll direct me to a Chinese take-away once we get there.”

After he’d driven me home, I mulled the conversation over in my head. I’d heard about his violence towards Sophie, in fact, I’d seen the results, but it was very difficult to believe that he was the aggressive type. He came across as such a nice man. I’m sure you’ll berate me for saying this, but in my opinion, Sophie must have done something to deserve it.

Sophie had placed two plates and some serving spoons on the worktop, and she fussed around, wasting time, concerned by how long Darren was taking. She picked up the receiver on the first ring, hoping it would be him, letting her know he was fine. The stilted Chinese accent surprised her. “Is that Mrs Delaney?”

“Yes, can I help you?”

“You order Chinese take-away. Wonder when you pick up.”

Sophie’s face paled, Darren should have been there ages ago, and an ominous chill ran the length of her spine. She was about to tell the man when she heard the front door slam, and, dropping the receiver roughly back into its cradle, she ran through to the living room as Darren walked towards her, carrying a stuffed white plastic bag. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick. The take-away has just called…”

“I decided we’d have a change, I got the food from Derby.”

Sophie followed him into the kitchen, annoyed and confused, and watched as he emptied the cartons from the bag onto the side next to the plates. “But I placed the order in Swadlincote by phone to save time. They’ve just called, wondering where you were.”

“That’s not my fault, I didn’t ask you to.” Sophie could smell the alcohol on his breath, none of this was making sense. “Come on, let’s dish up before it gets cold.”

“But Darren! Derby’s miles away. Why go there when we always go to Swadlincote.”

Darren slammed the spoon down on the side with force. “I just did. Okay! End of conversation.” Firmly chastised, knowing any further questions would anger him, and she didn’t want that, Sophie reluctantly let the subject drop.

The night passed uneventfully, and soon it was morning again, with various minds in various places plotting their next actions. Sophie had an ante-natal appointment arranged at Belton Surgery for her twelve week consultation. Work had ceased to matter any more, the baby and imminent emigration taking precedence over everything else, and she felt no guilt when she called in sick after the appointment, claiming fictional problems with the pregnancy. Her time was better spent at home, packing, arranging, preparing for the move. She was surprised when the doorbell rang, callers during the day were unusual.

Opening the door, Sophie smiled at the friendly face she’d come to know, and she didn’t hesitate to let Alan Taylor through the door, offering him tea to warm him, the day being wintry bleak. They both sat, cupping the steaming mugs, in the living room. “I just wanted to see if you’ve had any more bother from Mary Miller.” It was a blatant lie, but he’d needed to find some excuse to see the woman who occupied his mind every waking hour.

The conversation was chatty, friendly, and later, over the roast beef Sophie had had ample time to prepare, served at the table in the dining room for once, she was happy to relate it back to Darren. “He said he was adopted when he was a baby. Said his adoptive parents never held the truth from him, but he still wanted to find his real family.”

The words hadn’t meant anything to Sophie, to her it had just been ‘pass the time of day’ gossip. But they did to Darren, he laid his knife and fork on the table, giving her his full attention. Determined not to rouse her suspicions, he chose his words carefully. “Do you know how old he is?”

Sophie hadn’t noticed the keenness in her husband’s voice, she continued to eat her meal. “No. I’d say he’s probably early thirties, thereabouts. Maybe my age’ish.”

It dawned slowly upon him, but now it was clear. The same grey blue eyes. The curly brunette hair. The strong nose. He had to get over to Derby, see Mary Miller again. If his suspicions were correct, then this was perfect, a real gem.

Sophie had been deeply dismayed when Darren had told her he was going out. She’d wanted to cuddle up with him on the sofa, pour through all the arrangements she’d put in place during the day in preparation for the move. The ugly thought flitted through her mind that he was seeing somebody else, once more, her suspicions now aroused the by the take-away debacle, but she repressed them quickly, of course he wouldn’t be having an affair whilst planning the move to Mallorca. It was just her hormones playing up, raising insecurity now her once perfect figure was rounding out of shape with the growing bump.

I was surprised, yet pleased to see Darren at the door, and he stepped through the doorway of my scruffy apartment block, and I hurried ahead to clear a space for him on the sofa. “Mary, I think I may have an idea who your son is.”

I dragged my hefty body to the round table and slumped into it, having pulled the chair round to face Darren, and a daring flutter of hope and excitement ran through me. “Which one? I have four sons and I’m not in touch with any of them.”

He seemed taken aback by my question, I suppose it had never occurred to him that I may have had more children. Looking back, the way I’d portrayed myself the before was as a woman who’d ceased living, frozen at the age of fifteen, only to be reborn when I regained contact with my long-lost babies. “Um, the boy twin that was adopted.”

At this I sat up straight, stunned hope spreading across my face, and I removed my glasses, uncovering the red dents at the top of my nose which revealed the heaviness of the dark frames, and I wiped at my watering eyes with the back of my hand. “Oh, Darren! Really! Who? Where?”

Darren grinned, he was loving every moment, not that I saw anything untoward, how could I possibly guess his real intentions: sometimes I could be ridiculously naïve for one who liked to be in control, and it was obvious to him what a desperate person would do a lot to gain their desire. “Now, now! I wouldn’t want to raise any false hopes, Mary. Look, I’ll find out a bit more about the man, but I do need a birth certificate to make sure I’ve got my facts straight.”

He didn’t need to say it twice, I was on my feet, glasses back in place, and rummaging through the overfilled top drawer of the sideboard. “They’re both in here somewhere, that’s where I keep them.” I brandished a tatty, yellowed certificate, handing it to Darren. “That’s Anna’s. I’ll find Andrew’s, ah, here it is.” Passing it to him, I wondered once more if I had been wrong about this man, after all, he was doing everything in his power top help me out. Maybe I had misjudged him. Idiotic fool that I am.

In retrospect, it must have taken Darren a great deal of control to not punch the air in glee, the prized blackmail possessions now his to control who he wanted with. Four people. His wife. Me. His father-in-law. And very possibly PC Taylor. He had them all in his power. Hastily saying his goodbyes, with the assurance of his imminent return, his next step was Coalville Police Station. Not that he told me any of this, I was filled in at a much later date.

Taylor was stunned to see Darren Delaney when the desk sergeant called him through from the offices. “Mr Delaney. Can I help you?”

“I need to talk to you. In private, if that’s okay.”

Intrigued, Alan Taylor strolled to the reception area, and guided Darren through a door to a small interview room. They both sat, Taylor confused, Darren in his roguish element. “I was talking to Sophie last night, she told me you were adopted, that you were looking for your mother.”

Alan was irked that his private life had been discussed with Darren Delaney, he hated the man with a passion on two counts: firstly because he was a despicable bastard who knocked his beautiful wife about; and secondly because he was married to the woman he’d fallen in love with. “Yes. What’s that got to do with you?”

“Have you ever seen your birth certificate?”

“Yes, my parents have never tried to hide my adoption from me.”

Darren reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, checked he had the correct document, and held it out for the policeman to see. “Is that it?” Eyes widening, Taylor tried to grab the paper, but Darren snatched it back.

Taylor’s anger bubbled, he wanted to beat the shit out of Darren Delaney, and it was only his professionalism that stopped him from lashing out. “What are you doing with that? Where did you get it from? You bastard, what are you playing at, you scheming piece of shit?”

Darren laughed, he loved controlling people, it gave him a wonderful sense of power. He stood, tucking the certificate back in his pocket, patting it for extra effect. “I know who your mother is.”

Tugging at the door, knowing Taylor’s curiosity would bring great rewards, Darren was stunned when the fist hit him from behind. The force of his body slammed the door shut, and Taylor dragged his aggressor back by the collar, punching him over and over, beating away the smugness, thumping out the arrogance. “Give me that back, you fucking bastard!”

Darren took every blow squarely, and when Taylor came to his senses and backed away, wholeheartedly hoping the scuffle hadn’t been heard, and that Darren Delaney wouldn’t report him for assault, he sat, deflated. Darren pulled the door wide once more, stepped into the reception area, and turned back. “I also know who your father is. And your twin sister. Give me some money and I might just tell you who they are.” He was gone.

Alan sat in the chair, minutes ticking away, running ideas, thoughts, situations through his mind, driving himself crazy. Until a horrendous scenario raised its ugly head. Mary Miller. She’d told him her twins had been called Anna and Andrew. On his birth certificate he’d been registered as Andrew, his adoptive parents changing his name to Alan. And then, sickeningly, he remembered Sophie’s middle name was Anna.