Bloody Mary (25 page)

“We’re flying home the day after tomorrow, more’s the pity!” Peggy had been trying to persuade Bry to sell up and move to Mallorca to join their friends, but he wasn’t keen.

Quickly deducing Sophie would still have two weeks before the baby was due once she could get Maureen alone, she relaxed in the knowledge that there was time enough yet. She arranged to visit Darren’s mother three days later, suggesting a girlie trip to the market on her day off from waitressing.

Harry was pacing the room, his mood throwing a dampener on the contentment that Sophie and I had experienced since moving away from the Montaña Vista Apartments. Maureen’s refusal to hand back Sophie’s passport was downright corrupt, and caused us two large problems: she would need to present her passport at the hospital when she went in to labour; and she couldn’t fly home without it. But not knowing the Spanish legal system, he was unsure how to proceed with the matter, and Sophie, having blinkered herself to concentrate only on her unborn child the past few months, wasn’t any help. He considered the British Embassy, but ruled them out for now, and also debated contacting
la guardia
, but hadn’t Maureen mentioned Sophie was an illegal immigrant? He didn’t want to create any further problems.

The birthing bag was fully packed, enough clothes for mother and baby for a couple of days, should the birth run into complications. Nursing pads, heavy duty sanitary towels, a couple of books, necessary numbers: I had been a wealth of information to Sophie who hadn’t even considered such items, not having experienced birth before.

In his angst, Harry knew he needed some help, he wanted to avoid stressing Sophie any further by necessitating any involvement from her, and I knew as little as he did. He made two phone calls on his mobile, one to each of his sons, Steve and Alan. Steve’s only suggestion was that he took some unplanned leave from his job and came over to help, which Harry deemed unnecessary, but Alan had access to legal personnel through his job, and he promised to find out as much as he could to resolve the predicament.

They had been to the market, collecting foodstuffs, delicacies, clothes, linens and unnecessary trinkets for their homes, the morning had been tiring and Vicki and Maureen were grateful to be back at the villa for welcome refreshments. Vicki helped herself to a beer from the fridge, while Maureen poured a white wine into a large glass, both taking them to the table, where they unpacked the bags and exhibited their purchases to each other. Vicki had spent more than she could afford, one of the reasons the tended to avoid the
mercados
, yet she still hadn’t managed to glean the key to the safe’s whereabouts from Maureen. She needed the house to herself for a short while. But how?

Maureen replaced the food in the bags and took them into the kitchen, unpacking them neatly inside the fridge and cupboards, and, with Bob outside in the garden, doing his daily sweeping, Vicki saw the opportunity to have a quick snoop. She silently moved the chair back from the table, and dug around in the drawer of the bureau, unhappily retrieving no keys. Her mind whirred with excuses to go into their bedroom, and eventually she had an idea. “Maur, I wondered if I could just use your room to try on this new dress I bought, I want to wear it tonight for Daz.”

Her voice floated through the doorway. “Of course you can, love. You know where it is.”

Punching the air, Vicki scooped up the dress she now didn’t regret spending the money on, and headed into their room, closing the door behind her. The fresh room, magnolia painted with cheerful, yellow curtains, adorned with flowered prints, was impeccably tidy, as was the entire villa, Maureen being a stickler for orderliness, and Vicki hastened to the nearest bedside drawers, scanning inside, moving things around to see underneath, but still no key. She tried the other drawers, still finding nothing. Swearing under her breath, she darted to the other side of the bed to try the other drawers. “How’s it going in there, Vick?”

Desperately hoping Maureen wasn’t about to enter, Vicki levelled her voice, the adrenaline making her breathless. “Oh, fine, fine. It’s a bit tight, I’ll come out and show you in a second.” Vicki snatched the key from the back corner of the top drawer, praying it was the right one, shoved it in the pocket of her denim shorts, and hastily undressed, donning the lacy red dress as swiftly as possible.

Opening the door, Maureen now back at the table with her wine, the unpacking finished, she twirled, the skirt of the floaty gown billowing up prettily. “Oh, that’s beautiful, Vick, it’s not too tight at all! My baby’s going to love that.”

“Pretty, isn’t it! I thought I’d wear black courts with it, and my black shawl.”

Maureen regarded the stunning girl, her annoyance at Darren being involved with another woman instead of spending more time with her surfacing again, and she repressed the expression that threatened to brew on her face. At least Vicki wasn’t as stuck up as Sophie, she was a sweet girl and fitted in well with the family. “Are you going for a meal, or something?”

Vicki nodded. “Yeah, he doesn’t know it yet, it’s a surprise. My treat.” She headed back into the bedroom, closed the door, and ripped the dress off, replacing her clothes, before uncovering the safe and trying the key. It fitted, and there it was, the stack of passports. Flicking through urgently, she took Sophie’s and wrapped it in the dress, shoving it back in the carrier bag, sighing with relief at a job well done.

Back in the living room, Bob had returned from the garden. “Bob, Vick’s just modelled the dress she bought at the market this morning, it’s lovely. Vick, get it out and show Bob.”

Reddening, she found the excuse quickly. “Oh, sorry, I haven’t got time, I just saw your bedside clock, I’m supposed to be meeting a friend in five minutes.” She grabbed her purchases and darted to the door. “We’ll have to do this again soon, it was fun. See you later.” And she was gone.

Maureen and Bob glanced at each other, confused. Bob voiced their joint thoughts. “But we haven’t got a clock in the bedroom!” Suspicions aroused, no words were needed as they went to see what was going on.

Trotting along the street towards her apartment, eager to hide the passport where Darren wouldn’t find it, it dawned on Vicki that it was all very well having the passport, but she had no idea where Sophie and her parents were staying, no phone numbers, no way of getting in touch with them. Damn! Why hadn’t she thought of that before? She had many contacts, having lived in Majorca for three years, and knew she’d discreetly have to put some feelers out.

Darren, showered and smart, as Vicki had instructed him to be for the surprise outing she had planned for him, turned up at her door, unusually on time. He wasn’t pleased after the phone call from his mother, he detested people trying to mess with his life. He couldn’t deny that she looked gorgeous when she opened the door, stepping outside to join him. The red dress his mother had described suited her raven hair and dark colouring, and the extra height the court shoes gave her enhanced her slender form. But she’d tried to go behind his back, for what reason he couldn’t fathom, and he wanted the truth now. He pushed her back into the apartment roughly.

Another punch and she crashed into the wall behind her, reeling, face pounding with pain. “Don’t fucking play games with me, you bitch! My Mam told me you took it from their bedroom this afternoon. I don’t know why you took it, and I don’t fucking care, I just want you to fucking give it back.”

Finally seeing Darren for what he really was, a brutal, nasty, violent bastard, her shock dissipated and her true character surfaced, she grabbed the phone. “Fuck off Darren. One more move on me, and I call the police. Get out, and don’t come back.”

Laughing vindictively he headed to the door, pulling it wide, before turning back. “You’ll keep, bitch.”

As the door slammed, shaking the apartment, tears sprung to Vicki’s sore eyes. She now realised why Sophie had let him go so easily, why she’d not fought to keep her man, the father of her unborn child, and she was wholeheartedly pleased the passport was in her possession. If there was any justice here, for the woman she’d hated until minutes before, it would be to find her and return the important document, help her to leave the man she also no longer wanted. It would just take a little time.

Sophie had been getting the twinges for days, or Braxton Hicks as I informed her repeatedly was the correct term, but this one was different, it hurt like crazy. She didn’t tell us, worried she was just being overly dramatic, and she excused herself, telling me, and Harry, that she wanted a nap, and went to the bedroom. After an hour of painful tightening, she guessed it would be wise to start timing them, wishing she had the book about pregnancy and birth she’d mindlessly left at the apartment with many of her belongings. They were coming every seven minutes, but, two hours later when I called her stating that lunch was about to be served, they’d narrowed to three minutes, and Sophie knew that the time had arrived.

Sitting herself carefully at the table, the heavy aroma of spaghetti bolognaise hitting the back of her throat, making her want to retch, Sophie realised she’d have to tell us what was happening, but she didn’t want to cause any panic, her father was already stressed enough about not having her passport. The only solution was to take me, the calmer one, to one side and let me know.

“Oh hell! You say every three minutes?” Sophie nodded glumly. “And they’re painful?” Another contraction came on, the most intense so far, and Sophie instantly crouched, eyes squeezed shut, emitting an animal wail. I ran over to Harry, explaining the situation in a hushed voice. “I remember that cry of pain, Harry, she’s not far off. We need to get her to a hospital now.”

Sophie, her natural instincts springing into play, shifted up to the sofa, and finding herself unable to climb up, knelt, leaning forward into the cushion. I trotted over, sitting on the floor, and began rubbing her back gently, noting another contraction coming on. “What hospital are you booked into, Sophie?”

She roared as the pain ripped through her, this was heating up rapidly and her thoughts were concentrated on her body, nothing else. I shouted to Harry, who was flitting from the kitchen area, to his mobile, to his paperwork, unsure what he should be doing. “Harry! She can’t help us, she’s too far gone. If we don’t get her to hospital now we’re going to be delivering this baby ourselves. Do something!”

He fussed a moment longer, before darting out of the front door, hoping the neighbours would be in. Hammering at the door, the elderly Spanish lady finally opened up, grumpy at the incessant banging, but he didn’t give her a chance to speak. “Baby! My daughter’s having a baby. We need an ambulance.”

Recognising just two possibilities from the language she didn’t speak, Almunda Pérez Galdós tried to confirm the situation. “
Bebé? Ambulancia
?”

“
Oui
, no,
si, si! Bebé, si! Urgento
!”

Almunda cackled with amusement. “
Usted significa urgente, señor. Uno momento
.” Slowly, her aging body arthritic, she moved to the phone and dialled one one two, much to Harry’s relief. He ran back to our villa, Almunda deciding to follow once the call had finished, just for entertainment.

He raced through the door, hesitant on seeing his daughter, dress hitched up over her naked buttocks, and turned his head away. “The lady next door has just called an ambulance. At least, I think that’s what she was doing!”

Sophie began to roar viciously again, a blood-curdling noise that I could see was tearing at Harry’s heart. I, as I had been doing since Harry’s departure, began to rub her back, but Sophie shoved me away roughly. “FUCK OFF! DON’T FUCKING DO THAT!”

Mine and Harry’s eyes met, and for the first time I was deeply concerned. “She’s in transition. Birth’s imminent. I hope you told them it was an emergency.”

“I did, I said it was
urgento
.”

“
Urgente
!” Almunda corrected him, making everyone in the room aware of her presence. She stepped into the kitchen, filling the kettle and clicking it on. “
Usted quiere la agua caliente, y una toalla para el bebé.
” Throwing her hands in the air and muttering at Harry’s blank look, she hobbled across the room in the direction of the bathroom to find the towels herself.

In the distance sirens were wailing, gradually coming closer, but I doubted they’d arrive in time, and my instincts were right. “I need to push! I feel like pushing!” Sophie’s breathless voice was full of fear.

Sighing with reticence, my shoulders fell. “You follow what your body’s telling you, Sophie.” Her eyes squeezed, mouth tensed and cheeks puffed, Sophie put every ounce of her waning strength into the urge, while I, uncomfortable with the situation but realising I was about to deliver my grandchild, placed my hand where I really didn’t want to, feeling the wet fluffy hair as the head began to crown. Sophie puffed, urgently grasping for air, before plunging into the next push. I could see the scrunched up eyes, and suddenly didn’t feel so misplaced, the warmth of love and pride taking over. “One more, Sophie, one more and the head will be out. You’re doing fantastically. Come on, darling.”

The paramedics burst through the door just as the baby plopped into my waiting hands with a gush of amniotic fluids, rushing over to replace her, and the only thing I could do, my emotions, fears, shock, everything, all overwhelming me, was to cry. Harry cradled me in his arms, shedding tears of relief himself, the kittenish mewing from the healthy child spurring us on. The next time we looked back, Sophie was sitting, albeit uncomfortably, on the floor, cradling the well wrapped newborn, focusing on her child and nothing else.