Bloody Mary (29 page)

Harold nodded, and motioned to Bob to sit on the armchair. Sophie and Harold sat on the sofa, and he began the conversation, tugging a scribbled note from his shirt pocket. “I’ve been in touch with a solicitor, his name is Carlos Gutierrez. His offices are in Palma, and he’s come highly recommended. Anyway, he is confident that he can draw up an agreement regarding Darren’s access to Jaimee that will suit us all. I’ve got an appointment with him tomorrow, eleven in the morning, perhaps you, and Darren, if he’s interested, would like to come.”

“Yes. Yes, we’ll be there, at least I certainly will, and I’m sure Darren will want to put his views across.”

Harold turned to Sophie. “Before we can make any arrangements, though, we need to be clear on your plans, Sophie. Are you coming back with us?”

Sophie didn’t answer immediately, she’d been put on the spot and had to ensure she made the best decision for her child’s welfare. “Dad, I’ll fix some drinks, just to give me five minutes to clear my mind, so much has happened in the past few weeks, and,” she made eye contact with Bob, “from what I could work out from your bizarre comments to Maureen, I think your family may be in some trouble.”

She strolled languidly to the kitchen area, lost in thought. Harold glanced at Bob, questioning, but met with a shaking head, dismissing the subject. Unhurriedly, Sophie took a carton of red Spanish wine, snipping the corner, before placing it, alongside three glasses, on a tray. She’d managed her five minutes by the time she brought it to the glass-topped coffee table. Bob leant forward and poured the drinks, passing them around.

“Right, here goes. The thing is, if I stay here, I’ll be alone with a baby, and that will make things difficult with work, and a social life will be impossible, not that going out really matters, it’s Jaimee’s well-being that’s central in all of this.”

Harold disagreed. “No, if you were on your own with Jaimee, getting out of the house, networking with people, having a break, it’s all necessary, or you’d go stir crazy.”

Sophie dropped her head, ignoring the words. “But if I go back to England, all my money is tied up here. I mean, where would I live…”

“With us until you sort yourself out, of course!”

She glanced at her father, eyes brimming with unchecked tears. “Dad, please don’t take offence, after all, I’ve quite come to like Mary since you two have been out here, especially after she delivered Jaimee. It’s just, with everything that’s been going on, well, I haven’t had a chance to digest Mum’s death, I haven’t grieved, and with you and Mary living together now in a house I associate with Mum, I think that would be hard for me to cope with.”

Bob nodded. “Yes, that would be hard.”

“Dad, I think I want to try and make a go of things out here, but have a passport arranged for Jaimee, just in case everything goes wrong. I’m sure I’ll find a job and a childminder, and I only need to work enough to pay for food and bills because there’s no mortgage to worry about.”

Harold couldn’t hide his disappointment, but realised he had to go along with Sophie’s decision. “Okay, sweetheart, I understand. Well, if that’s the plan, we need to come to an idea of what access Darren should have, then we can take that to Carlos tomorrow and get the paperwork drawn up.”

Bob put his empty glass on the table. “That sounds good to me, and I know that Maureen and Darren will be delighted you’re not taking Jaimee away from Mallorca. Now I think the other matter we need to discuss is divorce, you told me in the hospital, Sophie, that you were planning to go down that route.”

She was sad, but resolved. “Bob, I know he’s your son, so this must be hard for you, but Darren has consistently been violent towards me since early in the marriage, in fact it was him who put me in hospital back in September, he threw me down the stairs.”

Bob stood, appalled. “Now, listen here…”

“Bob, calm down. Sophie’s telling the truth. Darren drinks a lot, and when he’s had too much he loses control.” Bob’s face was soured, but he halted the rant he’d been planning.

Sophie continued, nervous now of relating too much, so decided to change the subject. “I believe the marriage is well and truly over, and I do want a divorce.”

“No chance of reconciliation? Even if Maureen and I pay for marriage counselling, or something?” Of course he knew Maureen would never agree to that, it was a needless request.

“None. No.”

Soon after the dreadful revelations to her distraught son, Maureen had headed home. She never usually walked anywhere, always driven by her husband, but today she was desperate for some fresh air, some time to think matters through. She’d begged Darren to come by later for dinner, but he was undecided, and drinking heavily to ease the shock of the confession.

She unlocked the gate and headed into the villa, grateful for the peace, her mind still sifting through everything. Keeping a level head, her first job was to get rid of the clothes. She removed them from the linen basket, shredded them with scissors, bagged them, and took the bag to the communal dustbin at the end of the road. She then returned to her usual tasks. By the time Bob arrived home, she’d prepared a complex meal, and had a thorough baking session, tins and plastic containers littering the sides, all containing sweet or savoury treats. She brought two plates through, steaming with the lavish feast, and placed them on the walnut table, shielded from the heat with placemats.

Not exchanging any words, Bob and Maureen tucked in.

Halfway through the meal life suddenly went into slow motion for the couple: police at the patio door, bursting through the front door, guns brandished in readiness, and Maureen, still soundless, was handcuffed and led away, the arresting officer issuing her rights in Spanish. Bob observed the scene as if he was viewing a motion picture, and as the villa cleared of the intruders, hauling his wife with them, he returned to his food, as if such events were an everyday occurrence.

Finishing the final scraps on the plate, he took the crockery through to the kitchen, and washed the dishes. It wasn’t until the room was spotless that he fixed himself a large whisky, and strolled to the phone to dial his son’s number. “Daz, it’s your Dad. Can you come and stay here tonight?” His voice was trembling and quiet, but he assured the concerned Darren that everything was fine.

The sun was hot in the oceanic sky, spring heralding summer, and the new blooms flourishing in the gardens of El Vilar cheered the morning further, the gentle breeze bobbing them to and fro. Harry was pacing the room, needlessly glancing at his watch every few seconds. “Where are they? They should have been here twenty minutes ago. We’re going to have to leave without them soon, or we won’t get there in time.”

Sophie wasn’t surprised at Bob’s failure to arrive, if her suspicions about the odd comments the day before were correct, then they could well have something far more pressing on their minds. She’d not mentioned anything to Harry or myself, with no confirmation of her impressions, telling them anything would purely be gossip, and that disagreed with her. “Dad, I don’t think they’re coming. Let’s just go, we can get a taxi.” She glanced at me as I tenderly cradled Jaimee. “Are you sure you don’t mind watching my little angel while we go.”

I grinned, peaceful with the cuddle. “Of course I don’t, you’ll be able to think clearly if you don’t have to worry about her. Besides,” I gazed into Jaimee’s alert, crystal blue eyes, “we’re going to have fun, aren’t we, little one!”

At the meeting, Harold, an eternally kind and honest fellow, ensured that the agreement was drawn up fairly. Sophie would retain custody of Jaimee, but Darren could have her on Saturdays, overnight until Sunday morning. He was sure that Darren wouldn’t object to the arrangement. “So what do we do now, Carlos?”

“Well, I give these notes to my secretary, she will type them, and then Mr and Mrs Delaney will both sign.”

Harold had felt confident of his choice of solicitor the previous day after the phone conversation, but now, having met and worked with him, he knew he’d managed to find one in a million. Carlos was middle aged, acutely intelligent, impartial, and didn’t carry a malicious streak that would be detrimental to the other party. “How long will it take her to type it up, you see, we’ve travelled a fair distance to get to Palma…”

“It is not a problem. You go, have, er, have some, er,
almuerzo
, some meal, have a coffee. You return one hour, Teodora have ready for you.
Si
. You go.”

After Darren had arrived the night before, extremely drunk and staggering, Bob had finally acknowledged that his wife had been arrested. Darren sobered up immediately on hearing the news. Although he had already accepted that his mother was in serious trouble, the reality hit him hard. They’d both slept away the excess alcohol of the afternoon and evening, and, after phoning
la policia
for confirmation of Maureen’s whereabouts, they’d headed to the police station to determine what was happening.

Benita, delayed for an hour, had finally arrived, and she explained that Maureen had admitted to killing Vicki, but had only been charged with manslaughter as the attack wasn’t pre-meditated. A hearing in court was due the next day, and they were both welcome to attend.

Deflated, they ambled back to the car, both in shock, but not surprise, and as Bob was driving them back to the villa, he noticed the time. “Shit! It’s two o’clock. With everything that’s happened I’d completely forgotten we were due to see a solicitor with Sophie this morning.”

Bob turned into a side road and pulled back in the direction they’d just come from. “She’s staying in El Vilar, we’ll go and see them now.”

Darren sneered, sarcastic. “Oh, are you sure you should be taking me, I mean, God forbid I find out her address!”

Bob silenced the cynicism with a critical glare. “I don’t think you’ll be causing any further problems with all of this shit that’s going on, will you!”

I had taken the baby from the room once more to give the four some peace to discuss the paperwork. Harold, clearly and concisely, explained what had occurred during the visit to Carlos, and he presented the document, showing Darren and Sophie where they should sign.

Darren almost spat his beer out as he read through. “You want me to have it at the weekend! You can stuff that up your bloody arse, Sophie!”

She paled. Harold was in disbelief, with no comprehension why this would be a problem, and he said as much. Darren retaliated impatiently. “She only wants me to have it at the weekend because she knows I like to go out every Saturday night for a drink. I work all bloody week, which is more than she does, and I deserve to unwind at the weekend, not look after some little brat!”

Now she was livid. “Brat! Brat! You can’t even bring yourself to refer to her as a ‘she’ rather than ‘it’. You knew things would change when we discussed starting a family, and you’ve got responsibilities now. Your daughter should come before drinking, Darren Delaney, not way down on the list.”

“Oh, get off your bloody high horse, you self-righteous cow. I’m not taking it for the weekend, and that’s that!” Darren drained the beer can empty, and slammed it on the table, he stormed off into the garden, reaching for the cigarettes in his pocket.

Harold glanced at Bob and Sophie, her bristling, Bob appearing ashamed. “I’m sorry, Harold, if I’d been at the meeting I would have told you that, where we come from, the men always go out on Saturday nights. Can we not change it to, say, Tuesday and Wednesday. Maureen and …” Remembering her arrest, remembering Harold and Sophie were unaware, and that he didn’t want them to know, he checked himself. “Maureen and I will look after Jaimee while Daz is at work, we’d be happy to.”

Sophie shook her head in disgust. “Jesus Christ! Talk about Darren being a pampered, spoilt, irresponsible jerk! Isn’t the whole point of access that he sees Jaimee, not shove her over to you two to look after. Sod this, sod it all. Do what you want, I’m past caring.” She got up, stomped to her room to join me and the baby, and slammed the door.

The situation had taken a while for the ever-placid Harold and the deflated Bob to resolve. In the end, with Darren and Sophie being kept away from each other, they had managed to get the estranged couple to agree to the weekdays. Harold neatly changed the wording on the document, and they each signed individually, initialling the corrections. Bob had taken Darren away, and Harold, noting the calmed atmosphere on their departure, wrote a short letter to Carlos, explaining what had happened, to enclose with the agreement, and placed it in an envelope ready to send.

Strolling through to the bedroom, relieved the event was over, he opened the door to the serene sight of me and Sophie, lounging against the pillows of the double bed, with the baby sleeping peacefully between us, and instantly his heart was touched. He edged quietly over, not wanting to wake Jaimee, and perched on the end to join them.

“Done?” Sophie needed to say no more.

He breathed out slowly. “Done! Come on, girls, I could do with something to eat, let’s go out for a meal to celebrate the end of a rotten situation!”

The idea was greeted enthusiastically, and it didn’t take them long to pack a travel bag for Jaimee, tuck her into the pram, and tidy themselves up. They strolled languidly for the short journey, lapping up the sun, cheerful, relaxed, and relieved, arriving at the chosen Chinese restaurant and taking a shaded table in the conservatory at the forefront of the building. They were received with a warm welcome, and had their drinks delivered immediately.

“I think now we’ve got that agreement in place, and we know that Carlos is going to take care of your legalities, I would suggest, well,” he caught my eye, “that we stay in the villa until the rental period runs out, get you and Jaimee safely back in the apartment, and then we can go back to our lives in Derby.”