by Ricki Thomas
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.
“Come.”
Opening the door. “Mr Barton, I…”
“Ah, Sophie, I’m glad you’re here, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
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?”
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.”
