by Ricki Thomas
He stopped fiddling with the paperwork and addressed Darren with a loathing glare. “Beryl knows, I told her all about it at the time, it was her choice to adopt Sophie. So forget your blackmail, it’s not going to work on me.”
Darren stood up, knowing he’d achieved his goal, fully aware that he had Harold Waller in the palm of his hand. “The old dragon may know, but little Sophie, the apple of Daddy’s eye. It would ruin her, and you know that as well as I do. Oh, and of course there’s the little matter that you have no idea where we’re moving to.” His work done, Darren stalked out, taking his vindictive chuckle with him. Harold locked the door quietly and slumped into the plush swivel chair behind his desk, placing his head in hands, and wishing in retrospect that he had told Sophie the truth when she was a child.
It was the day for Beryl’s reading, and, timid as ever, she sat before me, asking for general guidance with her family matters. It was a revolting situation to be involved in, and why I was reading the cards once more, just to see the apparent doom and gloom for a millionth time, I had no idea. Before I had dealt them into the neat Cross, I had, as usual, asked Beryl to shuffle the cards, but when I dealt, I dealt with Darren and Sophie in my thoughts, concentrating fully on them, and willing the cards to remove the evil Darren from her life. I knew they couldn’t do that, they were for prediction only, it was all rubbish, but sometimes you just have to hope that maybe there is a sixth sense we haven’t yet discovered, there was little else I could do in reality.
However, I was amazed when The Sun appeared in the Hopes and Fears position, it didn’t seem to ring true in balance with the other cards I’d turned. There appeared to be happiness on all levels, it would have been a wonderful card for somebody if I hadn’t known the truth about the tremendous mistake Sophie was about to make. How was I going to get rid of the husband, stop my girl from moving away, out of her reach?
Somehow I needed to see Sophie, tell her the reality about her man, fill her in on the dangers that lay before her. But if I were to go and see her, the frightened woman would call the police. Maybe I should pre-empt that and call them first, explain what was going on, maybe those policemen from before would be a little more receptive to my ideas? It was a futile thought and I knew it: for years people had called me mad because of my so-called belief in the paranormal, why would things change now!
I had to come up with something. But what?
Darren arrived back at the cottage at just gone three, amazed to find Sophie buzzing with excitement. “Hey, Soph, calm down! What’s going on?”
She was gushing, her words not making sense, sentence after sentence tripping over each other in her quest to relate everything at the same time, and she followed him into the kitchen. He opened the cupboard to find just two tumblers. “Where’s the glasses?”
“I’ve packed them, we’re down to two of everything. Darren, have you heard a single word I’ve said?”
Darren doled her a pretentious glare. “If you want the truth, then no. You’re talking a load of mumbo-jumbo.” He grabbed a glass, took the whisky he’d just collected out of the carrier bag, and poured a large measure.
Sophie forced herself to calm a little, arms and fingers outstretched, breathing deeply. “Darren. We’ve sold the cottage.”
He stared at her, his dreams all coming to fruition in the glorious moment, safe in the knowledge that his long-term plan had suddenly, unexpectedly, wonderfully, become short-term.
Accepting that a vocal response wasn’t forthcoming, Sophie launched into an explanation. “I was packing, the boxes came this morning, and the estate agents called asking if I could show a couple round at short notice. I told them we were packing, that the place was a bit of a mess, but they said these people had been to see the cottage from the outside a few times, and they were really keen. So I said yes. Anyway, this Ian and Laura, they loved it! They’re bloody rich, from down south. Said this is going to be their second home. They run a business, not sure what, but they can buy the place outright, no mortgage, nothing. They’re going to have a surveyor come out as soon as possible, and put the wheels in motion. Well, that’s the phrase they used, but…! God, Darren, isn’t this fantastic?”
Darren took the second glass from the cupboard, pouring a drop of whisky in, not too much, but still more than a double measure. “Drink this, Soph. I think you need to calm down.”
Sophie relished having permission to drink, regardless of her pregnancy, almost as if having the nod nullified any negative effects on her baby. She sipped, enjoying the warmth, if not the cheap kick, it gave her. “Darren, it means we won’t have to stay with your parents too long! It means we can buy a place of our own.”
Darren poured another glassful. Life was progressing beautifully, and, of course he hadn’t seen this latest episode brewing, but he wasn’t complaining. He raised his glass and chinked it against Sophie’s. “Here’s to us!”
Chapter 11
Countdown
Darren never came back to get his fraudulent money, which was a good things seeing as I had none, and the next couple of weeks trotted by with no contact between any of us. If Darren had been telling the truth about the date of their emigration, then there was only exactly one week to go before Sophie and he were due to board the plane and head off for their new life.
In my absence Sophie’s organisational skills had proven priceless over the previous days. The removals company were booked and ready to go, flights arranged, storage arranged for the furniture until they found a place to buy, suitcases packed, bar the necessary day-to-day items. She’d even scrubbed the house from top to bottom, paintwork, scuffs on walls, kitchen, bathroom. They were living a life in limbo, surviving on take-aways out of the wrappers, or bar meals at the local.
Darren was still working on the new building, purposely designed to be a care home for children with cerebral palsy, in Donington, which had been paying his self-employed wages for the past few months, and he intended to work for the next five days to bring as much money in as possible before the move. Hodgekinson, Neville, and Barton Solicitors, albeit disgruntled at her absence throughout the previous two weeks, had no choice but to pay her, as they would have to for the two month notice period, regardless of whether she turned up or not, as long as she supplied the medical certificates her doctor had been willing to supply. There had been no goodbye party, nothing, and they were clueless that she was about to leave the country. Not that Sophie cared about anything but her new start now, the impending move was a lifeline, a way to drag her away from the sorrow and shock of the past few months.
For my part, I only knew of Darren’s contact with me, and was clueless to the attempts he’d made to bribe Harry and PC Taylor as well, not that anything would shock me any more. In his own life, Harry had had no choice but to relate the altercation he’d had with Darren to his wife. Beryl had been fully informed of the affair he’d had thirty-one years before, but her coping mechanism had been to block it all away, pretend it had never happened, that if she told everyone Sophie was her birth child they would believe it. Why wouldn’t they? The subject coming up, having been buried for so many years, had led to argument after argument, tear after tear, recrimination after recrimination. However, underneath the anger, Beryl understood why her husband had needed to re-open the wound. For Sophie’s sake.
I had hit endless brick walls trying to think of ways to stop Sophie from leaving, I’d had hundreds of ideas but dismissed them all following rational thought, and in the end had found myself at a loss. Until Harry and Beryl turned up on my doorstep.
It was a cold November day, the frost had set in and showed no signs of abating, and the murky skies had led to murky moods throughout the country. Over the past couple of weeks I had taken to keeping my winter duffle coat on in the house, essential as I couldn’t afford to heat the flat to a comfortable temperature, and I’d given up on the wayward hope that Darren Delaney would pass the information of my son on to me without receiving the payment I couldn’t
afford. With their move abroad just around the corner, I realised that I would have succumbed to his blackmail over the past emotion driven days, but I couldn’t raise two pounds to give him, let alone two thousand.
At first I didn’t recognise Harry, not until he’d introduced himself and, needlessly, his wife, but I soon saw the familiar, if not older, eyes, frame, stance. It was the first time Beryl and I had ever met in circumstances other that my readings for her, and I guessed hearing that her personal mystic for so long was the girl who had lead her husband astray must have been a real blow. But she remained polite, yet distant. We all sat down, no beverages prepared, the only importance for us all now being Sophie’s welfare. “As far as I know she’s due to move in a week or so. Darren said he’d been in contact with you, Mary, is that true?”
I could feel the sneer of distaste and hatred settling across my well-worn features. “Yes. He’s been here. He wanted me to give him money to tell me who my son was.”
Harry was taken aback. “You mean he knows about Andrew as well!”
At the mention of the name, years of anguish turned to anger, and I glared at him. “Why did you only take Sophie? Why not Andrew?”
I could see that Beryl was finding the entire situation distressing, but knew the subject needed to remain firmly on her adoptive daughter’s welfare. “Mary, that was down to me. I already had a son, and I desperately wanted a daughter, but after two ectopic pregnancies left me with damaged fallopian tubes, the only solution I had was to adopt. Please don’t ever think I condone the affair you had with my husband, but at least the daughter was his flesh and blood. I couldn’t have coped with two babies, I was very nervous at the time.”
Harry studied his wife, proud of her admission in the difficult scenario, regardless that the term ‘nervous’ was a complete understatement of the severe depression she suffered following the second ectopic pregnancy, and I felt more than a tinge of jealousy. Her life could have been mine.
I stood, beginning a slow march back and forth across the room, wheezing with mild asthma in the cold air, while Beryl continued to speak. “The past is the past and we can’t change it. But in the near future our daughter, which I say as I can accept we’re all her parents, is moving to another country with a man we know to be a devious character. Our joint quest is to work out how can we stop her?”
I was surprised to find that I suddenly had more respect for Beryl, the other woman, than ever, and I finally began to understand why Harry hadn’t left Beryl for the pretty young girl I used to be. “I agree, and it’s not just her, it’s our unborn grandchild too.”
Harry stepped in, his mind working rationally as I remembered it so well. “The thing is, if she wants to move away, as a fully fledged adult that’s her choice, but the bit that worries me is his violence towards her, and her refusal to admit it. She was in intensive care just a few months ago, and…”
“I know, Harry,” Beryl winced at my use of the affectionate nickname, “I went to see her. He’s told me she’s the violent one but I can’t see that.”
“Rubbish! I think the best thing we can do is to go and see her at home. If the three of us voice our concerns, maybe she’ll listen, and at least consider our reasons for being unhappy with the emigration.”
So off we went, united in our quest for Sophie’s welfare, Harry held the car doors open for both his wife and me, his ex-mistress, and we all traipsed along the gravel driveway to Sophie’s cottage. Ringing the bell persistently, there came no reply, and we all glanced at each other, all finding the situation weird and awkward, and all wondering what to do. We were on the point of giving up and returning to the car when we heard giggling, the sound of footsteps approaching.
Sophie was stunned to see the entourage before her, Darren uncomfortable, worried for the first time that his plan may be failing. “Mum! Dad!” Sophie spied me and shot me a filthy glare. “What’s going on?”
Darren shook his head with distaste, unlocked the door, and strolled into the house, leaving the estranged group exchanging glances, nobody quite sure how to start. We were grateful when Beryl broke the ice. “Sophie, we need to talk to you.”
Having just left The White Horse after a few drinks and a meal, her mood was cheerful, and her tongue loosened. She beckoned her parents into the house. “Not you though, I want nothing to do with you!”
It was directed at me, and I shied away, chastised, embarrassed, and forlorn. But Beryl took my arm with honourable charity, and guided me inside. “Mary is part of the discussion we need to have with you.” I was very grateful.
Reluctantly, Sophie moved aside for me, I was dreadfully timid one now, to enter. We dodged around the neatly packed and labelled boxes, and sat on the cream sofas, bar Darren who had already disappeared upstairs with a large bottle of brandy, and Sophie trotted to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She returned and sat next to Harry, and after a minute of uncomfortable silence, Beryl began in a whisper, nodding towards the ceiling. “Can he hear us?”
Disgruntled still with her unwanted visitor, Sophie was impertinent. “Who’s ‘he’?”
Beryl sighed deeply, annoyed. “Sophie, please, we’re all begging you, please don’t go abroad, at least not with him.”
“I’m sorry it’s come to this, yet again, I know you don’t get along with Darren. But he’s my husband whether you like it or not, and when I gave my vows, I gave them for life. So, if that’s all you have to say, I’ll say goodnight now.” She opened the door, waiting impatiently, but we all remained seated.
“Sophie, close the door. I have something, something important, that I need to tell you.” Harry’s eyes implored forgiveness, expecting to lose his daughter’s respect forever within the next few seconds. He took a deep breath as Sophie pushed the door to and folded her arms petulantly. “Thank you. Sophie, I know this is going to be hard for you to accept, but what Mary tried to tell you, it’s true, she is your birth mother. We adopted you.”
Her intolerance remained as Sophie glared at her father. “Darren has already told me the story, something I think should have come from you, many years ago, I might add.”
Standing softly, he strolled towards her and lightly took her arms, but she shrugged away, irritated. “Sophie, I am your natural father, but…”
“I told you already, Darren told me everything. So I know that she’s the little slag who got herself knocked up when she was fourteen, and I know that you are a paedophile, and my dear mother is a blatant liar. So, as I said, goodnight!” The words bit at my soul.
“Sophie, it’s not as cut and dried as…”
“I do not want to hear your bloody excuses! I said goodnight!” Her voice rose, horribly shrill. “Now get out!” A freezing wind gusted through as she re-opened the door, matching the icy atmosphere.
The outburst, totally uncharacteristic, stunned the three of us, and our eyes flicked across the room, uncomfortably wondering what to do for the best. Harry tried again, his heart breaking with sorrow, with guilt, with repentance. “Sophie, please listen…”
“Out!”
Still nobody moved, Darren’s footsteps trotted down the stairs, and he swaggered triumphantly into the room, swaying glass in hand. “Well, come on, you lot! You heard the lady, she wants you out of here.” He grinned, amused and victorious, sipping his drink, and we had no choice but to file sheepishly out of the house, each of us aware that we had no clue where Sophie was emigrating to in just one week, whether we’d hear from her, whether we’d ever see her, again. And whether we’d ever meet our grandchild.
Harry, Beryl, and I knew we had exhausted every angle. In our own unique ways we’d each tried to get through to her, we’d shown her our unity, and we’d furnished her with honesty, but she was completely under Darren Delaney’s spell. We’d lost her. Not a word was exchanged on the drive back to Derby.
Without voicing a remark, our minds in turmoil, it seemed to be commonly accepted that we would all return to my un-kempt flat, and we each cradled warming
mugs of tea as the silence continued. The atmosphere was miserable, our confidences dashed, our daughter inaccessible.
Beryl, unexpectedly the braver of the three, finally spoke. “So she goes in a week’s time, we have no idea where, except that it’s somewhere in Mallorca. What can we do?”
Harry, ever practical, regretfully voiced his only suggestion. “If we give that man the money he asked you for, Mary, maybe he’ll give you her contact details.”
My eyes twinkled briefly with hope, until Beryl chastised him. “No way are we succumbing to his evil bribery, Harold Waller! One of us needs to get through to her somehow. Maybe the idea of the three of us turning up at the same time was overwhelming for her, especially in her current condition. But perhaps if one of us, it’s probably best if it’s not you, Mary, please don’t take offence,” I nodded sadly, “were to see her on our own, try and at least get the address of where she’s going to be staying. Just maybe. Harold, she dotes on you, I think you’re the one who needs to do this.”
The conversation ceased abruptly with sharp knock on the door, and, intrigued, I stepped to the hall to answer. The sight of PC Taylor, in uniform, bewildered me further. “Mrs Miller, Mary. I, um, I need to talk to you.”
Although I was still confused, my words were curt, irritated with the intrusion. “Well, you’d better come through, I suppose. As I led him to the living room I felt anger arising: a restraining order was the last thing I needed, why was Sophie bothering with a complaint about me she was about to leave the country. “No doubt Sophie’s reported me again for visiting her, but Harry and Beryl here,” I gestured to my guests as I sat down, “can help me explain to you why we went.”
