Bloody Mary

by Ricki Thomas

  He flushed the chain and opened the door, to see Sophie, yawning widely. “Oh, morning Alan, I need to use the loo, I’m desperate. Do you mind?”

  Alan’s eyes darted to the bath, agitated, unsure what to do, but once decided, he composed himself with a shrug, and stepped onto the landing. “Sure. Don’t be long though, I was about to take a shower.”

  Sophie chuckled, pushing the door to. “Well, just go in my room for a minute, I don’t want you to hear anything.”

  Shocked, Steve realised she needed a little more than a pee, that he could tolerate, but staying in the room while his sister emptied her bowel, no, that was too much to stomach, especially with a hangover. He dragged the shower curtain back and held his hands up. “Sorry Sophie, I can’t stay and listen to that.”

  She started, eyes wide. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Let Alan back in, we’re going to have to tell you something.”

  Her reaction wasn’t what they expected, she usually tried to avoid confrontation at any cost, but anger flared from her, and she stomped down the stairs, followed by her timid brothers, lambs to the slaughter. In the kitchen, Harry and Mary I stared at each other, disturbed from our breakfasting by the noise.

  Sophie retrieved the letter from the bureau and ripped it open, dropping the envelope on the floor as she examined the contents. Divorce papers. Rage bubbling, she stormed to the kitchen, Steve and Alan both seated meekly at the table with the us now. Waving the paper in the air, Sophie shouted. “What’s going on Mary? Why have you hidden my mail?”

  I snatched a worried glance at Harry, who was stilled, bemused, a frozen statue with a slice of half eaten toast in his hand. “I, I, um …”

  Sophie was now marching around the table, still waving the contents of the envelope. “Stop babbling and tell me why you’re intercepting my divorce papers. And I want the truth.”

  “Okay, here’s the truth. I was dealing with your divorce for you because I thought it might be more stress for you, and you’ve been so distressed lately I thought …”

  “Bollocks!” All faces turned to Sophie, she normally hated swearing.

  Ever placid, Harry intervened. “Now everybody calm down, please, there’s no reason for shouting.” He turned to me. “Is this true, Mary, that you’ve been stealing Sophie’s post?”

  Ashamed, I had no choice but to admit my crime. “I did it to delay the divorce, okay! If it goes through, you will lose everything you’ve worked so hard for, and it seems so unfair that the legal system won’t recognise your input into that apartment. I did it for you, Sophie.”

  Juan, awakened by the altercation, came into the room, he guided Sophie to a chair, and seated himself. Debating my words, Harry could see my point, but was still confused, especially on seeing the Spaniard. “I realise how much Sophie worked for that money, and it’s a dreadful loss, but what I don’t understand is why you invited Juan, here, to propose if she’s not free to marry?” He turned to Sophie. “I know that your dreadful husband is a nasty piece of work, I know he’s a raging alcoholic, but what are you supposed to do? Wait forty years for Darren Delaney to die?”

  Juan was leaning forward, staring at Harry, stunned. “Did you say Darren Delaney?” Harry nodded and explained briefly what had happened in Mallorca. Juan’s eye’s boggled. “Infierno de mierda, qué un lío! I have meet this Darren Delaney, the night before I flew to England.” I glanced around the table to see Steve and Alan sharing worried glances. “He go to hospital, very bad, maybe meura, errr, maybe die.”

  Harry and Sophie’s jaws dropped in unison. “Die? How?” “He’s dead?”

  Juan waved his hand, shaking his head. “No, no, he, errr, how you say, badly beaten, and, err,” he mimicked a knife stabbing his belly, “he cut, attack and steal from him, many men. He alive when I treat him, but he not good. Lots of bad ill.” He imitated a swollen head using hand gestures to his own. “Very big head, maybe he die now, I do not know.”

  Sophie sharply pushed her chair back and ran from the room, I stared at Harry, who nodded, and I followed her, the sounds of our footsteps running up the stairs. Alan was deeply concerned, albeit stunned by the coincidence of the whole drama. “So he was mugged, beaten badly and stabbed. Phew. I didn’t like him, but that’s pretty awful, all the same. Do they know who did it?”

  “No, thing like that, we see this all the time. Morocco men, not legal residencia, they steal for money, for identity. Is not good, but …” He shrugged, the sentence hanging in the air.

  “So when are you going back to Spain? Will you be his doctor again? We need to know how he is.” Harry was concerned.

  Again Juan shook his head. “No, I not go back now. Mary say I live here, with she and you, until I sell my house and buy one here. I marry Sophie, Sophie and Jaimee come live with me.”

  In her room Sophie sat on the bed, stunned, and I was holding her hand. Neither of us spoke, we were each lost in our own thoughts with the news Juan had brought across with him. Clattering from downstairs showed that the guests who’d stayed over after the party the previous night were now waking and breakfasting, day to day meaningless chatter sifting up to the bedroom, laughter and reminiscence. Time ticked on. And on.

  Finally Sophie wearily drew herself up. “I have to take Jaimee to see him, that’s if it’s not too late.”

  “No!” I grabbed Sophie’s arm. “No. Why are you so forgiving to that man? He’s a terrible person, and to be honest, not only could I see this coming, he’s vulgar when he’s drunk, and that’s most of the time, but he treated you so badly he doesn’t deserve someone as compassionate as you anywhere near him.”

  Sophie tugged her arm away, standing straight, resolute. “I need to do this for me, for my daughter. You don’t get it, do you? If he dies, and I haven’t made peace, I will never be able to forgive myself, and Jaimee deserves to see her father for a last time too.”

  Harry had insisted on paying for the tickets, even though he had no wish to come, I had insisted on accompanying Sophie, I didn’t want her travelling alone, and to join our party, Alan demanded he fly out, stating he, too, was concerned with Darren’s condition. Jaimee behaved beautifully on the flight, if she wasn’t gurgling and chewing her fingers to ease her teething gums, she was sleeping, her angelic face drawing admiring glances from the airline staff. It was an early flight, and we arrived at Palma just before midday.

  Alan, a confident and highly trained driver because of his job, dismissed the idea of hiring a taxi, he’d driven on the right hand side of the road several times, and assured us it would be better to hire a car. After a few minor mishaps with the handling of the gear stick and handbrake, the journey was smooth, and soon we arrived at the Hospital General de Muro, bringing memories back for both Sophie and me.

  Sophie gave Darren’s name to the receptionist and we were directed to the intensive care ward. As she stood at the open door, surveying the man who had put her in the same position during her final weeks in Mallorca, the sight of his battered body overwhelmed her, and she shed her first tear since hearing the news the previous day. She turned back to, us, her companions in her hour of need. “Give me five minutes alone with him.” Sophie pushed the buggy through and the door closed slowly behind her.

  “Darren?” She had no idea if he could hear her. “It’s Sophie.” Apart from raising one index finger, his body was still. She drew up a seat, removed Jaimee from the pushchair, sitting the smiling child on her lap. “I brought Jaimee to see you.” The finger rose again in acknowledgement.

  Her eyes scanned his face, it was unrecognisable, blackened swollen eyes deep set in the mound of swelling where his cheekbones should have shown. Scabs littered his skin, and his ears were sitting horizontal to his head, the bruising being so terrible. Three dressings covered the stab wounds on his torso, and deep patches of purple, blue and black mottled the areas where he’d been kicked. It was a revolting attack, and whoever had committed the horrendous crime obviously didn’t intend him to surviv
e it. He was clearly just hanging on to life, barely there.

  Five minutes passed and Alan, and I, joined her at the bedside, and I had to turn my head away at the sight of the injuries. “How is he?” The question was directed at Sophie, but Darren lifted the finger again. “So he can hear then?” The finger moved.

  Alan was used to seeing battered people, the current society led him to attend many in his line of work, and he could easily surmise that Darren was unlikely to survive. He couldn’t forgive him for the way his newly found sister had been treated, and wasn’t bothered if he did die, in fact it would be beneficial to Sophie and her child. “I think we should go.” The hateful sneer at the broken man depicted his detest.

  Everything happened so quickly, the beeping that registered his heartbeat speeded dramatically, a red light began flashing, the three visitors were pushed aside as nurses and doctors raced to the bed, a life support trolley dragged with them, Spanish words spouting urgently. Darren’s body began to convulse dramatically, flailing heavily up and down on the bed. Six nurses restrained him to enable the doctor to administer an injection, and within seconds the fitting ceased, heartbeat returning to normal. The staff began to filter away from the room.

  Sophie tapped a nurse’s arm. “Inglés?”

  “No, uno momento.” She called out to another nurse who was just about to leave the room, and the lady returned.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m his wife. What just happened?”

  “The swell on his head make the fit. He nearly have heart attack, yes? He sleep now, we make him sleep with medicine.”

  Sophie thanked her, and moments later the only people left in the room were the patient and his and Alan and I left, Sophie returned to the bed, she held Jaimee up to see the dangerously ill victim, the father she would never know. “Say goodbye to Daddy.” This time the finger didn’t respond.

  Replacing Jaimee in her buggy, she strapped her in, and turned back to Darren. Taking his hand gently, she gave it a soft kiss. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I know you can’t hear me now, but I want you to know I forgive you. Goodbye Darren.”

  Chapter 25

  Juan Murelli

  Harry told me later what had happened once he’d left us at the airport. With him having been left in the dark about Sophie’s surprise party, he’d also not been told that I had offered Juan our spare bedroom. He didn’t mind, it was in Sophie’s best interests, and he always wanted her to be happy, but it irked him slightly that he hadn’t even been consulted with such an important factor in the household. It seemed impolite. However, he wouldn’t bring the subject up, not being a man to instigate arguments: after all, he was Harold the peacemaker.

  When he’d returned to Littleover after dropping us off for our one night abroad he was shocked to find Juan packing his suitcase, especially as he had cordially shown him the bedroom he’d been allotted before we left, a decent sized room, stocked with a double divan, a wardrobe, and chest of drawers.

  In his gentle manner, he’d managed to persuade Juan to stop, come to the local with him for a hearty traditional meal over a pint or two, and discuss whatever the problem was.

  It was a nice pub, a couple of hundred years old with the original features restored delightfully. The ceilings were low, striped with beams, small panelled windows shaded by deep chintz curtains to shield out the sun, and the doors were handmade to reflect the authentic style, oak-stained and furnished with black fixings. The atmosphere was genial, friendly, which suited Harry perfectly, and the bar staff were always smiling and polite.

  Harry had chosen the steak and kidney pie from the menu, with a home-made crust, mashed potatoes and vegetables, topped by lashings of thick gravy. Juan wasn’t so quick to choose, unfamiliar with the majority of the traditional English dishes. Eventually he selected the fish fried in beer batter, served with chips, mushy peas, and a slice of lemon, the only dish he related to England. They tucked in hungrily, washing the tasty meals down with Black Sheep bitter, and it took a while, but eventually there were two empty plates, and two overindulged men.

  Harry managed to get to the heart of the problem within minutes of ordering their first drinks at the bar. Darren. And Sophie’s fixation with him. He reasoned that if Sophie felt for him as intensely as he felt for her, she wouldn’t be jetting of to see her supposed ex as soon as Juan arrived in the country to set up home and marry her. After all, he’d left a well paid job for her, left his family for her, made the effort to take her back after his last trip to see her. It was all give on his part, and nothing was being returned.

  Harry could see the problem, it was, after all, a reasonable argument, and he stated so. But he also understood why Sophie had to say goodbye, to forgive, to give her child a glance at the father she’d probably never see again, and this he also explained.

  The conversation was polite and flowing, both men liked the other very much, but the bottom line was that Juan was adamant that had no intention of changing his plans to return to Mallorca. Harry asked him to stay one more night, with an offer to help him find a place to stay the next day, and Sophie’s fiancé, after much coaxing, agreed to the arrangement. Juan was stubbornly reluctant, but Harry was an excellent mediator.

  They played a friendly game of Monopoly in the evening, Harry’s favourite Mozart playing quietly in the background, and partook a couple of glasses of brandy, which freed up the laughter. It was a good evening, harmonious, gentle, and polite. Rather like Harry.

  He wasn’t due to pick us up from the airport until two in the afternoon, allowing us ample time to collect our baggage and go through passport control, so they made an early start to the estate agents, and were pleased to find a suitable two bed flat in Littleover, just a mile from our house. It was furnished and currently had no tenants, and on viewing it, Juan was comfortable enough to hand over the deposit. He didn’t have the right documents to secure tenancy, so Harry, with no qualms, he trusted Juan, offered to take the place in his name. The keys were handed over there and then, Juan was free to move in whenever he wanted, and he decided he didn’t want to be at our place when Sophie arrived back. So they collected his belongings, and Harry dropped him off on his way to the airport.

  Sophie was astonished and angry when she heard the news from her father. He explained the reason, that Juan felt ignored, but she wasn’t interested, adamant that it hadn’t been unreasonable to see her dying husband, her child’s father, for one final time, and she swiftly removed the ring for the second time, slamming it into Harry’s hand to give back to the deserter. Sophie rejected Harry’s exasperated efforts to stay in Littleover for the night, and she rejected my efforts to return to the flat with her. She wanted to take her baby home and be alone, and eventually he had to concede.

  We had no idea, of course, but no sooner had Harold’s car rounded the corner after dropping her back in Allenton, Sophie came back onto the street, and pushed the buggy to the nearby shop, buying a bottle of brandy and twenty cigarettes, with every intention of drinking and smoking the depressing night away after Jaimee was safely in bed.

  Juan settled into the English ways easily, which surprised him, he’d been concerned about living alone in a strange country. But his qualifications made him a useful asset and he received a job offer and a work permit on the same day. Four weeks after landing in England he began working at the Derby General Hospital in much the same capacity as his position in Mallorca. The money was reasonable, more than enough to pay all his bills, have an enjoyable social life, and put a sizeable sum into a savings account.

  The nurses swooned over his boyish good looks, his darkened skin, the black hair that littered his arms, the stilted English with a Mediterranean accent, and, just as the staff at the Hospital General de Muro had done, everybody loved his genuine delight at life. He settled in to the long hours, working hard, and playing hard on his rare evenings off, anything to keep his mind from returning to Sophie.

  As time went by, and with plenty of pep tal
ks from Harry over a few pints, he began to understand her reasons for having to say goodbye to Darren, but not enough to accept how badly she’d treated him after all he’d left behind for her. He had women and girls throwing themselves at him wherever he went, but politely dismissed every offer. He just wasn’t ready, and he doubted he’d ever find a woman who would strike him as hard as when he first saw Sophie, injured and vulnerable, innocent and beautiful.

  If only he knew what she’d become in the absence of hope.

  Sophie had found it harder to find a job than she’d anticipated. With the economical climate being poor, dipping into a recession, firms were firing rather than hiring, but she didn’t mind so much, Harry and I were generous with our handouts. Not that we gave her money, she would have been too proud to accept that, instead we cleverly helped by buying a bag of nappies here, an outfit for Jaimee there, and if she needed cash she’d insist she would pay us back once she found work. Repeatedly I had suggested she claim income support which fell on deaf ears, but after two months with no income except child benefit, another rejection letter, and another request to borrow money, Sophie sadly realised she would have to. Now her life was the antithesis of what she’d expected it to be.

  Sophie, a naturally insular person, didn’t socialise much, the only visitors being family when they had the time, her friends, having husbands and children themselves, found it awkward now she was single, and their infrequent appearances had gradually tailed off. By day she was the perfect mother, doting on her daughter, taking her to the park, for long walks by the canal, playing peek-a-boo to make her chuckle. But once the darkness fell, earlier and earlier every night as the autumn drifted into winter, and Jaimee was happily asleep, the brandy would come out and ease away the problems, help her to sleep.