Bloody Mary (40 page)

As Meena followed Sophie into the room, cooing affectionately as she spied the baby, Harry, Steve and I exchanged glances. “What do you think?”

“Oh, Steve, she’s lovely, so polite and pretty.”

Harry joined in. “Yes, a very pleasant young lady.”

“Is it serious?” My head was filled with thoughts of a summer wedding, and I Harry was joyous when Steve confirmed that marriage was definitely on the cards.

Juan had driven himself crazy wondering whether he should fly back to Mallorca and spend Christmas with his family, or stay in England to try and make amends with Sophie. Unable to make the decision, his mind in turmoil with the pros and cons, he’d eventually telephoned his mother and explained the situation. Her reaction was instant: of course she’d love to see him, but she’d love a daughter-in-law and babies more. He was to stop being such an idiot and spend the day with the woman he loved. Considering himself told, he sheepishly ended the call.

Come Christmas morning he was pacing his flat again, a new dilemma racing through his mind. Should he go for the meal, or wait until the afternoon? Uncertain if he had an appetite at all, he couldn’t decide what to do for the best. Finally fed up with wearing his carpet thin, he grabbed his keys and wallet, and strolled to the pub on the corner. He ordered a pint of bitter, having taken a liking to the English brew, and sat in a quiet corner away from the revelling merrymakers at the bar, mostly men thrown out of the house while the women prepared dinner.

Lost in thought, Juan didn’t notice the attractive blonde woman approach him, brandishing a piece of mistletoe. “Hey, handsome, how about a Christmas kiss?” He scanned her pretty features, hazel eyes, slim, not too tarty, but showing enough flesh to be appealing, and within seconds his quandary was resolved.

The house was warm, not only physically, but from all the contented emotions of the close family. Everybody had managed a few drinks before dinner, which had loosened their laughter and brightened the conversation. Having left the kitchen for a minute, I pulled Harry into the hallway, wiping my hands on my apron. “I’ll be ready to serve up soon, maybe quarter of an hour or so.”

“That’s nice, I can’t wait.”

My expression registered concern and my words became urgent. “No, you don’t get it! Juan hasn’t turned up yet, but if I hold off with the food any longer than that the vegetables will spoil.”

Harry tapped his chin, considering my problem. “Hmmm, I see what you mean. Well, I could phone him if you like?”

“Please, I need to know, I’ve set a place for him and everything. I’ll be in the kitchen, tell me what he said when you’ve spoken to him.” I rushed back to the cooking, the crescendo of the vast meal approaching fast.

Sophie came from the living room, passing her father on the telephone seat, dialling, and strolled to the kitchen to offer her help. I gratefully accepted, issuing breathless orders as I rushed from one dish to another, lifting pan lids, preparing gravy, heating the tableware, multi-tasking with the utmost efficiency. Harry stepped up to me, and I stilled briefly. “Well?”

“There was no answer.”

Again I was troubled, the dreadful thought of my matchmaking failing, and I whispered, not wanting Sophie to overhear. “Oh no, oh Harry, he’s gone back to Mallorca, hasn’t he?”

He chuckled affectionately, placing a soothing hand on my arm. “Calm down, Mary! I imagine he’s just left the house and is on his way right now.”

“You think so?”

“Yes! Now you go and get that food ready! Do you want me to start carving the turkey?” I stared at him, love flowing from my eyes, a glimpse of a smile, and I once again thanked the god I didn’t believe in for changing my life so dramatically, for coupling me with the man I’d always adored.

When I called everyone to the table twenty minutes later, they hustled through, their appetites whetted by the glorious aromas spindling through the house, and they each sat in their allotted places. Once extended, the quality table sat eight people comfortably, with Harry at one head, and Jaimee’s highchair at the other end. Crammed across the centre were several steaming serving dishes holding a variety of vegetables, and a platter displaying sliced turkey, gammon, and pigs in blankets. Each place had a warmed plate, ready to receive the delectable meal.

Sophie strapped Jaimee into her chair and sat next to her, and her brow furrowed lightly with confusion. “Mum, why’s there an extra place setting?”

Harry and I glanced at each other. “Well, we were expecting another guest, but they’re not here yet, I’m sure he’ll be along any minute.”

“Oh? Who?”

I tapped my nose. “That’s for me to know and you to find out! Now, help yourselves everybody, there’s plenty here for us all to have seconds!”

A ring on the doorbell brought a warm, and relieved, smile to my face, and Harry left the kitchen to let Juan in. All of us busied ourselves hungrily, placing meat, roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, vegetables, stuffing, bread sauce, gravy, a wholesome feast, on to our plates, but the group fell silent, stilled, when they heard Harry shout, something he never did. I trotted from the room, concerned, and moments later my voice rang out, the fear apparent. “Oh my god!”

At the table eyes met eyes, worry, confusion, puzzlement, and Alan pushed his chair back to see what the problem was. As he reached the doorway he was met with the nuzzle of a gun, and his hands immediately sprung into the air as he was forced back into the room. As she saw the face of the aggressor, Sophie stood, eyes wide with shock, her head span, the lights went out as she collapsed to the floor in a faint.

Alan rushed to help her, but was stopped in his tracks as Darren’s snide voice boomed. “Get away from her. All of you,” he was moving the direction of the gun from one head to another, threatening, “with your hands in the air, I want you to walk slowly out of the kitchen, and into the living room. Seat yourselves on the floor by the fire, and don’t move.”

The group obeyed the instructions, and Darren followed them out, leaving Sophie, just coming round, on the floor. Dragging herself up, her thoughts vague, she glanced around the kitchen, noting the steaming dishes on the table, the absence of her family except for Jaimee, gurgling in her highchair, and then she remembered: Darren. Darren Delaney was in her parent’s house. Darren Delaney had a gun. Darren Delaney wasn’t dead. Rapidly, she unfastened Jaimee, and belted for the stairs. “Where do you think you’re going?”

The gun was aimed at her face as Darren stood in the doorway, a vicious snarl reminding her how much he hated her. “I was just going to put Jaimee…”

“Get in the living room with the others.”

He had us all seated on the floor, and was comfortably flourishing the weapon, which Meena had already assessed to be a .357 Magnum. Wrapped around his waist he was wearing a tool belt, and from the bulges in two pockets she gathered he’d brought plenty of ammunition with him. From a further pocket, the ends of several handles, which she assumed to be knives or daggers, poked from the top.

Darren backed towards the familiar drinks cabinet, already open from the mornings appetisers. Keeping the gun pointed at the family, he poured a large brandy. “Corvoisier. You have good taste, Harold. I’ll enjoy this.” He took a swig, and moved to the sofa, sitting in front of the terrified faces, out of reach, but close enough to ensure he would hit the target if he needed to fire. “You thought I was dead, didn’t you?”

Sophie nodded lamely, Jaimee clutched tightly to her chest. He’d been so ill at the hospital, she’d been certain there was no way he could survive the appalling injuries. But here he was, not only alive, but threatening the family she adored.

Always rational, even under stress, Harry deflected his attention in protection of his daughter. “Darren, I don’t know what’s brought you here, but surely we can sort whatever problem you have out without you waving that thing in our faces. Why don’t we just sit down like adults and discuss why you feel disgruntled?”

His ochre eyes glistened, pure evil, as he directed the gun at his father-in-law. “I am not disgruntled, Harold, I am here to get my revenge. You see my memory came back, or most of it, and I remember everything on the night you tried to kill me. I heard your voices, and I saw you when you were kicking me.” He aimed at me and I winced. “I saw you with the knife, you bitch. I saw you stabbing me. You thought I was going to die, but as my memory returned, I was determined not to, because I wanted to make sure this Christmas was going to be the best ever. And I’m pleased to say,” he let out another guttural laugh, “that so far it is.”

Without a further word he pulled the trigger, the bullet instantly burrowing into my brow, and I imagine that my dying expression one of stunned disbelief. From the ceiling of the room as my spirit fluttered from life to death, I saw my body topple over to the gasps and exclamations of the other five adults. Darren took another gulp of brandy, smirking, emotionless. “I always said she was a waste of space.” Jaimee began to wail, frightened by the colossal noise which was eerily echoing around the room, and shocked tears rolled down Sophie and Harry’s cheeks. He waved the gun from side to side. “Who’s next?” It was now directed at Steve. “You. Dear brother in law. Poor little unlucky in love Steve. Have you worked out you’re a gay boy yet? Hey? Have you ‘come out’ yet?”

Meena glanced at her boyfriend, who was shaking his head, terrified, but resigned to taking the next bullet. At least if he was going to die, it would be in love and loved. Darren continued his tirade. “I saw you, Steve. I saw your anger as you were kicking my head, and I smelt that sickening odour of what you call aftershave. Revolting. You should try another brand, no wonder you can’t get a girlfriend. Do you want to go next? Shall I pump a bullet into your brains?”

Steve swallowed hard, facing his aggressor bravely, wondering how many seconds he had left, but then Alan was suddenly the target. “And you, Mr Policeman, Mr Law and Order, protector of the citizens. Well, you didn’t protect me when you were kicking my head in and leaving me for dead, did you. Mind you, I guess right now you’re trying to work out a way to stop me, aren’t you. After all, being on the police force you’ll have been trained to fight, to self-defend, to disarm. You’ll be trying to work out which position to get into, where’s best to tackle me and be the hero, save the day. You are, aren’t you?”

Alan’s teeth were gritted, raging fire in his eyes at the man who’d just coldly killed his birth mother. Me. “And I will, too, you bastard.” Tugging the trigger, Alan’s body slumped over mine, blood spurting from the entry hole in his neck briefly, before becoming a slow trickle as his life expired.

Sophie couldn’t take any more, it was she who’d had a battle with Darren, not her family, and she couldn’t see any more of her loved ones wasted. Tears coursed down her reddened face as she stood up to face him. “Stop it Darren! You don’t know what you’re doing. Stop it now!”

He aimed at her, face stern, hatred emanating. “Sit down you silly bitch. I know exactly what I’m doing. Months of rehab. Learning to walk again, to talk again, to eat, dress, the whole caboodle. And with every new step I took, every new skill I relearned, I did it purely for this moment. And it’s all your fault, you selfish bitch, because you chose to have a girl. You knew I wanted a boy, so you went and had a girl to hurt me. But not only that, you planned to kill me. Were you there? Did you watch them doing it? Did it make you laugh?”

As Sophie sat back down, deflated, and totally confused by the vicious words gushing from Darren’s mouth, her tears uncontrollable, Meena placed a protective arm over her shoulders, enough movement to make herself the target of the weapon, and she winced. “Who’s the pakki?”

Meena was used to the racist name-calling, she heard it all the time. “A pakki is from Pakistan, I’m Indian. Get your terminology right, arsehole.”

Darren chuckled. “Get you! I like my girls feisty, fancy going upstairs for a quick shag after I’ve got rid of the company?” Steve went to jump up in her defence, but Meena grabbed him back. “Ahh, don’t tell me you finally have a girlfriend, gay boy? Makes a convenient front for your bum bashing, does it?”

“I’m not gay. Meena and I are getting married.”

Darren took another swig of the brandy, chuckling evilly. “Oh, you are, are you? Well, I’m not so sure.” A third explosion rocked the room, and Steve’s lifeless body slumped over, blood oozing from his pulped eye socket. “I mean, it won’t be much of a wedding without a groom, will it!”

The ringing doorbell halted the exchange, and for the first time Darren’s confidence appeared to wane. “Who’s that?”

The tiredness with life that Harry had been experiencing over the past year, now increased to fever pitch with the loss of his future wife and two sons, swept over him, and there was little emotion in his voice. “It’ll be Juan, I expect. He was coming over for the day.”

“Juan! Juan! Who the fuck is Juan?”

Sophie was the one with a dilemma now. Although she was stunned to realise that her parents had plotted to bring her and Juan back together, that was irrelevant now. All she knew was that she was glad he was there. But did she tell Darren the truth, or did she smooth over the fact that she’d met someone new. “He’s a doctor who treated me at the hospital, we made friends.”

Again, the wicked laugh. “So you found someone new to shag, then! Lets get him in here, see what my replacement looks like, shall we.” Darren stepped to the doorway, over his left shoulder he could see the front door, to his right were the diminished group of hostages, now seated in a pool of deathly red. He reached into his tool belt and pulled out another Magnum, exactly the same as the one he was already brandishing. He pointed one at the door, and one at the group. “Right, Sophie, you go and answer the door. Try anything funny, any of you, and the baby gets it.”