Heartless (16 page)

Pushing open her grandmother’s little brown gate, Sophia heard the rusty hinges squeak noisily. She was shocked at how overgrown the once tidy and nurtured garden was; she was barely able to see the pathway through the overrun bushes and dense weeds.

Knocking on the door, she waited. She looked at the wooden panels, noticing that the thin strips of paint were cracked in places, flaking and peeling off. Just like the garden, the house looked neglected.

Keys jangled on the other side of the door. It slowly opened and Nessa stood there, leaning on a walking stick.

“Sophia, my love,” Nessa cried out, overjoyed. “I’ve done nothing all day but stare at that bleeding clock, willing the hands to move so that you would get here quicker.”

Sophia was shocked at her nan’s frail appearance. She knew that she had been ill, as she hadn’t been able to visit for the past month, but seeing her with a walking stick made her suddenly look every minute of her age. As frail as she was, she had a big smile plastered across her face. “Come here to your old nan,” Nessa said, as she stretched out an arm and pulled her granddaughter in close.

“Nan,” Sophia cried, feeling both a belated relief at being home and a great sadness at everything that she had missed wash over her simultaneously. “Oh Nan, Nan... I’ve missed you so much.”

She hugged her nan tightly. Finally, after eight long years, she was home.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Finish up your vegetables, darling, or you won’t grow big and strong.” Bernie smiled at her little granddaughter, who had placed her cutlery down on her plate and was using her hands to make faces in the gravy with her peas.

“I don’t need vegetables, Granny. I’m already big and strong, aren’t I, Daddy?” Rosie said, as she folded her arms in front of her chest, to signify that she wouldn’t be eating any more of her granny’s horrible dinner.

Jonathan nodded his head; Rosie was a chip off the old block. There was nothing anyone could make the kid say or do if she didn’t want to. Jonathan loved that about her.

“Of course you are, darling.” Bernie rolled her eyes playfully in her son’s direction, amused as always that seven-year-old Rosie was so headstrong.

Stanley continued to eat in silence. Lately, his blood had been boiling at what he had let go on under his own roof. He was furious with himself for going along with everything for so long, complying with his wife just to keep the peace: and for what? So that the golden boy could live with them rent-free under their roof forever, while Bernie fell over herself to accommodate him and his ungrateful child.

Clenching his fists around his cutlery, he was still fuming from what had happened with the paint and the bird the day before. It was yet more mayhem that Rosie had caused that had been once again downplayed, treated as if it was just a joke. But it wasn’t funny, not to him. Just because Bernie was now happy that the situation had played out to her advantage, now they had no choice but to get some decorators in and to purchase a new carpet, it was as if everything was fine. It was like Rosie’s trashing of their home had done them all some kind of a favour. Once again the child could do no wrong.

“I don’t have to eat it if I don’t want to, do I, Daddy?” Rosie asked her father, knowing that he would agree with her. Her daddy did that a lot, especially if it was in response to something her granny had suggested. Sometimes Rosie thought that her daddy enjoyed winding her granny up.

“Not if you’re full up, Rosie, no,” Jonathan said, ignoring his mother’s attempt to make eye contact; he knew how much his spoiling of the child irked his mother and father, but he also knew that his mum would never say a word against his parenting skills. She had been made aware long ago that any interfering from her would jeopardise their living arrangements and Bernie loved having her granddaughter and son living with her far too much to risk that.

Stanley continued spooning big mouthfuls of food into his mouth so that he wouldn’t have to talk. The atmosphere in the room was so dense that it could have been cut with a knife.

“Grandad, are you still sad about yesterday?” Rosie asked, realising he hadn’t said a word to her since then. “I did say I was sorry, didn’t I Granny?”

“Of course he’s not angry, Rosie darling,” Bernie quickly answered, hoping to appease the girl before Stanley kicked off with any of his stubborn opinions again. “Grandad’s just got a bit of a headache, that’s all. He loves you very much.”

Stanley stared at his granddaughter blankly. He had tried so hard to bond with her, but he couldn’t do it. Sometimes he felt so guilty about the fact that he didn’t even like her, let alone feel any form of love for her, he was convinced he’d be sent straight to hell when he died. She was just a little kid, but no matter how much he tried he just couldn’t be happy about her existence. He couldn’t see any purity in her, just as he had never been able to see it in Jonathan. The pair of them both knew exactly how to manipulate everyone around them.

“Hmm,” Stanley grunted, unconvincingly, when he saw from his family’s stares that a reaction was called for.

Rosie knew that her grandad didn’t love her; she could tell by the way he looked at her. He wasn’t nice to her like Daddy and Granny. She didn’t like him much either.

“Poor Grandad,” Rosie said. Batting her eyelashes in pretend virtue, she flashed her grandad a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Grinning at the girl, Bernie glared at her husband who was ignoring the child’s kind words. If a seven year old could make an attempt at an apology, then the least he could do was make a bit of effort for once.

Stanley glared back at his wife. Rosie was exactly like her father. The only thing that the child seemed to have inherited from her mother was the red curly hair that swept down past her shoulders. The rest was all Jonathan, from the pale skin that was so clear it was almost translucent to the dark beady eyes. Even the cold personality the child possessed was the same as her father’s.

Stanley scraped up the last bits of gravy and mash with his fork, ignoring both his wife’s and his grandchild’s stares.

“Are you going to work tonight, Daddy?” Rosie asked, after realising that she wasn’t going to get the reaction that she had hoped for from her granddad.

“Yes, Rosie, I am,” Jonathan said, as he leaned back in the chair and burped loudly.

“Jonathan,” Bernie scolded, and then grinned once she saw Rosie laugh at her dad getting told off.

“I’ve got to leave now, actually. The office called earlier. They want me to get the site ready to go live tonight. Place is manic, so it’s probably going to be a late one again. You’ll give Rosie her bath and story tonight won’t you, Mum?” Jonathan knew the answer. Of course his mother would look after Rosie: she lived for the girl.

“Yes, love, of course.” Bernie smiled. Knowing how hard he worked, she was only too happy to help him out. Ever since Rosie had come along, she felt that she and Jonathan had got closer. He didn’t say it, but she was sure that he appreciated her helping him to raise his daughter. It was a tough decision that the boy had made when he had found out that he was going to be a father at sixteen years old. But Jonathan had embraced his responsibilities like a man despite all the scandal that surrounded them. Bernie had been beside herself when she had first found out that she was going to be a grandmother at such a young age and she hated the thought of all the local gossips sniggering behind her back at her son becoming a father when he was really still just a child himself. But then she had met her granddaughter. Rosie was a blessing who had brought nothing but joy into her life. Yes she could be naughty from time to time, but what child wasn’t? Bernie’s only regret was that Tommy hadn’t met his niece. The situation with Jonathan and Sophia had left him heartbroken. Bernie knew that Tommy had liked the girl but she hadn’t realised just how much; even with the stuff that was being written in the papers about the murder, Tommy wouldn’t hear a bad word said against her. He fought tooth and nail to get a visiting order to see her, and had been devastated when she refused his requests. He hadn’t been able to understand why she didn’t want to see him, but it hadn’t taken long for him to find out. When Jonathan was contacted by social services and told that he was a father, he had admitted to Tommy that he had had a secret relationship with Sophia. The news that they were having a baby left Tommy looking as though he had had the air kicked out of him. He was totally devastated. Jonathan hadn’t exactly broken the news to him tactfully either, from what Bernie remembered. Stanley had dragged the two boys apart when they had fought, dragging each other around the lounge as Tommy had so uncharacteristically lashed out at his brother. Tommy had left home that night. Bernie had begged him not to go, he was only sixteen and he had nowhere to live. But he had been resolute, and after packing his bags in complete silence he had left. Bernie had imagined that time would heal the rift between the boys, Sophia was just a girl, and she had played them off against each other. She wasn’t worth falling out over: blood was thicker than water. But time hadn’t made any difference to the situation. In fact, as the years had passed the rift between the boys had only increased. Tommy had moved down to Brighton and had managed to find himself a job. Bernie had waited for him to come home, but he never had. Over the years, on the occasional times that he rang home the conversations were short and tense and he never once mentioned his brother or Rosie. But Bernie still lived in hope, believing that one day Tommy would see sense and come home, and once he met Rosie he would love her too. She was sure of it.

“Bit late to be going in to the office, isn’t it?” Stanley asked, as he glanced at the clock.

“You know I work all hours,” Jonathan said. His father was always quizzing him about his job, and Jonathan was bored of him fishing for information.

“Last week he left here at almost midnight, didn’t you love,” Bernie said, adding: “dedicated to the job, aren’t you?”

“Isn’t he just,” Stanley muttered. Whatever it was that Jonathan did as a job, he’d put money on it that it wasn’t IT, as Jonathan had led them to believe. He was so secretive about where he worked that Stanley suspected he was up to no good.

“Can you read me my bedtime story, please, Grandad?” Rosie asked. She saw him tense at her question.

“Yes, go on, Stanley,” Bernie encouraged. “Rosie would love a story from her old grandad. I’ll make you both some hot chocolate, with marshmallows on top; just how you like it, Rosie...”

“No,” Stanley said abruptly. “Granny will have to read it for you tonight, Rosie. Grandad has got work to do out in his shed.”

Stanley felt Jonathan’s eyes boring into him, but he no longer cared if he pissed off his son, nor his wife. He had finished pretending. He would sooner go and eat worms in the garden than sit with that spoilt little madam and read her anything.

Getting up from his chair, Stanley went to the kitchen, putting his plate loudly on to the worktop. He slammed the cupboards, to let the whole house know that he was thoroughly pissed off. He had had enough of his wife’s pandering to their son and granddaughter. Things around here were going to change and he was going to make sure of it. Stanley was the head of this household, and it was about time everyone remembered it.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Tommy’s house drew Sophia in like a magnet. Before she knew where she was walking to, she was standing at the entrance of the driveway.

Her nan’s friend, Albert, had popped over earlier with a lemon drizzle cake that he had baked to celebrate her release, and after a lovely dinner that Sophia had cooked, using what she had learned on her course in prison, and a big slice of Albert’s cake, she had made her excuses and left them alone together. She had felt like she was intruding on their time together. She had listened politely as they had made conversation at the dinner table, but she hadn’t known which neighbours, or soap-opera characters, they were talking about. She felt so out of the loop. Her nan hadn’t even told her about poor Rascal passing away until now. This past month Sophia had believed her nan when she said that she was too ill to come and see her, but she hadn’t been ill. She had been sitting at home, beside herself with grief at the loss of her little companion. Unwilling to upset Sophia so close to her release date, Nessa had waited for the right time to tell her. It was strange to be around people who cared about her so much, yet at the same time, to still feel so alone. Sophia had waited until after the meal and then told them that she needed some fresh air, hoping that pounding the pavement would do her good. But as she had wandered around in what soon felt like circles in the neighbourhood that she had grown up in, she felt more lost and alone than ever. Everything around her was so familiar yet so alien.

Standing on the driveway, she tried to pluck up the courage to walk down it and knock on the door. Just as she was about to she spotted somebody moving around on the other side of the glass panel. Quickly hiding in the perfectly trimmed bushes that lined the garden, she stood as still as a statue and watched.

She was barely able to breathe as the figure closed the door behind him and walked casually up the driveway. Her hope faded as she realised it was Jonathan: he may be Tommy’s twin but his steely look and the unchanged irritated expression were the give-away. Sophia hadn’t expected Jonathan to have changed so much. She still imagined him to look as he had the last time she had seen him at sixteen: Tommy too. But time would have changed them all: even her, she guessed: especially her.

Sophia felt resentful as she saw him swinging a briefcase, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, before getting into a smart-looking Saab. He admired himself in the interior mirror, combing his fingers through his hair.

Despite the years that had passed, even from a distance Sophia saw the same bitter coldness seep out of Jonathan. Her thoughts turned to Tommy, as they did so often. He may look like Jonathan did now; but although his height and good looks may be equal to those of his brother, Tommy would have that twinkle in his eye that she remembered so well. His eyes had sparkled whenever they looked at her, and he had had a softness that Jonathan didn’t possess.

Watching as Jonathan pulled out of the driveway, Sophia remained concealed by the foliage. The house looked as immaculate as she remembered. The windows sparkled they were so clean, and the garden had not so much as a blade of grass out of place. Pink and purple flowers filled big tubs outside the front door. And Sophia noted that another expensive-looking car was parked on the driveway.

Maybe it was Tommy’s.

She thought about her daughter: was she inside that house at that moment? Whilst incarcerated, the only information on her had been from the social workers. She had been shown photos of the girl when she was a baby but had found it too hard to look at her; the last time she had seen a picture of the child she must have been barely eighteen months old. Rosie, they had called her, named after Jonathan and Tommy’s dead grandmother. The social workers said she was doing well, but Sophia had shown no interest and asked no questions. She didn’t want to know anything. There was no point, and it would only cause her pain.

Sophia imagined that the little girl would be happy living somewhere like this; she couldn’t imagine how any child wouldn’t be. She would never have been able to offer her a lifestyle like this, and this was especially the case now. When Rosie was born, all she could have offered was a cot in the baby unit of the prison alongside junkies and murderers. She pitied the poor innocent babies confined inside four walls, with wrought-iron bars on every window separating them from the world outside. Prison was no place for a child.

Wrapping her cardigan around herself as she felt a chill penetrate her, she looked up as a light went on behind the curtains of the bedroom at the front of the house.

***

“And so, the little fairy flew all the way home to tell her friends the exciting news and they all lived happily ever after,” Bernie said softly. She had missed out the last few pages of the story, hoping that the child wouldn’t notice, before placing the book down gently on the bedside table. The soaps were starting and she couldn’t wait to just put her feet up and enjoy a nice cup of tea.

“Can you read it again, Nanny?” Rosie sat bolt upright in her bed, her teddy tucked tightly under her arm. Up until then she had had her eyes tightly closed as she had lulled her gran into the false pretence that she had finally gone to sleep.

“You’ve had three stories tonight already.” Bernie kissed Rosie on the top of her head before standing up. The tiny box room that had used to be Stanley’s office had been a perfect nursery. But with the myriad teddies and dollies that had accumulated over the years, mostly bought by Bernie, the room felt cramped. She knew that she was spoiling her granddaughter, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to give Rosie everything. The poor child had had such an unfortunate start to her life that Bernie found it hard to say no to anything the girl asked for.

“Please, Nanny, just one more,” Rosie begged. She was bored of her books, they were the same stories that she had read to her every single night, but as she knew that her granny wanted to go and watch her TV programmes Rosie was doing her utmost to be difficult.

Sighing, Bernie felt that she couldn’t refuse the girl. Having bathed her and put her into her pink striped pyjamas, with her hair in bunches, Rosie looked so angelic lying there cuddling her teddy. And she probably missed her dad too, Bernie thought; one more story wouldn’t hurt.

Settling back on the bed, Bernie smiled.

“Just one more, though, and then Granny is going to go downstairs,” Bernie said, hoping that this last story would succeed in making the child sleep.

“Thank you, Granny,” Rosie said sweetly.

The doorbell chimed, interrupting Bernie while she was on the first page of the book.

“Stanley, get that,” Bernie called, hoping that her husband could hear her over the TV. She would swear he was going deaf the way he had it blaring lately. And she wouldn’t mind but half the time it was when he was watching football. She didn’t see the point of all that noise just to watch a bunch of men running around on a pitch kicking a ball. “If that’s Shirley, tell her that the Avon catalogue is out on the side by the kettle. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Downstairs, Stanley grabbed the catalogue from the kitchen and went to open the door. His wife’s best friend Shirley was a pain in the arse. Thinking nothing of imposing herself on them whenever it suited her, she often popped in unannounced for a quick cup of tea whilst out on her Avon rounds. Often a ‘quick’ cup of tea, which she would ask for as she came into the house, was code for staying the whole evening and offloading her problems on to Bernie while she drank copious amounts of tea and helped herself to Stanley’s favourite biscuits: as this took place in the living room, he couldn’t even watch football at the same time.

Well, it wasn’t bloody well happening tonight. If Shirley thought for a second that he was going to invite her in at just gone nine o’clock in the evening, she could bloody well think again, he thought to himself. Like everyone else round here, she was going to get a wakeup call.

Pulling open the door, Stanley prepared himself to be assertive and tell the impertinent woman exactly where to go.

“Hello, Mr Jenkins,” Sophia said timidly. As soon as her eyes locked with Tommy’s dad’s she felt like crying. Stanley had been ever so nice to her all those years ago, and Tommy loved him dearly. It pained her to think that Stanley probably hated the sight of her now.

Staring back at the beautiful girl standing on his doorstep, Stanley took a deep breath. It was a shock to see her. Her bright red hair and perfect skin were exactly the same. Sophia O’Hagan may have spent the past eight years locked away in prison, but time had barely changed her appearance, whatever it had done to her mind. “What are you doing here?” Stanley whispered, as he tried to gather himself. If Bernie knew that Sophia was on their doorstep she would hit the roof at the girl’s audacity. As far as he was aware no-one knew that Sophia was out, or at least no-one had mentioned it to him. “You’re out already?”

Ever since they had gained full custody of Rosie, the girl’s mother hadn’t been mentioned again in his house, let alone been given another thought by Stanley. Sophia nodded, overwhelmed by emotions. “I’m sorry; I don’t know why I came here. I guess I just thought that Tommy...” she was unable to finish her sentence.

Just looking at Stanley’s face and seeing the hate and fear in his eyes made Sophia feel even worse that she had done before she left her nan's house that evening. And she couldn’t blame him. Like everyone else around in their area, he would have believed everything that he had read in the papers about her murdering her father. The dislike that he felt for her was all too plain to see. Mr Jenkins was a good man, and Sophia wanted more than anything to explain her innocence to him, so that he would be able to convince Tommy, but she had a feeling that he wouldn’t believe her even if she did try.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here,” Sophia said again.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Stanley said quietly. He couldn’t understand how this girl had so cold-heartedly murdered her own father. She has seemed such a nice, decent girl when she had been going out with Tommy.

“I just wanted to see Tommy,” Sophia said, feeling foolish. It had been years since she had last seen him, yet she thought of him all the time. Apart from her nan, Tommy was what got her through each day. She just wanted the chance to explain.

“Tommy’s gone. You and Jonathan destroyed that boy: broke his heart. He left because he found out about Rosie.”

Sophia stared at Stanley; she was unsure of what he meant. Surely none of them blamed her for what Jonathan had done to her?

“Now if you don’t mind, I’d be grateful if you left. We don’t want you coming here again,” Stanley said forcefully as he began to close the door in Sophia’s face.

“Wait.” Sophia put her hand out, stopping the door from closing. “Please... I know I should have explained to him myself, but it was all too raw. I knew he’d be hurt, but I didn’t think he’d blame me...”

Sophia knew that Tommy wouldn’t have believed that she had murdered her father. But finding out about the baby would have been too much for him, she more than anyone could understand that.

Losing Tommy was her biggest regret. She should have seen him when he had made one of his visiting requests. She had wanted to explain, to tell him what had happened, but it had been so painful, and after they took Rosie away Sophia had felt too detached from other people to try to make a connection: no-one seemed able to empathise with her, or believe what she said, and reaching out was too difficult.

“Why wouldn’t he blame you? You cheated on him with his own brother behind his back: Jonathan told us all about it. I have to say, I expect that kind of thing from him, but you seemed like such a nice girl. But then I guess nice girls don’t cheat on their boyfriends, nor murder their fathers in cold blood.” Stanley remembered how devastated Tommy had been when Jonathan had told him that he had been having a relationship with Sophia behind his back. “The boy was beside himself when Jonathan told him. How could you?”

“What? That isn’t...” Sophia stuttered.

Stanley clenched his fists as he relived the scene in his mind: it felt like it had happened yesterday. “You both broke Tommy’s heart.”

Sophia was silent for a few seconds while she tried to take in what she was hearing.

“Jonathan was lying. I promise you, I would never have done anything to hurt Tommy.”

“Oh please, Sophia.” Stanley waved his hand as if to shut Sophia up.

“I swear, Mr Jenkins, on my nan’s life. I never even so much as looked at Jonathan that way, ever!” Sophia felt her body shake; she could only imagine the hurt that Jonathan had caused Tommy to feel if that was what he truly believed.

“So where did Rosie come from then?” Stanley asked, his voice rising in anger. Sophia must think he was born yesterday. “Dropped from a bloody stork, was she?”

“Please, Mr Jenkins, I know you won’t believe me but please listen. Jonathan tricked me. The night of my party, I was drunk and Jonathan pretended that he was Tommy... I didn’t know that it was him that I slept with... I don’t know how he could have done it, but I know that Jonathan hated me and Tommy being together. I know he’s your son, but he was jealous of us. He tore us apart.” Sophia needed Stanley to believe her, in the past eight years everything in her life had been built around lies. Even she was having trouble knowing what was real, but she had no doubt that everything that Jonathan had told his family was untrue.

“You?” Bernie came hurtling down the stairs, interrupting Sophia’s plea. She had recognised the girl’s voice and prayed that she was hearing things. But seeing the familiar red hair confirmed what Bernie had been dreading for all these years. Sophia was out: what if she wanted Rosie? Panic spread through her at the thought of their precious Rosie being taken away from them.

“What the hell are you playing at, coming around here?” she asked through gritted teeth, aware that Rosie was awake upstairs in her room. “You have no right coming round here and upsetting everyone. You gave up all your rights years ago: you shouldn’t be here.”