The Unfinished Tale Of Sophie Anderson (4 page)

"What about you?" he asked. "Got a fella' at home?"

"Nah," I said. "Living with Mel is a full-time commitment."

"Is she the one you met at lunch time?"

"Yeah, that's her."

"She seems okay." Good answer. If he'd said she was fit I'm sure my life would have ended there and then. "You get on then?"

"Most of the time," I said. "She can be hard work but you get used to her ways after the first ten years."

"Wow - you've been living together that long?"

"Yeah. She was married but it didn't work out so she came to live with me."

"I think I can understand that," he said. We were on the main road out of Liverpool now and the traffic wasn't that bad. We rumbled along at a steady pace and on the left hand turns we heard the welding set rolling back and forth, smashing into my toolbox.

"It isn't easy once you leave the 20's, is it?" he said.

"You're telling me," I replied. "I think we've been put on the scrap heap. The kids make no sense anymore and I'm struggling to follow half of the tech they're using."

"Dan is glued to his phone or his tablet. I guess if I really wanted a relationship with him there might be a 'Dad' app he could download." He started chuckling to himself and it made me smile. There was a spark to this man that was borderline flammable and it risked burning you if you got too close. Why had I never seen it before? We'd been working in the same building for so long and it was like I was seeing him for the first time. The pyjamas never lie - they knew me better than I knew myself.

When we got back the rest of the 'shop were already on their way home. We pulled into the car park in total darkness as the winter nights had well and truly drawn in. I dreaded to think that the 'C' word was on its way.

"Let's get the van emptied so we can go home," said Tom, climbing down from the cab. "I'm knackered."

"Yeah, me too and we haven't really done anything when you think about it."

"Hey - we worked our arses off, Missy. If we can nail those hand rails tomorrow then we're on the home stretch. They won't need us again for a couple of weeks at least."

"We'll see," I said. "I've heard this before."

"Ye of little faith."

I was soon driving home with thoughts of tea and an early night bouncing around my head. Mixed in there was my day with Tom and welding and a five storey drop. By the time I pulled up I was playing the nodding dog behind the wheel and ready for a glass of red wine. Mel would have to sort herself out. Tonight I was donning the Mickey Mouse PJs which I was sure had no subliminal message for her. Then it was a date with the duvet and hopefully a good night’s sleep.

I opened the front door and the usual stack of mail got jammed again. This time I was able to extract the letters without too much damage and I deposited them in the fish bowl. We'd never actually had fish and I think it was a house warming gift I'd never gotten around to using. It'd been Mel's idea to use it for the mail and I was fine with that given that most of the mail we received was hers anyway. There was no escaping the catalogue bill when it was swimming around a transparent bowl the moment you walked in the house. Unlike fish you couldn't just flush them away.

As I was pouring my wine there was a distant chime, a faint tinkling that I knew was coming from my phone. Once more the technological beings above would be preparing to hurl their fiery bolts my way for committing further phone-related sins. Me and the glass walked over to my bag and extracted the offending device.

"I can see why people die using these things," I said out loud. I swiped the screen and gasped. Not just at dramatic gasp, an actual, real gasp.

GOOD WORK TODAY. SEE YOU IN THE MORNING. TOM.

At first I felt the spinal shudder of the potential stalker victim. Then I remembered that my mobile number was on record at Riley's and was even on the little bits of paper stuck to the internal phones. There was something else I felt too - something I hadn't felt for a long, long time. It was known, in the vernacular of the modern romantic, as 'butterflies'. I had little need to worry though - red wine would drown the little blighter’s and so I gave them a generous mouthful before discarding the phone on my bed.

A few minutes later and I was dressed to kill in my cotton mickey mouse's but that pesky phone was still there, looking up at me with its cyclopean square eye. My wine had gone but the fluttering hadn't. I promised myself another glass and rooted in my bag for Mr. Reacher. Surely his latest action-packed adventure would quell the winged rascals?

I slumped onto the settee and started reading. I managed a few pages. It was still there. Staring. Looking. Accusing. Did Alexander Bell realise the monster he'd unleashed on the world? I finished my second glass and started a third. Surely a simple reply was the answer? Nothing serious, just a text of professional courtesy. No emoji though. This was strictly above board. One colleague to another. More of a memo than a text.

YOU TOO. SOPHIE.

That would do, I thought. I was about to press 'SEND' but I wasn't sure it was the right response. It was blunt. It was cold. I didn't want him to think I was some emotional automaton. Even worse, he might think I was some technophobe who could only manage three-word texts before throwing in the towel.

IT WAS A LAUGH. SAME AGAIN TOMORROW. SOPHIE.

I gave that one a couple of reads but it still felt wrong. 'It was a laugh' - where were we? Blackpool? Why was it so hard just to reply to a bloody text?

SAME AGAIN TOMORROW LOL. SOPHIE.

I pressed the 'SEND' button before I went into total meltdown. Then came the obligatory regret that required another glass of red but by the time I'd finished it I was feeling a little fuzzy around the edges. I had strange urges - urges to pick up the phone and do some more texting. I was on a roll, wasn't I? That little number had boosted my confidence and I felt like I could rattle off a whole essay.

"Soph?"

I looked up from the evil little thing and saw Mel stood in the doorway. I only had the small table lamp on so she was hidden in shadow.

"Yes?"

"Have you been drinking? You were giggling to yourself."

"Was I?" I said. I felt this required standing up.

"Oh," she said.

"Oh? Oh what?"

"Oh. Mickey."

"Mickey?"

"Mickey. You're wearing Mickey."

"Yes. And?"

"It's serious then?"

"What is?"

"You and Tom."

"Jesus, Mel - do any of my clothes
not
tell you something about how I'm feeling?" She came over and sat on the settee next to me. When she came into the light I could see she'd been crying. "Mel - what's wrong?" I said and shuffled closer to her.

"It's nothing," she said, looking away. I placed my hand on her arm and I heard her sob.

"Please tell me," I said.

"Jake rang me today."

The weight of that name dropped on me like a pallet of steel. Jake. It was synonymous with misery and pain and months in hospital care.

"How did he find your number?" I asked. Mel shrugged.

"I don't know. I was just about to get in my car when I got a call off an unknown number. I didn't think about it, I just answered and the minute I heard his voice I just froze. Oh Soph - it was terrifying. It was like he was there in the car with me."

"What did he say?" I asked.

"He just said 'hello' and I couldn’t reply. It was like I was a statue, like I was stuck in time. Jesus Soph - I can't go back there, I can't do it all again..."

The tears and the racking sobs came and I wrapped my arms around her as it all poured out. Just one word. Just one 'hello' and we were back where we'd started years ago. It was like he'd never left. That big, dark shadow that chased us down the ages. Would it ever end? I wasn't so sure. Every time I thought we were getting somewhere a setback would come. A card at Christmas. A text. A note through the door. Little indicators that he was still there, still thinking of us. Still breathing.

"What am I going to do, Soph?" she sobbed.

"Nothing," I said. "We'll be fine. He can't come near us - you know that. If he does then he's back inside."

"I don't want him to find us. I don't want to see his face again. I don't think I'll survive it. I'll crack."

"It's okay. We've got each other - we'll be safe."

"Will we though? Who'll stop him if he comes after us?"

"We will. The Police will. They know who he is, what he's capable of."

"I can't go through it all again. I can't!"

"I know, Mel. I know."

4.

In the morning she was gone. That was Mel - once the tears had passed it was business as usual. I wish I could say the same though. I woke up before the alarm and I realised it was because I was afraid. I spent the night tossing and turning, thinking about the next knock on the door that could be his. Would I freeze too? Would I just let him come in and do what he wanted to Mel? Would I just let it happen?

I went through the routine. Bathroom. Kitchen. Door. Car. I was on my way to work but I didn't know how I'd got that far. My mind was running on automatic and the decisions were being made behind the scenes, without my consent. I just kept thinking about the last time I'd seen him. Jake. Mel's house. He'd been standing over her when I walked in. The text had been a simple one. HELP. I'd driven over there as fast as I could but I'd had the good sense to call the Police first. If I hadn't I don't think I'd be alive today. I'd pulled up outside her house, that quaint little cottage, the dream home filled with nightmares.

Even before I went through the door I felt his presence, his evil, his horror. I knew there was something wrong but I still went in. It was Mel. She needed me. It overrode my own sense of self preservation.

"Sophie," he'd said like it was a filthy word, like I was a whore. Something to be despised. "What are you doing here?"

I'd frozen then too. He'd been standing over her crushed body, blood on his knuckles, a wild grin on his face. I was next. I knew it. The blue lights cast a long shadow in front of me. Flashing. Flickering. A siren far off.

"Did you call them?" he asked. I could only nod. I wanted to say more but I had no tongue, no vocal cords. They were in those bloody fists, bound tight. "Silly girl."

I remember the officer pushing past me, the smell of his cologne, the look he gave Mel on the floor, then looking at Jake, then going for his cuffs that dangled off his broad black belt. Someone else came in and put their arms around my shoulders. She was tall and kind and she led me out into the street again just as the ambulance pulled up. More sirens. Voices.

Then the hospital.

The long wait.

The trial.

"You okay?" asked Tom.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm fine."

"Is something bothering you?"

"No, just a little bit tired. It must be these early mornings."

"You're telling me," he said, laughing. The van was loaded but I didn't remember doing it. "Let's get going."

"Yeah."

We drove on in silence but I saw Tom looking sideways at me. We were on the motorway and the traffic was light so he didn't need to be concentrating. It gave him more time to assess my mental state.

"What?" I snapped when it got too much.

"I'm just waiting."

"For what?"

"For you to tell me what's bothering you."

The turn off for the services was coming up - those three signs with the lines on them. I liked to wait until the last one before indicating. I realised Tom was pulling in.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"For a coffee and a bun. Or maybe a millionaire shortbread. Or a flapjack."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

He found a parking bay near the door and we got out. There was a family gathered near the door, no doubt on their way to a last minute winter break, and they were arguing about where to eat their breakfast. Seeing as though only the McDonald’s was open I thought their options were pretty limited.

"What are you having?" he asked as we walked into the quiet food court.

"More company perks?"

"No. They're on me."

"Feeling generous?"

"I think you need a pick-me-up."

"You seem to know a lot about me."

"That's the thing," he said. "I know almost nothing about you. I'd like to change that."

"Why?"

"Why not? We work together. This job is the first time I've had a chance to do more than just give you something to weld and ask you how long it will take. Now I can see there's something wrong and I think it's my duty, as your foreman, to find out what it is."

"Really? Your duty?"

"Yes, now do you want a millionaire shortbread or a flapjack? They're all out of buns." We joined the queue of three at the Costa counter and I looked at the vast array of confectionery and began to drool. Maybe Tom was right. The diet could be put on hold for the morning.

"The shortbread please,” I said.

"And a white coffee without sugar?"

"Yes please."

In front of us there was a young business exec in an off the peg suit who ordered an espresso to go. After him there was an oldish couple but it didn't take long for our turn. Tom put the orders in and soon we were sat at a sticky table that the overworked Costa staff seemed too busy to clean.

"So go on. Start from the beginning." He took the top off his travel cup and blew gently across the surface of his coffee. There was such a delicate touch to a guy who looked ready to break some skulls if they pissed him off. I always judged a man by how he ate - it was one of the deciding factors I'd made up in high school and when he broke off a piece of the shortbread with his fingers I graded him an 'A'. I hated sloppy eaters. An A* was to use a fork.

"It's nothing - honestly," I said.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Is it okay to say I don't believe you?"

"No. It isn't. You're prying into my personal life and..." I stifled a sob. I didn't know where it came from and it took me by surprise. I tried to say more but it was too late. In comforting Mel during her tears I'd forgotten to shed a few myself. I tried to hide behind a Costa serviette but it was too late. Tom stayed where he was. No mock concern. No hugs. Just patient waiting until it was out of my system. It took a moment or two but I managed to pull myself together.

"I'm sorry," I said, wiping my eyes. "I don't know where that came from."

"I think you do."

"Yeah - I do."

"We've got half an hour before we need to get back on the road. Is that long enough?"

So I began to explain it to him. The whole story. I don't know why but for some reason I felt I could. Maybe it was the way he fixed his eyes on mine, how he looked like he was actually interested and not just looking for a quick way to my knickers. Maybe it was just the way he ate shortbread.

"It's my friend, Mel."

"The girl from your dinner break?"

"Yeah. The smiling, laughing, muffin-eating woman who is my best friend in the whole world. A long time ago she was married and expecting a baby. Everything was going really well for her. She had a nice house, a nice car, a nice husband. It couldn't get any better." I ate some shortbread. I picked it up and bit off a corner. Rebel. "Anyway, I've not seen her for ages when one day I get a call. She's frantic, mumbling, making no sense whatsoever. In the end I get the gist that she's in trouble and so I managed to get her address out of her and I drive over there. She won't open the door until she's sure it's me. When I get in there's blood all over this silly white dress she's wearing and I knew straight away that she'd miscarried. But it wasn't just that. She was terrified. I hadn't seen her for years but I knew it was fear that had made her ring me. I'd never really met Jake up until then..."

"Jake?" he asked. Jesus, I thought - I could love a man just for listening to me. I wasn't used to the attention and it was something amazing. It helped me to go on.

"That's her husband. Anyway, he came home a few minutes after I'd got there and he saw the blood and the dress and he figured it out before I could do anything. He had this look on his face, I can't... explain it somehow, it was just... cold... evil... like there was nothing behind his eyes but hatred. He asked me to leave. He told me that he'd handle it, that Mel needed the hospital and he'd take her there in his car. But that wasn't the thing that bothered me - it was Mel's face. She looked terrified. She was looking at me with this expression that said 'please don't leave me with him'. But what could I do? I had to go, he told me to go and so..."

"You did."

"Yeah. I did. I tried to ring her later that day but she wouldn't answer. It took a whole week before she answered. When she did she sounded... different..."

"How?"

"Well, she sounded like she was hiding something, trying to make things sound better than they were. When I asked her if she was okay it was fake and pretend and... I don't know, I just got the feeling that it was... wrong..."

"I think I know where you're going with this. He was abusing her," he said.

"Yeah. He was. Afterwards, when she'd left him, she told me that it began when she lost the baby. That means that when I left he beat her and..." I was out of Costa napkins but Tom passed me his. The shortbread was gone.

"What happened then?" he asked.

"I managed to get the truth out of her. She didn't know what to do and I kept telling her to get out and come and live with me. She was so scared. I didn't know what to do so I rang her parents and told them everything. At first she was so pissed off at me but her dad got involved. She was so stubborn. In the end she promised to get out of there if he touched her one more time."

"Okay. I suspect he did touch her."

"In a big way. The next time I went round it was because she text me a single word. HELP. He'd almost killed her. I'd rung the Police and they arrested him on the spot. At the trial he got sent down for 5 years but he was out in 4. He rang her last night."

"Oh."

"Yeah," I said, avoiding his gaze. "He's out and he got her number somehow."

"Do you think he'll try to find her?"

"If he does he'll be locked up faster than you can say Jack Sprat. But that's no comfort I suppose. Not to either of us."

Tom didn't say anything. He nodded but looked down at his coffee. At least he wasn't being the usual Mr. Fixit with a whole list of solutions and answers to problems he knew nothing about. It gave me a chance to return the favour and look him over. It was like I was seeing him for the first time. There were features that I hadn't seen before. The brow that looked as though he had the weight of the world on his back, the hands that had years of experience worn into the surface. Eyes filled with a strange mix of sorrow and joy. Was he more than just a brainless gym-junkie? It seemed possible now.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

"I don't think so. Not at the moment," I said.

"Okay. Are you seeing Mel for dinner?" I nodded. "Good. Take an hour if you want - there's no pressure today seeing as though we kicked the jobs arse yesterday."

"Thanks."

"We'd better get going. Don't want Hammer Head on our case today, do we?"

I got up and gathered my things - I hated leaving it for the waitresses. "Thanks for listening," I said to him without looking up. He put his hand upon my shoulder. Nothing invasive, nothing deep, just a momentary step into my personal space to let me know it was okay to feel like this. The moment came and went and we walked back to the van in silence.

Assembling and welding the hand rail didn't take long and again I realised how grateful I was to the guys in the workshop for getting their bit absolutely bob-on. The fish-mouthed pipe ends fitted together beautifully and made my life of TIG welding them together a whole lot easier - especially as in some cases I was working upside-down. It was Tom's job to hold a lot of the parts in place whilst I got some tacks on them and it was comical to watch him turn his head round as far as he could to avoid the glare.

"It's a TIG welder," I said to him. "It won't burn your eye sockets out - just block the line-of-sight with the job!"

"I'm trying but I don't want to look down."

I'd forgotten about the heights until he mentioned it. We were overlooking one of the lower floors at that point and although he couldn't fall because of the safety rails the builders had put in place he was still gripping anything solid like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

"You're a wuss, you know that?" I said, laughing.

"Shut up. As your superior, I order you to shut up!"

"Superior? Not from where I'm sitting." He turned away when I flicked my mask down over my face and started the fillet weld.

"It's amazing how people are going to lean against this piping and trust it won't break and send them three floors down to their deaths," he continued. "If only they knew who was welding them..."

I hadn't perfected the art of talking whilst welding and so I had to remain silent. Every welder is quick to defend their own work, even if the attacker is only joking. It's just what we do.

I finished the run and pushed my mask up. "These welds will hold up the houses of parliament!"

"If you say so."

"What would you know anyway? What did you train as?" I asked.

"I started as an apprentice lathe operator," he said, sitting down on the red tarmac floor. "I did that for eight years, got my certificates and then got moved up to Supervisor. I did that for five years and then came to work here at Riley's."