Shattered Lives

by Marian Phair

  The slings, bandages, plasters, sterile needles and all the other paraphernalia used in his trade, were packed in boxes and stacked on top of his wardrobe, or stuck underneath his bed, or in fact anywhere he could find a space to accommodate them.

  When Sam’s letter had arrived just over a week ago, he had been appalled at first by his request, then thinking it over carefully, he could see that with the money he could make, a lot of his problems would be solved. Gradually, his morals had taken a back seat, and his need took priority in his mind. He stopped his pacing at his desk, and picked up Sam’s letter-headed paper reading,

  My Dear Freddie.

  I was sorry to hear of your plight and the situation you now find yourself in. Your morals got in the way of the partnership I offered you; otherwise it would be a different story today. However, you are in the unique position to solve both our problems. Your position as doctor at the Convent home, where you informed me you had several unmarried mothers to be in your care, would come in quite useful. You could be of service to friends of mine, and in doing so, solve your financial problems for a while at the same time.

  They are a childless couple, living in Australia, and they want me to procure a baby for them and that my friend, is where you come in. They will pay $40,000 and all expenses, and $20,000 of this would be yours, (one child less for the nuns to dispose of, ha -ha!) My friends are prepared to travel ‘wherever’ to collect the baby, but it must be new born, definitely no older than 4-5 weeks. For my part, I will deal with the paperwork, birth certificate, transfer arrangements etc., and you provide the baby. Think what you could do with $20,000!! Don’t let me down, as I owe them a great debt. Sam.

  Amie had unwittingly made up Freddie’s mind for him, and alone in the world, pregnant, homeless and like himself, almost broke, she was the ideal candidate. It was just what Sam was looking for, and he would not be running any risks himself by trying to procure a baby from the convent, where, if he were to be found out, he would undoubtedly be sent to jail, struck off, and his entire life would be down the pan.

  He justified his actions by pretending to himself that he would be helping everyone concerned solve their problems, like a Good Samaritan.

  Helping Amie, by finding her a home and employment, and the childless couple would have a baby, who would not be a bastard, but have rich doting parents to care for it, giving everyone a happy outcome, including Sam and himself.

  “Who the fuck am I trying to kid,” he said out aloud. He could not stop the feeling of guilt he had at lying to the girl.

  When he had spoken to Sam on the telephone, Sam had said he would fix it with Melissa Proctor to take Amie on as a nanny, and he said he had ways in which to persuade her to do his bidding. Freddie thought at the time that Sam had some kind of hold over Melissa Proctor, but he thought it better not to ask what this hold could be. The less he knew about Sam’s affairs the better. Sam himself would take care of the birth, and ensure there would be no problems with Amie.

  Freddie slumped in his chair, reaching into the top drawer of his desk; he took out a box of matches, lit one and touched it to the edge of Sam’s letter. As the flame took hold, he dropped it into the metal waste-paper bin, watching it burn, until it was nothing but a pile of ashes.

  A shudder went through his body. ‘Someone has just walked over my grave’ he thought, associating it with impending doom.

  Amie rose early before 6am, unable to stay in bed, and too excited to go back to sleep. She went into the bathroom, half-filled the tub, adding lots of scented foam, before lowering herself into the warm bubbles for a long, leisurely soak. After a while she stepped from the tepid bath water, and reaching for a towel she dried herself off, then she applied a liberal dusting of talcum powder, before donning her bathrobe. Totally relaxed she sat munching on two plain biscuits, mindless of the crumbs. She found that the biscuits helped her to overcome her morning sickness.

  She drank her second cup of tea, and finished off the biscuit wiping away the crumbs from her bathrobe, she rose to get dressed.

  She had chosen to wear her white lined slacks that had elasticised sides, wondering as she pulled them over her abdomen, how long it would be before she had to buy maternity clothes. She chose a turquoise blue loose fitting top from the pile on the bed, smoothing it down over her stomach. She vowed she would do everything in her power to protect and care for the little one growing inside her.

  Her suitcase packed, she carefully placed the letter addressed to Dr Samuel Morrison, on top of her clothing, and secured the catches. She sat by the window, her suitcase beside her on the floor, gazing out at the world outside, as she waited for the car to come and collect her.

  Anyone passing by and looking up would have seen a lovely face, marred only by the sadness in the eyes.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The flight took little more than an hour, and as the wheels of the light aircraft bumped along the tarmac at Reus Airport, Amie mentally pinched herself to make sure she was not dreaming.

  This time yesterday she thought, I was sitting in dreary lodgings, facing the winter with no prospects, no work and very little money. Now twenty-four hours later, she was alighting into the warm Spanish sunlight, with everything to look forward too.

  She sank back into the comfortable back seat of the chauffeur driven limousine feeling very special, wondering what her grandmother would have made of all this. Once off the motorway and on to the coastal road towards their destination, she enjoyed the lovely views along the way.

  Palm trees lined the route they were taking, allowing glimpses of the ocean here and there. Shops with brightly coloured awnings, offered an array of goods to the passer by, and around a bend in the road she got her first real good look at the ocean and its long sandy beach.

  On her right, a magnificent structure of Fungi stood, reaching way above the palm trees, its feet encircled by a bed of red, blue, and white flowers and a sign nearby let her know she was in La Pineda.

  The limousine continued, winding its way up the hill and eventually turned off the road, in through two large wrought iron gates, its wheels crunching on the gravel driveway. There were neatly kept lawns on either side, bordered by low growing plants in full bloom, which were unfamiliar to her. The limousine came to a halt in front of an imposing three-storey residence. Two large terracotta urns, filled with geraniums and trailing lobelia stood on either side of the concrete steps leading up to the veranda which ran across the front of the house. Two smaller urns, containing miniature palms, had been placed on either side of the large oak front door, which had heavy brass fittings gleaming in the sunlight.

  The Spanish chauffeur came to the side of the limousine, holding the door open for her to alight. Removing her suitcase from its boot, he stood patiently to one side, allowing her to go ahead of him. Filled with trepidation, Amie slowly preceded him up the steps to the veranda.

  To the right of the door; seated at the patio table, drink in hand, sat a young woman, her peroxide blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She was wearing a red halter-neck top and white shorts which set off her long tanned legs. She sat with a ‘flip-flop’ dangling from the toes of her right foot.

  Beside her sat a small boy with brown hair, wearing a white tee-shirt with a picture of a monkey on the front. His eyes were downcast, concentrating on the glass of orange juice in front of him, rapidly sucking it up through a straw.

  Setting her glass on the table, Melissa Proctor rose to her feet swaying slightly as she approached Amie, holding out a heavily jewelled hand. “Welcome to La Casa con Rojo Tejado,” she said, then seeing the puzzled look on Amie’s face, she realised she did not speak Spanish.

  “Oh, it just means, ‘The House with Red Roofs’,” she laughingly translated,

  “I’m Melissa Proctor.” Turning towards the boy she said, “Peter, come and meet your new nanny,” and taking the boy by the arm, she drew him forward. “Well say hello then.” she ordered as the boy stood silently before her, nervously rubbing
the toe of his right shoe against the back of his left leg. Clinging to his mother’s hand he looked up at Amie with frightened blue eyes. Amie’s heart went out to him because she understood his fear and kneeling down she smiled at him.

  “Hello Peter, my names Amie, I hope we can be friends. I like your monkey,” she said pointing to his tee-shirt and trying to win him over.

  “Run along and play or do some colouring-in, in your book, there’s a good boy,” said Melissa releasing herself from Peter’s grip.

  She pushed the child to one side, and pulled another chair up to the table, inviting Amie to have a seat. Picking up her drink, Melissa swallowed it down in one long mouthful. Refreshing her glass from the near empty bottle on the table, she took two or three sedate sips, before setting the glass back down on the table. Turning to Amie she said, “Sorry, I would offer you a drink, but there is only one glass I’m afraid.” Reaching for her cigarettes she lit one up and tilting her head away from Amie, she blew out a cloud of smoke and commented, “ well, we had better get you settled in. Rojo Tejado is a private residence, and the owner is in America on business, so we are renting it from him whilst filming here. When I say ‘we’ I am referring to the two other members of the film crew who are also staying here.” Melissa took a long drag on her cigarette before continuing. “I have the master suite, and the two men have an en-suite each, so we have put you in the part of the house the owner’s mother used when she lived here.” Throwing her cigarette down and putting it out with her foot, Melissa continued, “We have two local cleaners, who don’t speak a word of English, and a chef and three kitchen staff. Enrico Garcia the chauffeur, you have already met, and that leaves Millie who is my personal maid.”

  Melissa stood up and turning, led the way into the house saying,

  “I will get Millie to show you to your rooms, and we can go over your duties later. Enrico has seen to your luggage,” she said, calling out to Millie as she left to go and find her.

  The ‘rooms,’ as Melissa had called them, turned out to be a small self-contained apartment, having its own entrance hall with three doors leading off. Opening the first door, on her left, Amie discovered a bathroom, which to her delight had both a shower and a bath tub. The large mirror over the sink had its own light above it and a cupboard under the sink had ample storage space for toiletries. Next to the toilet stood a bidet and a large chrome rack beside the door held several white fluffy towels. Closing the door to the bathroom, she opened the one directly in front of her.

  It was the bedroom, dominated by the big bed in its centre. Amie ran her hands over its satin throw, admiring its deep gold colour and the pattern of small pink rose buds forming a circle in the centre, with matching curtains hung at the window. How clever, she thought, noticing that the bedside cupboards were actually built into the headboard of the bed. On them stood two beautiful onyx-based lamps, with pale cream shades and crystal beaded fringes. The wall beside the door was completely taken up by what looked like a huge cupboard. On opening its doors, she found there were rails for hanging clothes, four very deep shelves, six drawers and a built in shoe rack. Two shelves contained spare bed linen and there was a storage space for her luggage.

  Amie crossed the room, pulling back the curtains in order to see the view, and to her surprise she found the ‘window’ was actually a sliding glass door, which opened onto a balcony with its own patio table, complete with umbrella, two matching white chairs and a sun lounge. Leaning over the balcony, she looked down onto a large kidney-shaped swimming pool, fringed with palms, and to her surprise it was empty. Long white sun lounges and small white metal tables had been placed in various spots around its edge. The entire area had been tiled in bluish-grey stone forming a herring-bone pattern. She would have loved to don her bathing suit and go for a swim in the pool’s turquoise blue water, but alas that would not be today. Behind the third door was a large lounge, whose sliding glass doors also led out onto the same balcony. Two large sofas had been strategically placed to give the best view out across the gardens beyond the swimming pool, and beyond this was a small area of wasteland, with a few bushes and the odd tree pushing up here and there through the sparse dry grass.

  In the distance lay the ocean, and she could just make out three ships lying at anchor in the dock while a large crane loaded the nearest one.

  A long low coffee table had been placed in front of the two sofas, and a sideboard containing a plain white china dinner service with a set of silver cutlery, stood along one wall. A water colour painting of children at play hung above it. A small television set and a dining table with four matching wooden chairs made up the rest of the furnishings in the room.

  In the corner by the door was a tiny alcove with a beaded curtain. Parting it, she discovered a small refridgerator and a cupboard with an electric kettle on its top. The cupboard contained a set of dishes, plates and mugs, a small cutlery drawer in one half, and a frying pan and saucepans in the other, under a small hob cooker. A notice was taped to the wall above the kettle, issuing a health warning.

  HEALTH HAZARD.

  DO NOT DRINK THE LOCAL WATER! USE ONLY BOTTLED WATER.

  DO NOT TAKE CHANCES WITH YOUR HEALTH!

  Amie read the notice out loud, and wondered what else was ‘hazardous to her health.’ Rats like Ralph Newman came to mind!

  It did not take her long to unpack her few belongings, for they made a sorry looking display in the huge wardrobe. She made a mental note to buy herself one or two pairs of shorts, and some ‘flip-flops’ as soon as she was able. Not daring to take the time to shower, she went into the bathroom and quickly splashed some water onto her face to freshen up, promising herself a long shower later when she had found out from Melissa what her duties as nanny entailed. She ran a comb through her hair, clipping it up at the back, and then making her way downstairs, she found Millie in the hallway deep in conversation with Enrico. I may need to have lessons in Spanish she thought.

  Excusing herself for interrupting their conversation she asked where she could find Melissa. Millie smiled letting her know she did not mind the intrusion and said, “She is in the dining room, first door on your right.” Thanking her, Amie went and knocked on the door before entering.

  Melissa was seated at the large mahogany dining table, a mug of coffee in her hand and sitting with her were two men. The younger one with bright ginger hair was hastily making notes on a pad, the sleeves of his dark green shirt rolled up at the elbows, exposing his heavily tattooed arms. He wore a skull ear stud in one ear. “Hold on Charlie, give me a chance to write it down!” he exclaimed, “You’re like a bloody express train when you get started and I can’t keep up with you.”

  Charlie sat puffing on a cigar, beads of perspiration running from his bald head down his face. The blue shirt he was wearing bore heavy sweat marks under the armpits, and it was open almost to his waist exposing his hairy chest. He sat with legs spread on either side of his chair, his huge stomach resting on his thighs, reminding her of a picture she had once seen of Buddha.

  “Well, ‘ow long are yer gonna’ take ter bleedin’ sort it owt?” Charlie asked him. “I told yer ter strip the whole fing dahn, but nah, yer fink yer the cat’s bleedin’ mie-ow.” Pulling a grubby handkerchief from the pocket of his shorts, he mopped at his sweating brow.

  “We wouldn’t be sitting ‘ere now wiv no air conditioning, sweating our balls orf, if yer ‘ad listened ter me in the first place! Charlie gave up mopping at his brow, and crammed the grimy cloth back in his pocket. “Bleedin’know-it-all,” he muttered under his breath. Spotting Amie standing hesitantly in the doorway, he grinned at her and said, “‘Ello darlin’ come an ‘ave a seat.” As Amie approached the trio, Charlie did the introductions; rising from his chair he wiped a sweaty palm on his shorts before offering it to her. “I’m Charlie Makepeace, and that bleedin’ ginger-nut there’s Jimmy Brown,” he said, nodding his head in Jimmy’s direction, and shaking it when he looked at him, “Mel’s just bin’ telling us abaht
yer.” “Don’t mind this big ox, he always carries on like this if things go wrong,” said Jimmy, giving Amie a roguish wink.

  Amie joined them at the table, seating herself next to Melissa, who had taken no part in the conversation up until now.

  “Help yourself to some coffee, while it is still hot,” she said, pushing the pot towards Amie. Amie poured the strong dark liquid into a mug, adding two spoonfuls of sugar and some cream, stirring it in silence as the two men took up their conversation again.

  Melissa reached into her handbag and removed a small flask, and unscrewing its top, she poured a liberal amount into her coffee.

  “We start filming the night scenes on Friday,” Jimmy was saying, “that gives us two days to sort out the lighting. When will the rest of the gear arrive?”

  “‘Ow the ‘ell do I know, I ‘ave ovver fings ter fink abaht, you sort it mate.” Stubbing out his cigar, Charlie stood up, looking across the table at Jimmy, who was doodling on the note pad and paying no attention.

  “Well are yer comin’ wiv me ter sort out the air conditioning, or are yer gonna sit on yer bleedin’ arse all day doin’ nuffink?” He asked Jimmy.

  Charlie reached under the table, and withdrew a tool box while Jimmy made no move to get up, and continued with his doodling. Seeing this, Charlie’s voice raised, the heat of the day getting to him and shortening his temper.

  “WELL, are yer comin’or wot, yer bleedin’plonker?” said Charlie, as with a shrug of his shoulders and a shake of his head he made for the door.