Shattered Lives

by Marian Phair

  The next few days were spent sightseeing as a family. Melissa found to her surprise she was actually enjoying the experience. She had agreed to join him in South Africa and things between them were more or less, as they had been at the start of their relationship. She found she could share him with Peter now, without the jealous monster rearing its ugly head. Their nights were spent wining and dining and when Peter was safely tucked in for the night, they made love to each other. Life felt good again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  With Melissa and Peter in Portugal, Charlie and Jimmy away filming, Enrico had taken the limousine into Salou to get it serviced, dropping Millie in town en route.

  Amie found herself alone for the first time since her arrival. She wandered aimlessly around the grounds, and then sat for a while at the patio table with a book she had borrowed from the library, but she found her attention wandering. The baby was making its presence felt. Holding her stomach, she felt sure she could feel a little foot, under her exploring fingers. For some unknown reason she felt restless today. Putting the book aside, she decided to make a list of all the things she would require for the baby and what she needed by the way of maternity clothes.

  Millie was going with her tomorrow to Barcelona and they planned a day out together, combining the shopping with a bit of sightseeing and lunch. Amie was looking forward to it; it would be fun, spending some quality time with her new friend.

  Looking through the clothes in her wardrobe, she found a few items that could easily be altered to accommodate her rapidly expanding figure. Making a small pile of them, she took them out onto the veranda and left them on the patio table. It would be cooler here now the sun had moved around to the other side of the house. It would be pleasant to sit under the umbrella’s shade while she worked on her sewing.

  Amie went up to Melissa’s apartment to retrieve the sewing basket she had left there earlier, when she had sewn on a button missing from Peter’s shirt. On entering, the room looked gloomy in the half -light; the cleaners had not opened the drapes. Crossing the room she pulled the heavy drapes back, allowing the sunlight to stream into the room. The sewing basket was where she had left it, on the small table next to the window.

  It was obvious to her that the cleaners had not got around to cleaning Melissa’s rooms, for the flowers in the vase next to the sewing basket were dead. Taking the vase into the kitchen, she removed the dead flowers and placed them in the waste bin under the sink, then lifting the vase, she emptied the stagnant water down the sink. Screwing up her nose, she turned her head away from the smell of decayed foliage. Washing out the vase, she discovered a small key attached to the recess in its base, held in place with a piece of sellotape. She wondered if this was the key to the trunk in the garage where Millie had told her Melissa kept Peter’s toys and other items she wanted kept secret.

  Amie stood for a moment undecided, not wishing to be caught prying, should anyone return unexpectedly, into what was after all, really none of her concern. Her curiosity got the better of her and throwing caution to the wind, she slipped the key into her pocket. Leaving the sewing basket on the table, to use as an excuse for being in Melissa’s rooms in her absence, should she need one, when she came back to return the key to its hiding place. She went down in the lift and leaving the house, made her way around to the garage.

  The trunk had been placed up against the rear wall, the thick layer of dust on the lid told her it had not been opened for some time. Kneeling down she carefully inserted the key and on turning it, she heard the click as the lock opened. Her heartbeats quickened as she slowly and carefully raised the lid. Trying not to disturb the dust, she did not want to leave evidence of her tampering if she could help it.

  The first thing she saw was a large brown Teddy bear, lying on top of a train set. There was a football, a few racing cars, a bag of marbles, a wooden jigsaw and a few wooden soldiers that had been made from clothes pegs, the type made by gypsies and sold door-to-door. The soldiers had painted on guardsmen uniforms, with arms and hands painted on the sides, the carefully painted faces looked out from under black fake busbies, each little soldier a clone of the other. There was nothing else inside the trunk, except for a screwed up photograph. Amie carefully opened it out.

  It was a picture of a clown wearing, a battered black top hat with a huge daisy stuck on its side, perching precariously on top of his bright orange wig. He was wearing oversized black and yellow chequered trousers, held up by blue braces, a short sleeved white shirt and a huge red bow-tie. The clown with his white face makeup and two black teardrops, painted on one cheek, grinned out at her from his big red mouth, under the red clown nose. In his white gloved hands, he held a birthday cake with three candles on it. There was something vaguely familiar about the figure in the picture. She had seen this man before somewhere, but for the life of her, she could not remember where.

  Amie felt her disappointment mounting, as she replaced the photograph. The trunk held no secrets and there were no ‘dead bodies,’ or anything sinister at all, just a child’s toys. She was closing the lid when something caught her attention. The trunk appeared to be some six inches or so deeper than the base containing the toys. On closer inspection she found the toys were actually in an open top box, its high sides reaching the top of the trunk, giving the impression it was just an ordinary trunk. There was a slight gap all the way round.

  Carefully maneuvering the section containing the toys, Amie lifted it out and set it to one side on the garage floor. It had been concealing a bundle of letters, held in place with a rubber band, a scroll with a waxed seal, Melissa’s contract with Gregory Hines and her diary. She left the scroll and the contract in the trunk and removed the bundle of letters.

  The letter on top bore a Northern Ireland postmark dating back almost five years. Amie removed the rubber band, placing it on her wrist for safe keeping and with trembling fingers, withdrew the letter from the envelope, unfolding its pages she read.

  My Dear Melissa.

  I cannot begin to tell you how disappointed I am to hear that you find yourself pregnant again, and needing my services yet again, to relieve you of your burden. I fully understand your situation, with regards to your husband. It would take a lot of explaining, seeing as how he has been working abroad for the past six months. You know the risks you take when engaging in unprotected sex. You were made aware of them, all those years ago, when you came to see me first. Of course I will help you, that goes without saying. I will be in touch in a few days to let you know what arrangements I have made.

  My Fondest love as always. Sam xxx.

  Amie sat back on her heels, shocked by what she had just read.

  ‘Sam’ could only be Dr Samuel Morrison. If Dr Sam had performed two abortions on Melissa, why would she keep such incriminating evidence?.

  There were two or three other letters from a girl named Connie, relating the local gossip. Amie scanned them briefly; they were of little interest to her.

  There was another letter from Dr Sam; this was dated twelve months after the previous, reading,

  My dear Melissa,

  I am no longer in partnership with Doctor Fredrick Reid. I left the practice almost two years ago, as we did not see eye-to-eye on certain matters. I have become an expatriate, and now have my own Gynaecological clinic, in Tarragona, in the Spanish Republic of Catalonia. Keep in touch, I miss hearing from you. I hope to see you again soon, only in much happier circumstances, than the last time we met! With affection. Sam x

  Amie replaced the rubber band round the letters and replaced them in the trunk. She had left Melissa’s diary until last, now flicking through its neatly written pages she read of new hair styles, how a dentist who had capped a tooth for her was a gorgeous hunk and she fancied a piece of him, how her friend Connie who was expecting her fifth child, was a bloody fool to have so many kids. Amie read on, quickly scanning the pages and it made boring reading for the most part. Suddenly, one word seemed to leap out from the page, ‘COUCHIE!�
�� Amie had to flip back to make sense of what was written as two of the pages were stuck together. She had not noticed this, as she flicked through the diary, her mind had not fully registered what little she had read.

  Amie knelt on the dusty floor of the garage, oblivious to everything around her, save for the diary she held in her lap. She read,

  He came at me again today. He told me he loves me and that I excite more than his conventional wife had ever done. He finds me irresistible! And begged on his knees for me to become his mistress looking so ridiculous groveling, clinging to my legs and planting kisses on my feet. I tried to push him away, he repulses me sexually!

  Amie read on, shifting her position, to sit on the floor, to save her legs from further suffering.

  He became nasty, and threatened to expose me, ruin my career and my marriage, if I was not NICE to him and do his bidding. I told him I found his touch repulsive; NO WAY was I becoming his mistress!

  Amie’s heart was beating fast; sensing something evil would come out of this situation. She turned the page, continuing to read Melissa’s diary,

  He flew into a rage, slamming me against the wall, cracking my head against it so hard, that I passed out cold! When I came too, I was lying on the couch, half naked, with him on top of me. I tried to push him off me, my head was spinning, the pain unbearable. Pinning my arms above my head, he held me down while he raped me. Moaning and calling me ‘mamma’ in his excitement, he quickly withdrew and spent himself on my naked stomach, then collapsed on top of me!

  Amie felt sickened and for the very first time since she had met her, she found herself feeling sorry for Melissa. She could not stop herself reading on.

  I threw up over him, and then he slapped me hard across the face, calling me a dirty bitch. He told me I had better get used to it and if I would not go with him willingly, he would take what he wanted, when he wanted it. Again he held me down, one hand gripping mine above my head, the weight of his body preventing me from struggling, (I was too sick and weak to put up a fight anyway). He played with himself furiously until his erection was hard enough to enter me, then he raped me again, only this time he did not withdraw! Then he just got off me, and left me lying there, telling me to think over what he had said, or he would ruin my life. I knew he had the power to do just that and he was evil enough to use it!

  Amie thought this would explain many things regarding Melissa’s behaviour, but it did not excuse her abusing her son. She read on,

  Two weeks later we became lovers. The man is sick! I have to be his ‘mamma’ and he is my ‘couchie’, it’s a game he insists we play. Something bad must have happened to him in his childhood that makes him play these games with me. I find the booze helps; it anaesthetises me while we play his little games. I pretend to go along with them and he appears convinced that I enjoy them too, after all I am an ACTRESS!

  Amie sat in stunned silence, the diary resting in her lap, held loosely in her trembling fingers, while the words she had read sank in.

  Dr Samuel Morrison was an abortionist, among other things, who, having done away with Melissa’s unwanted pregnancies, had become obsessed with her. Then he had beaten and raped her, when she had spurned him. He had finally blackmailed her into becoming his mistress; this was probably why Melissa acted the way she did.

  Amie imagined that when Melissa drank, it sent her into a depressed reverie, of her past abortions and the situation she now found herself in with Dr Sam, a situation she had no control over. A vicious circle of drink and depression, Amie thought it explained the hidden compartment in the trunk. In her mind’s eye she saw Melissa entering the garage, opening the trunk, and taking the diary out of its secret compartment, only to relive her private crucifixion!

  Turning the page she read the final entry in the diary, written several weeks later,

  He has a high sex drive, at first I used to try and pretend to be with someone else. I was always pissed when we were together as I could not bear his touch. Maybe it was because of how he had made his fortune. He REALLY does love me; he will go to any lengths to please me. I find I am enjoying the power I now have over him, it is quite a turn on. We have sex anywhere, and everywhere, this is an added thrill for me, especially if there is a chance of being caught in the act. I love it! He has become submissive and I can now dominate and control HIM! He sinks to his knees at my bidding, kissing my feet, legs and sex. I love this feeling of power I have over him and sometimes lie awake at night, thinking up things I can make him do to me. He told me he resents women who breed like rabbits, while his own barren wife could not give him the child he so dearly wanted. It is as if by getting rid of unwanted babies, it somehow eases the ache in him for fathering his own. It evens the score for him. I have yet to tell him, there is one more abortion he has to perform!!

  Amie’s mind was numb. She carefully replaced everything back in the trunk and locked it. Dusting off her clothes, she left the garage and went back up to Melissa’s rooms. She stuck the key back under the vase with the same sellotape and placed the vase back on the small table. She lifted the sewing basket and made her way back down the stairs to her own apartment.

  She felt dirty; going into the bathroom she showered and changed her clothes, dropping the soiled garments into the laundry basket.

  She took the sewing basket out onto the veranda. She sat gazing off into space, the pile of clothes untouched beside the open sewing basket, quietly going over in her mind what she had just discovered from her prying in the garage. That is where Millie found her when she came bursting into the house calling out her name.

  Before Amie could rise from her seat on the veranda, Millie came out to her, dumping her packages on the floor and flopped into the other chair, a huge grin on her face.

  “You’ll never guess what happened to me today.” she told Amie, jumping back up out of her seat in her excitement, doing a little twirl. “I was sitting having a coffee, outside the Waterfront Restaurant, minding me own business, when this handsome devil of a man stopped at me table. He asked if I spoke English, which I said I did of course, then he asked if I could direct him to Chambrils.” In her excitement her Irish accent was coming through.

  “What is Chambrils?” Amie asked, interrupting Millie in mid-flow.

  “Do you want to hear me story, or not,” Millie said, giving Amie a questioning look then sitting down again in the other chair, Chambrils is a small fishing village up the road a piece. I directed him to the bus stop, and I told him he had just missed one, and guess what?” Millie leant forward and grinned into Amie’s face. “What?” said Amie, teasing her friend and watching the expression on her face; Millie reached for one of the packages, placing it on the table, “so anyway,” she continued with her rambling,

  “he asked me if he could join me while he waited for the next bus to Chambrils, unless I was waiting for someone. I told him I was not,” Millie grinned at Amie, “the truth is I have been waiting for someone like him all me life.” Amie could not get a word in.

  Millie continued, “He’s Irish, born and bred in Enniskillen. I told him I was from Randals Town in county Antrim. We got to talking and you’ll never guess he’s taking me out tonight; he’s picking me up at eight o’clock. If you are good and lend me that little red number, you no longer fit into; I might even introduce you to him when he comes a calling.” Amie had never seen her friend so excited, her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks flushed, she was so full of beans, she could barely control herself.

  Millie pushed a package across the table to Amie saying, “It’s something for the baby, don’t open it yet.” Thanking her friend for the gift, Amie went into her bedroom, returning with the red dress over her arm, “You may keep it if you like Millie, I have no further use for it. It will need altering to fit you, will we have time?.”

  “The devil you say!” exclaimed Millie, “Why, don’t you think it will do as it is?”

  “Well Millie, no harm to you, but I am a good three inches taller than you and if you don
’t mind me saying so, I also have a bigger bust than you.”

  Millie grinned at her, “Well that’s easy settled. On you it was a mini-dress. I never did wear me clothes up to me arse and as for you having bigger tits than me, that’s not hard to do either. I will just pad me bra out with tissues, so there for you now! Problem solved.”

  Amie could not help laughing at her, sometimes Millie used expressions she had never heard before. Giving Amie a quick kiss on the cheek, Millie gathered up the rest of her packages, “Thanks for the dress, must dash, I have to get ready for me big date tonight and its seven o’clock already.”

  “Where are you going on this date of yours? Where is he taking you?” Amie asked. “I don’t know, we never got round to deciding,” Millie laughed, running from the apartment. “What’s the name of this Irish man of yours?” Amie called after her retreating back. “Sean O’Neil.” Millie shouted back, not bothering to use the lift, taking the stairs two at a time.

  Amie opened the gift that Millie had so thoughtfully given her for the baby. It was a little pale yellow and white romper suit. Smiling at the size of it, she wrapped it back in its tissue paper and put it in the drawer she had reserved for the baby’s things.

  Sean O’Neil arrived promptly at eight o’clock. Millie ran to the door to let him in, her face aglow. Looking pretty in the red dress, her long unbound chestnut brown hair shining made the introductions. He was indeed a handsome man, his five foot eleven inch frame dwarfing Millie’s five foot two inches. His dark blonde curly hair formed a widows peak at the front, there was a twinkle in his blue eyes as he took Amie’s hand in a firm grip and shook it.