Shattered Lives

by Marian Phair

  Tim called out to the girl busy pulling pints behind the bar, “bring us over a couple of pints Katie, there’s a good lass. Did you want a wee drop of something to warm your insides?” he asked Amie.

  “No thanks,” she said, “I will stick to the tea. I am not really one for drink.”

  When the ale was set down before the two men, Tim continued with his tale,

  “Well now, where was I? Ah yes, when Jimmy went off to sell the catch, I would sit readying the line for the evening set. The two of us would then go off to Smith’s Strand and drag for small fry, which along with worms we used for bait.” Tim took a long drink from his glass before setting it down on the table beside him.

  “How did you find the worms, did you have to dig for them?” Amie asked, showing an interest in her late grandfather’s livelihood.

  “You could find them in among the debris along the shoreline.” Tim told her and, if it was a rainy night, more drizzle than rain really, we would go out when it was nice and dark, with our lanterns and old tin cans, and gather the big worms from the lawns on the Harding estate. They kept the grass nice and short, you see, and it needed to be, in order to catch them.” Amie waited patiently while he took another drink from his glass. Wiping the froth from the beer, off his mouth, on the back of his hand Tim continued,

  “The light rain would drive the worms up out of the ground; they could be seen, glistening in the light of the lanterns, lying on top of the short blades of grass. You had to be really quick, mind you, to catch them, for the light would drive them back down the hole. Once you had a hold of a worm, you had to wait until it stopped wriggling, before pulling it out of the hole, or it would break, or you would lose it altogether. Earth worms are strong little blighters.”

  Tim sat in silence gazing into the fire, reliving the past. Michael sat quietly puffing on his pipe, lost in his own thoughts.

  “I was fourteen when your grandfather drowned in the Lough, and your mother was just born.” Tim said.

  “The Lord gives, and he takes away again,” said Michael muttering into his pint.

  Amie would have loved to have known her grandfather. She drank the rest of her tea, before broaching the subject of the Magdalene convent. Seeing the look that passed between the two men, she felt her cheeks reddening and realised she had let them know she was a ‘fallen’ woman, in the eyes of society.

  Tim gave her a long searching look, saying, “you will have to walk there lass, the main road is closed for repairs and the only other way up, is off the beaten track, so to speak, about three miles from here.”

  “Are there any taxi’s running from here?,” Amie said, knowing in her present state, she could not walk three miles and in the freezing cold.

  “No taxis I’m afraid, anyway, it is little better than a cart track,” Tim told her, “no vehicle could reach the place at all, over the last mile.” At her look of dismay, he continued, “I will see if one of my lads will take you as far as the road goes, but you will have to walk the rest of the way.”

  He turned to old Michael, asking, “What do you think Michael? you knew these parts better than anyone.”

  Michael relit his pipe before answering, “I have been walking and biking in that part of the country for thirty odd years and I would not like to find myself out there in the dark. I know that particular part, like the back of my own hand. You’ve got better than a mile of bogs, on either side of the track, up the first bit of the mountain, and then the track runs through thickets and then woods, up to the convent walls.” He drank the rest of his pint and set down his glass, saying, “my advice is, don’t go!”

  Amie looked from one to the other. “Then I will have to make sure I get there before dark, if someone will kindly direct me.” Tim shook his head at her remark, “Don’t you have anything warmer to put on lass? Those clothes you are wearing are hardly suitable for winter weather.” He looked at the thin slacks, and the cardigan she wore over her top, then down at the trainers on her feet, “why, when you came in here, you were not even wearing a coat, it’s no wonder you were freezing.”

  “That’s because I don’t own a coat,” she told him, “these are the warmest clothes I have, on me now, I had no need for winter clothes, living in Spain.”

  Tim O’Reilly sighed and shook his head, “wait here, I will see what I can do about getting you a lift.” He crossed the room and went through a small door beside the bar, closing it behind him.

  He was back in no time at all, carrying an anorak over his arm.

  Calling out to Katie, to hold the fort until he got back, he came over to Amie, handing her the anorak and told her to put it on. It smelt faintly of aftershave and tobacco.

  Amie thanked him, as she pulled the zipper up over her abdomen; the sleeves were several inches too long for her and had to be rolled over twice before her hands were freed.

  “How will I get this back to you?” she asked Tim.

  “Don’t worry about that, it’s not as if I haven’t got another one to wear,” he told her, “come on we best get started, I will take you as far as I can. I just hope the snow that’s forecast, holds off until your journeys over.”

  Amie bid goodbye to Michael and wished him a Merry Christmas.

  “Aye and to you lass, all the best now, have a safe journey,” he replied. Tim gathered up her luggage and she followed him outside.

  They drove in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The first two miles were through open country, and then the road abruptly became much steeper as they left the bogs behind and began to ascend, what was little more than a dirt track up the side of the mountain. Tim pushed on until he could go no further. Then he brought the car to a halt at the side of the track. Amie could see that it disappeared into a wood. A shudder went through her and she wished she could stay in the car, where she felt safe and warm.

  Tim helped her out of the car and took her luggage from the boot. Amie felt close to tears, she had been shown such kindness by these strangers.

  “Now just make sure you stay on the cart track and you will be alright, the convent is on the other side of this wood,” said Tim giving Amie a quick squeeze. “God bless you lass and the wean, maybe we will meet again someday, I hope we do.”

  Tim got back into the car, turning it with difficulty on the narrow track, and then waved a hand out of the window at her as he drove off.

  Amie threw the hold all, over a shoulder, picked up her suitcase and made off up the track.

  The wood looked sinister in the chilly dusk and the path became steeper.

  She kept on, ever upwards, straining her eyes to keep sight of the track in the darkening wood. She eventually emerged in a clearing and the convent lay before her, a dark sinister looking place.

  Moss clustered thick, in every crevice of the heavy wall that surrounded the convent, and weeds grew out of the fissures. She found an old outhouse built close to the wall, a decayed looking building, with part of the roof fallen in. There was a jagged hole in one side where a window had once been. Looking in, her eyes got accustomed to the dim light through the broken roof. She saw a long trestle covered with cobwebs and debris from the roof and wondered what they had used this place for. She walked on, looking for an entrance into the convent.

  She came upon a heavy wooden door, built into the wall, with a sliding panel grid in its centre, beside the door, fixed to an iron wall bracket, hung a large brass bell with a pull rope. Setting down her suitcase, she pulled on the rope, the sound deafening in the still air.

  She did not know how long she stood waiting. She could not hear anyone on the other side of the door and was wondering if she should pull the bell again, when the grid was pulled back, startling her. Amie looked into the stern face of a nun.

  “What do you want? Who sent you here?” she demanded.

  Amie felt fear rising, wondering, what if they would not take her in, after all she was not a Catholic, maybe they only took in ones from their own faith.

  Thinking quickly, s
he decided not to take the chance of being rejected,

  “I am with child Father O’Leary sent me to you.” She lied to the face behind the grid, saying the first name that came into her head.

  “My name is Amie Richardson.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Charlie had just got back to Rojo Tejado and parked the bike in its spot at the back of the house. He was just about to go up the steps to the front door, when Jimmy come flying down them, almost tripping over himself in his haste.

  “Where the ‘ells the fire mate?” Charlie asked him, “Why are yer all done up like a dogs bleedin’ dinner?”

  “I’ve got to dash Charlie, I need to get the bus into Salou, its due any minute,” said Jimmy, trying to get past Charlie, who stood in his way at the bottom of the steps.

  “Make use ‘ov the Limo’ if yer in that big an ‘urry, got a ‘ot date ‘ave yer, I’ve never seen yer lookin’ so fancy straight up, I ‘avent.” Charlie laughed at him, as Jimmy tried again to push past.

  “As a matter of fact, I have got a date later, not that it is any of your business,” retorted Jimmy, “but I have to go to the police station first and report a theft.”

  Charlie was not going to let him off that lightly. “Wot’s bin stolen mate, yer bleedin’ virginity, ha, ha!” Charlie was enjoying the repartee.

  “No, my sodding motor bike, now get out of my way Charlie and piss off before I miss the bus.” Jimmy shoved Charlie, trying to shift him out of his way.

  “Yer bike’s round the back me ole mate, it ain’t bin stolen, I’ve just passed it.” Charlie told him.

  “What do you take me for Charlie, the bike’s gone and as for the Limousine, Mel’s using it,” said Jimmy, he was getting really agitated now.

  “Nah, yer bike’s there mate, straight up, nah would I tell a lie ter yer?” Charlie stood grinning at Jimmy and then stepped aside; bowing to Jimmy as he ran passed him.

  “Charlie, if you’re lying to me and I miss the bus, I’ll have your guts for garters.”

  “Nah, would I do a fing like that,” Charlie stifled a grin, “‘ave I ever lied ter yer mate?”

  Jimmy went to see if his bike really was at the back of the house, wondering what sort of silly prank Charlie was playing on him. The motorbike was where he had left it earlier that day. Jimmy touched the engine, it was still warm. Just what had Charlie been up to? He did not have time to find out now; he would be late for his date. He unhitched the sidecar, trying not to dirty the clothes he was wearing. Throwing his leg across the saddle, he started the engine, opened up the throttle and roared off down the driveway, the gravel spraying out under the wheels.

  Charlie had just about all he could take for one day. The crew had only been given three days off for the Christmas holiday. He had just been told they only had four days left in which to shoot Melissa’s final scene and everything was going wrong. All around him tempers were frayed and to top it all, Melissa was legless!

  Gregory Hines, the producer, had decided to scrap the original plan for the death scene. He was now in favour of using a dummy for the entire scene, following the initial shot of Melissa behind the wheel. The plan now was to use cannon to fire the ‘body’ out of the car, so along with Jimmy, he now had to create another special effect for the stunt. As if that was not enough to worry about, somewhere along the line, a reel of film had gone missing, before it could be processed. If it was not found it could prove fatal to the film itself. The camera work was so important and very expensive. Sound took second place on the set, the dialogue being dubbed in after shooting. They were already way over budget; everything was up in the air, including tempers. Working with the camera crew in a stop motion, back projection and motion central, they would be able to shoot the scene, crashing the car the ‘safe’ way.

  Wiping his oily hands on an old rag, Charlie set about strengthening the inside of the car, while Jimmy went to fetch the welding gear they needed, in order to weld on the air cannon. Charlie was getting impatient, half an hour had passed and no sign of Jimmy with the welding gear. Sod him, Charlie thought, he would leave Jimmy to do it when he got back. Finally, Jimmy returned with the welding gear and all that was needed in order to weld the air cannon to the rear of the car.

  Then a member of the camera crew, who was mounting a camera behind the driving wheel, pointed out to Charlie that something was leaking under the car.

  “Wot the bleedin’ ‘ell is wrong nah?” Said Charlie, banging his spanner against the roof of the car. Kneeling down to investigate, unable to get his ample form underneath for a proper look, he put his fingers into the pool of liquid that had gathered, withdrew them and smelt his fingers. “Bleedin’ brake fluid,” he muttered to himself.

  “Who the ‘ells bin mucking abaht wiv the car?” he asked Jimmy, who was preparing to weld on the air cannon. Jimmy gave a shrug of his shoulders and kept his eyes downcast trying not to give himself away.

  Damn the film, damn Charlie, damn Dr Samuel Morrison, damn the whole bloody lot of them, thought Jimmy, his life was messed up enough. If only he could learn to keep his cock in his trousers, he would not be in this situation now.

  When Jimmy had got the call to meet Dr Sam for a few drinks, he had been wary at first, but Dr Sam had sounded so cordial on the telephone, that Jimmy soon forgot any misgivings he may have had.

  Dr Samuel Morrison was already seated, waiting with drinks in front of him, when Jimmy entered the bar. He shook Jimmy’s hand, then patted the bar stool beside him. As Jimmy sat down, Dr Sam shoved one of the glasses of whiskey in front of him, and then took a sip of his own. They were engaged in general ‘chit-chat’ for a while, before Dr Sam got down to the real purpose of his invitation, putting his plan to Jimmy and the reason why he had asked for his help. He left Jimmy in no doubt, that he had no choice in the matter; he would have to do as he was asked.

  Jimmy remembered that night only too well. The girl had been barely fourteen and unwilling to let him go the whole way. Just another little ‘prick-teaser’ like so many others he had met in his life.

  That night on the beach, he had to get her good and drunk first. She was still struggling against him, arousing him even more, before she passed out.

  The first time he did it, it was over too quickly for him, he had been in such a high state of arousal for so long. He had kept her with him the whole night, taking her whenever he wanted to. When she vomited, he turned her over onto her stomach. She lay with her face to one side in the sand, out cold, while he took her again, from behind. He had continued to see her after that night.

  Two months later, good old Dr Sam got rid of the ‘little’ problem for them, after that he never went near the girl again. He knew he would be put away for a long time if this ever came out. Now it was pay-back time and Dr Sam was collecting the debt owed.

  When cutting the brake cable, Jimmy did not see it as murder. Dr Sam told him it would just be looked on as an unfortunate accident and as the doctor on call, he would take care of things and no one would be any the wiser.

  Jimmy hated Melissa! He had always thought of himself as a bit of a stud. He knew Melissa’s reputation and had no qualms when he took her up on her offer for a sexy weekend away together. He thought of his mates back home in England. How envious they would be when he told them, down at the pub, he had ‘stuck-it’ to Melissa Proctor.

  Then he remembered how she had mocked and humiliated him, when not once, during the entire weekend, had he been able to rise to the occasion.

  At first Melissa had gone ballistic, hurling a jar of face cream at him, cutting his temple. She ranted and raged at him, cursing him and laughing at his inability to get an erection. She continued to mock him, utterly humiliating him and it did not end there either.

  One day on the film set, as he passed by the group Melissa was with, she said something to them. They all turned to look at him and from behind her hand Melissa passed another remark, they all burst out laughing. He had hurried on, his face reddening, knowing she ha
d told them….yes he hated Melissa Proctor.

  Charlie knew if the car was losing brake fluid, something had to be wrong with the brake cable. It had been fine yesterday, the place had been secured. No one had access to it, other than Jimmy and himself. Puzzling it over in his mind, as he worked, he thought it would not really matter now anyway. It would not affect the new stunt, as it could be sorted and no one would get hurt, if that had been the intention of whoever had interfered with the brakes. Now they were using a dummy to replace Melissa and Stuart the stunt driver. Charlie had a strong suspicion that Jimmy was behind this. He was determined to get to the bottom of the matter later, but for now the stunt must go ahead.

  That was the only thing that went right for Charlie that day. It was a spectacular crash. The cameras, mounted behind the driving wheel, catching the scene as the dummy, hands fixed to the wheel, completed the illusion. Then the car was catapulted by the air cannon welded to its rear, high into the air, before crashing in spectacular style.

  Gregory Hines, well pleased with their efforts, yelled out ‘CUT,’ to the camera crew. There followed a lot of patting on backs and handshakes all round. Everyone was pleased with the days shoot, especially Gregory Hines, who, on answering a call, was informed the missing reel of film had been found.

  Later, as the two men sat enjoying a pint in their favourite bar, Charlie told Jimmy of his suspicions regarding the brake fluid and the tampered brakes.

  “Did yer cut ‘em?” he asked Jimmy, “I fink yer did.” He watched Jimmy closely, as he asked the question, trying to judge his reaction.

  “Why the heck would I do a thing like that,” said Jimmy, looking down at his pint, wiping the froth off his lips on the back of his hand, not daring to look at Charlie.

  “I dun’ no mate, you tell me,” Charlie said, biting the end of his cigar and lighting it before continuing. “Only the two ‘ov us, works wiv’ the geezer doin’ the stunts and it sure as ‘ell ain’t got nuffink ter do wiv’ me.” He blew a cloud of cigar smoke into Jimmy’s face, causing him to cough, “so, that just leaves you mate.” Before Jimmy could answer him, Charlie leant forward, his large hands resting palm downwards on the table. Shoving his face close to Jimmy’s, he spoke past the cigar, clamped between his teeth,