Shattered Lives

by Marian Phair

  Millie was busily packing apples for storage on straw-covered wooden trays. As she worked she hummed a little tune to herself. She was so happy she could barely wait for Sean to come home to tell him her good news.

  It was the first day of April, ‘Bog Time,’ as the locals called it. Sean and John-Joe were away cutting turf. Later in the month, the potatoes would be set in the plot already prepared for them, and the turf would be spread, ready to be clamped in May.

  The fishing season for eels only lasted from April until September, and strict regulations were in force, making it all the more difficult to earn a living. The catch had to be a certain size and weight. Bailiffs were put on the Lough, to check every fisherman’s catch, and the penalty for catching small eels was a hefty fine, and all equipment used taken away.

  Last season, Sean’s former fishing partner, had his eel lines, keeps boxes, and boat taken by the bailiffs, and was forced to give up fishing. He just hadn’t got the money to replace them.

  Millie helped to supplement their income, spinning and weaving, just as it had been done in the old days, in almost every cottage, by the women and the children. She loved their little cottage, and was so glad Sean’s family had helped to buy the two when they came up for auction, following old John’s death. Her brother-in-law Patrick and his new wife occupied the one old John had lived in, and Millie had moved John-Joe in with her and Sean. Everything in her garden was rosy.

  Mary Maguire watched the gypsy’s progress, as they passed by on the road. From her vantage point on the hill, she had a clear view for several miles. The border to the Irish Republic was just a few miles away up the Lough, and seven miles by road. It was easy to see why smuggling had been rife in her younger days, as this was natural smuggling country.

  The ragged-arsed gypsy children, played along the side of the road, their bare feet well used to the hard ground. Horses of various colours and sizes were being led by older boys. They would be heading for the horse fair, in the market. Mary didn‘t like gypsies. They were for the most part thieves and liars in her opinion, and would steal the eyes out of your head if you didn’t watch them.

  “Come on Scruff,” she called to the old border collie, which had just finished relieving itself in the long grass, “let’s go home.”

  Millie made her delivery and the money she had earned, hung in a little drawstring purse around her neck. She was late returning from town. The men would be returning home soon from the bog. She had to hurry home and prepare the evening meal, so to save time; she would cut through the woods.

  The sun was setting as she reached the edge of the trees. Millie was in two minds whether to continue on, through the woods, or turn back and go along the road. The trees looked eerie in the half-light, making her a little uneasy. There was no point in turning back now, she thought, she was being silly, they were only trees. She had been through these woods many times, gathering sticks for the fire and there was nothing to be afraid of. She set off through the trees, following the track.

  The gypsy, relieving himself, saw the woman coming along and watched her, hidden by the bushes. He followed her into the wood, keeping at a distance, until he made sure she was alone and not meeting up with anyone.

  Millie heard the snap of twigs behind her and turned quickly, her heart pounding, but there was nothing to see. She was being silly, she thought, telling herself not to panic. The woods were home to many small creatures, animals and birds and the rustlings and cracklings around her were caused by them going about their business, or settling down for the night.

  Hurrying along the narrow pathway, she thought she heard someone breathing heavily behind her, but again thought she had imagined it. When a hand shot out and grasped her shoulder, she jumped and opened her mouth to let out a scream, but the other hand was already clasped firmly over her mouth, effectively stifling it.

  She fought him like a wild thing, lashing out at him, as he tried to kiss her.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” she begged, I’m pregnant, please don’t hurt my baby.” Millie tried to knee him in the groin as he groped her, then he punched her in the face, knocking her to the ground. He kicked her hard in the stomach, and knelt on top of her.

  “That will take the wind out of your sails, now stop struggling you bitch, you might enjoy it.” His unshaven face scraped across hers, as he tried again to kiss her. The more she struggled, the more he wanted her.

  Millie continued to struggle underneath him as he tore at the bodice of her dress, ripping the thin material and exposing her breasts. He bit down hard on a nipple, almost severing it. She let out a scream of agony and he punched her again in the face, to quieten her, breaking her jaw. The gypsy shoved a hand roughly under her dress, ripping off her panties and holding her down with one hand on her throat, he unzipped his trousers. She closed her eyes, resigned to her fate, almost passing out from the pain raking her body, as he fumbled inside his pants to remove his penis. She heard a dull thud and felt him collapse on top of her.

  Millie tried to open her eyes, although they were swelling rapidly and through their half open slits, she saw John-Joe, bending over the inert form of the gypsy, a lump of timber tightly grasped in one hand. John-Joe shouted to someone behind him, “Over here, we are over here, hurry.”

  She saw her darling Sean come crashing through the undergrowth as she passed out.

  Drifting in and out of sleep, Millie was vaguely aware of the goings on around her, but could not be bothered to move. One eye was completely closed and through the half closed lid of the other, she could see the foot of the bed she was lying on and the screen that separated her from her neighbour. Her face was hurting, she tried to put her hand up to feel it but her hand was attached to something and she could not reach. What was going on? Her movements woke the dozing Sean.

  “Shush, my darling, it’s alright, you are in hospital. Don’t try to talk, please just lie still and get some rest, you are going to be fine. I am here with you and I won’t leave you.” He held her hand, making soothing sounds as he tried to keep her calm.

  “John-Joe sends you his love; he will be in to see you later.”

  Sean’s eyes filled with tears but he would not allow himself to cry. Grown men hid their tears, he told himself and he had to remain strong for her.

  Millie tried to speak, but could not form the words properly and pointed a finger to her face, as she struggled to get the words out.

  “Don’t try to speak,” Sean told her, “your jaw is broken, I promise you, and you will be fine.”

  He could see she was getting more and more agitated and distressed, as the memory of what she had gone through returned. He pressed the buzzer, at the side of the bed to call the nurse. The nurse who answered the buzzer came over to the bedside asking what the problem was. Sean told her Millie was getting upset and was very restless.

  “Don’t worry I will go and get something to calm her down,” the nurse told him. He stayed by her bedside until the sedative she had been given, took effect and Millie was sleeping once again.

  “There is not much point in you staying any longer, she will be out for around twelve hours,” the nurse told him, go home get some rest and come back tomorrow. If she wakes before you get here, I will let her know you are coming.” She accompanied him out of the small two-bedded ward.

  “Thank you nurse…” Sean looked at the nurse enquiringly.

  “Hollie, my name’s Hollie,” she said, smiling up at him.

  “Thank you nurse Hollie, for all you have done for my wife. I will see you tomorrow.” He made his weary way home, to the waiting John-Joe.

  Sean sat outside the cottage, a mug of tea in his hand. John-Joe sat on the ground at his feet and looking up at him, enquired, “What did the doctor say to you that got you so upset? Millie is going to be alright isn’t she?” Setting down his mug, Sean rubbed his hands through his hair, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over at any moment.

  “I don’t know John-Joe, I only wish I
did.” He swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat.

  “The doctor told me Millie was pregnant, she must have only just found out because she never had the chance to tell me.”

  “That is great news, isn’t it, I’m so happy for you both.” It would be great having a little brother or sister to look out for. John-Joe felt warmth spread through him at the thought, so why did Sean look so sad?

  “No, I’m afraid it’s not John-Joe, Millie lost the baby, but she hasn’t been told yet. The doctor said, due to the internal injuries she received he had to remove her ovaries. Millie will never be able to conceive.” With a cry of anguish, he let out all his pent up emotions. John-Joe did nothing to console him; he too, was caught up in his own grief.

  Millie woke up, taking a few minutes to realise where she was.

  There was some kind of commotion going on in the room. She could see two nurses struggling with a woman with bandaged wrists, before the curtained screen was pulled across between the two beds. She heard one nurse tell the other, “We have to keep her sedated tonight. They are sending someone out from the asylum to collect her tomorrow and she will be their problem then, poor thing.” The nurses left the room, switching off the over head light.

  Millie could still make out the furnishings in the semi-darkened room, by the light in the corridor, which filtered through the glass panel in the door. She listened to the muffled sounds as the nurses went about their business, before drifting off, joining her neighbour in a drug induced sleep.

  Nurse Hollie was straightening Millie’s bed clothes, when the two nursing staff from the asylum, arrived to collect their patient.

  Still in her long white nightgown, the woman stared straight ahead as they escorted her from the room, one each side of her, holding her by her upper arms. Something about the woman seemed familiar to Millie, but she could not put her finger on it.

  As they passed by her bed, nurse Hollie called out, “good luck.” The woman turned her head, and looked at the nurse, her face impassive, her big green eyes with dark shadows underneath, holding no expression.

  Millie’s body went rigid with shock, as she recognised her dear friend.

  “AMIE,” she called out, past her wired jaw.

  The woman turned her head and looked at the stranger in the bed, with the bruised swollen face and blackened puffed up eyes, the head swathed in bandages. Then, without saying a single word, let herself be led away, still in the grip of her escorts.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Dr Sam swore at his predicament. Damn he could not go back there now. He had money in his safe at the clinic, but his wallet, containing his bank card, was back at the house, and so was his passport. He needed to clean up and get a change of clothes as he couldn’t be seen like this. Where could he go? He had no one to turn to whom he could trust, except that old witch, who had helped in one or two abortions when he had first set up his practice here. He had no other choice. He still had not paid her the five thousand Euros he owed her and she had even come to the clinic demanding more money for her silence. Dr Sam had sent her away with a flea in her ear, threatening to take her down with him if she opened her mouth. He knew it would cost him, if she was to help him, but he had no choice.

  To avoid being seen, he would have to wait for darkness, before going to her flat in the centre of town. He would have to go on foot as the Jaguar stood out like a sore thumb and it would be easily recognised.

  Reaching the edge of town, he drove the Jaguar off the road into some bushes. Satisfied he could not be seen from passers-by, he pushed his seat into the reclining position and dozed, while he waited for night to fall.

  Dr Sam made his way carefully through the narrow back streets, which would bring him to his destination, ducking into doorways when someone came along, waiting until they were out of sight before emerging, finally arriving at her flat.

  The sounds from the television reached him, through the thin wood of the door. He rapped sharply on its paint peeling wood, glancing around at the other doors as he did so. There was nowhere to hide, should one of the other tenants choose to come or go at this time.

  He knocked again and pressed his ear against the door, listening. He heard the sound of her slippered feet as she approached.

  “Who’s there?” she asked in Spanish.

  “Open the door,” Dr Sam told her, “I’ve got the money I owe you.” He heard a key turn in the lock, then the door opened a little way and she peered round it. Before she could do or say anything, he had shoved the door open, pushing her out of his way, then quickly closed and locked it again.

  Maria Bastido took in his dishevelled appearance, the dark stains on his clothing, a look of disgust on her face, showing no fear of him at all. She pointed to the bathroom as if reading his mind, then calmly sat back down in her armchair in front of the television and carried on watching her programme.

  In the bathroom, he stripped down to his underwear, rolling his bloodstained shirt and trousers into a ball. He flung them into the corner, and then washed the blood off his body and out of his hair. He checked the bathroom cabinet, looking for a razor but there was nothing in there that would help rid him of his moustache and beard. He guessed she was too old to go to the bother of shaving her legs, like most women he had come across. He would need clothes, among other things, but decided he would wait until morning, and send her out, to buy the things he needed. He had no money on him so she would have to do the buying.

  She was still sitting in front of the television, when he emerged from the bathroom. Suddenly his face appeared on the screen. Turning her head in his direction and seeing him standing there in nothing but his underpants, she grinned at him, showing the gaps in her teeth.

  Pointed at the television and giggled, then went quiet, listening to the news flash.

  ‘Wanted by the police in connection with a double homicide and attempted murder. Dr Samuel Morrison, known locally as Dr Sam, aged forty seven years, height five feet seven inches. Black hair, brown eyes, moustache and beard, but could now be clean shaven. There is a substantial reward for information leading to his whereabouts and arrest. Warning! Do not approach this man, he is extremely dangerous. Contact your nearest police station with any information.’

  Dr Sam made no attempt to switch off the television. He studied her face closely, noticing she seemed unperturbed.

  “I want you to go shopping for me in the morning,” he told her, “I will make a list of the things I need, like a razor, hair dye, clothes and one or two other items.”

  “Si, first you give me my money, 5,000 Euros, and then we will talk about YOUR needs.” She held a gnarled hand out to him expectantly.

  “I don’t have it on me as I have to get it from the clinic, so you will have to use your money to purchase the things I need. I will give you double what I owe you if you help me.” He watched her expression change when he mentioned doubling the debt he owed. The stupid old hag, he thought, she was so greedy for money, and she would sell her own child, if she had one, for ten Euros.

  “I don’t trust you; you’re as slippery as an eel. You owe me money and now you expect me to use my meagre savings to help you avoid capture by the police. I don’t think so.” She got up from her armchair and switched off the television.

  Maria Bastido was his last chance to stay ahead of the police, his only chance. He had no one else to turn to, and nowhere to run if she refused. The fact that she was locked in her own home with a ‘killer’ did not seem to faze her one little bit. She was not afraid of him, so to issue threats would be useless.

  “I want fifteen thousand Euros,” she said, looking him in the eye, “fifteen thousand or you can leave now.”

  He could have strangled her, for her ‘meagre savings,’ if he didn’t need her help. The old bitch knew it too, he could tell by the look in her eyes.

  “Fifteen thousand Euros and, I come with you to get the money,” she said, watching him closely and waiting for his answer.

  “Agr
eed,” Dr Sam replied, fifteen thousand and not one Euro more.” She nodded her head, satisfied.

  “Now,” he asked her, “do you have anything to eat and drink in this rat hole?” He went over to the two seater couch and stretched out.

  Nodding, Maria Bastido went into the kitchen and re-heated the left over’s from her own meal, which she had planned to consume herself the next day. She put a saucepan of milk on the stove to boil and slipped unnoticed into her bedroom. Picking up a small bottle of sleeping tablets, she hid them in her pocket and returned to the kitchen. She crushed up four tablets from the bottle between two spoons, mixing them into the hot drinking chocolate, in one of the mugs, adding extra sugar to hide any after taste. The label on the bottle read, ‘one to be taken at night,’ Dr Sam had given them to her to help her sleep, when she had suffered from a bad tooth infection. She sometimes took two tablets, the maximum dose, when she needed them, so, four should do the trick.

  Maria sat opposite him across the table sipping from her own mug; watching him as he wolfed down the food and draining his mug, in one go.

  “You can sleep in here,” she told him, “I will fetch you a blanket.” She left the room, returning with a pillow and blanket and made up a bed on the couch for him.

  “I am going to bed myself now,” she said, “I will switch off the light when you are settled.”

  Dr Sam, yawned, and stretching himself, he went over to the couch and lay down, pulling the blanket over himself and bidding her goodnight.

  Maria switched out the light and went through the kitchen, into her bedroom. She kicked off her slippers and put on her outdoor shoes, then sat on the side of the bed and waited. She sat quietly until all she could hear from the other room was the sound of heavy snoring. Feeling her way carefully across the dark kitchen, she crept past the sleeping figure on the couch and left the flat locking the door behind her.

  Maria walked up to the duty officer behind the desk, in the police station. He looked up, from the ledger he was writing in, as she approached.